Faery Lands ForlornFaery Lands Forlorn
Book 2 of A Man Of His Word
By Dave Duncan
ISBN: 0-345-36629-8 


ONE
Behind the veil

1
Eastward from the bare crags of the Agoniste Mountains, the land fell off in 
scabby ridges and gullies, sere and drab. Rare oases like green wounds pitted 
the valleys, but otherwise that desolate country was fit only for antelope and 
wild goats, watched over by buzzards drifting in the thin blue sky. Below the 
hills, a roasted desert stretched away to meet the surf of the Spring Sea.
In the main, the ironbound coast of Zark was as deadly and inhospitable as the 
interior. Yet, at long intervals where some trick of the landscape caught the 
nourishing sea wind or cool springs gushed from the rocks, life erupted in 
abundance. There the soil yielded crops of uncountable variety. The people dwelt 
there, on islands encircled half by ocean and half by desert. Whereas in other 
lands the earth spread its generosity widely, in Zark it hoarded all its 
goodness into these few green enclaves, like rich emeralds knotted on a string.
Richest of them all was Arakkaran, a narrow land blessed with twisting valleys 
of deep soil and legendary fertility. Its wide bay was the finest harbor on the 
continent. Many trade routes met in its markets, depositing wealth there in 
heaps to be fondled by the soft-fingered merchants: dates and pomegranates, 
rubies and olives, costly vials of perfume, intricate rugs, and the silver fish 
of the sea. From distant lands came gold and spices, elvish arts and dwarvish 
crafts, pearls and silks, and merfolk pottery unequaled in all Pandemia.
The city itself was beautiful and ancient. It was noted for its cruelty, and for 
fine racing camels. It boasted of a history written in blood. Near the close of 
A-Gun's Campaign, the young Draqu ak'Dranu had turned back the Imperial legions 
at Arakkaran, and there they won their revenge nine centuries later under Omerki 
the Merciless. During the Widow War, the city had withstood a siege of a 
thousand and one days.
From the loud and overscented bustle of the markets, it climbed by slope and 
precipice, in a tapestry of nacreous stone and flowering greenery. Trees had 
wedged in every unused crevice, hanging welcome shadow over steep alleyways and 
winding stairs. On the crest of the hill, celebrated in many ancient stories, 
the Palace of Palms was a marvel of domes and spires and towers, graced with 
lush parks and exotic gardens, as widespread in itself as many a respected town.
Throughout recorded history, a sultan of Arakkaran had ruled in that palace. 
There had been many sultans; their names and deeds were uncountable as the 
shells of the beaches. Some had held sway over half of Zark, while others had 
barely controlled the docks. A few were celebrated for justice and wisdom; many 
had been despots of a savagery to make the Gods recoil. No single family had 
ever dominated for long, no dynasty prevailed; old age had rarely troubled them.
Whatever he had been-warrior or statesman, tyrant or scholar, poet or giver of 
laws-every sultan of Arakkaran had invariably been renowned for his ferocity and 
for the number and beauty of his women.

2
From the dark cold of Krasnegar, Inos stumbled through a curtain of jewels into 
blinding light and a heat that took her breath away. Her willful feet carried 
her several paces farther before she felt them returned to her control.
But Rap and Aunt Kade were in danger-without even pausing to take stock of where 
she was, she spun around and rushed blindly back to the drape.
There was nothing there to stop her except many dangling strands of gems, 
flickering and tinkling in the breeze. A moment earlier she had passed between 
the strings with no trouble at all, but now she bounced off, stubbing her toe 
and almost falling. From this side, apparently, the curtain was as impenetrable 
as a castle wall. Yet it still shimmered and. rippled. Infernal sorcery! She 
thumped fists on it furiously.
"Anger will not help," said a harsh male voice behind her. She wheeled around, 
screwing up her eyes against the glare. He was big, as tall as a jotunn. His 
pale-green cloak billowed and danced in the breeze, making him seem even larger. 
Yet in a moment she could make out his ruddy-hued face, and the thin line of red 
beard framing it. He was a djinn, therefore. Of course.
Under the cloak he wore voluminous pajamas of emerald silk, but she doubted he 
had just climbed out of bed. The scimitar hanging at his side, for example, its 
hilt glittering with diamonds-not a comfortable sleeping companion. The 
miscellaneous gems scattered from his lofty turban to the curled-up toes of his 
shoes, and especially the wide cummerbund of solid emeralds encircling his waist 
... no, those were not believable bed wear. And no matter how slim he was, that 
incredible belt must be excruciatingly tight. It was a wonder he could breathe 
in it.
His face was thin and intense, his nose aquiline, and his eyes hard as rubies. 
He was not very much older than herself. The size of him! Those shoulders ...
The arrogance! He was enjoying her inspection. Whom had he intended to impress?
"Your name and station, wench?"
She drew herself up, miserably aware of her ruined leather riding habit, 
bloodstained and filthy; aware also that she must be haggard with fatigue-eyes 
like open sores, hair in yellow tangles. "I am Queen Inosolan of Krasnegar. And 
you, lad?"
Her insolence made fires flicker in his crimson eyes. Her head would barely 
reach his shoulder, and that emerald sash alone would buy her whole kingdom, 
even if the gems did not go all the way around him.
"I have the honor to be Azak ak'Azakar ak'Zorazak, Sultan of Arakkaran."
"Oh!" Dummy! Had she expected him to be a cook or a barber, dressed like that? 
The diamond medallion on his turban was worth a fortune in itself. Remembering 
in time that she was wearing jodhpurs, not skirts, she bowed.
The young giant studied her disapprovingly for a moment. Then he swept an 
expansive gesture with a large, red-brown hand and doubled over as if to touch 
his turban to his knees, making Inos wince. Obviously that emerald cummerbund 
was not tight at all-his waist really must be that narrow, and his back was even 
broader than she had suspected. He flicked himself upright again as if such 
gymnastics were no problem at all, but she could not tell if they were a 
compliment or a mockery.
Sultan! Rasha had claimed to be sultana, and this lad was far too young to be 
her husband. Of course that was assuming that Rasha was what she had seemed when 
she had first appeared in the tower-middle-aged and thick-bodied. There had been 
an even more revealing glimpse later, when Sagorn had replaced himself with 
Andor. Startled by the occult transformation, Rasha had momentarily become an 
ugly old woman. The svelte maiden image would have been the illusion, obviously. 
Sorcerers lived a long time, but most likely this very tall and youthful sultan 
was Rasha's son, or grandson.
A surge of exhaustion closed over Inos like a dark wave. She was in no state to 
deal with sultans, or sultanas, or sorceresses. And then the jeweled drape 
tinkled. Inos spun around as Aunt Kade came through. Kade! Short and plump and 
blinking watery blue eyes at the brightness, but oh, how welcome!
"Aunt!" Inos hugged her fiercely.
"Ah, there you are, dear! " She sounded tired, but quite calm. She seemed 
blissfully unaware of her disreputable appearancerose and silver gown all 
stained with tea, bedraggled snowy hair fluttering in the hot breeze.
Inos took a deep breath and forced herself to display suitably ladylike 
behavior. "How nice that you can join us, Aunt! Let me present you . . . the 
Princess Kadolan, sister of my late father, King Holindarn of Krasnegar. The 
sultan ... er. . . "
"Azak!" snapped Azak.
"Sultan Azak. " Inos was not at her best at the moment. "Your Majesty!" Aunt 
Kade curtsied, with no perceptible wobble. She was again demonstrating her 
astonishing durability. The sultan frowned, registering aristocratic surprise at 
these two waifs appearing in his domain. When he clenched his jaw, the fringe of 
red beard rippled. Of course he could not possibly be as stupendous as he 
thought he was, but Inos decided she would go so far as to class him as 
noteworthy. Again making his curious gesture, he bowed to Kade-deeply, but less 
deeply than before. Then he went back to staring at Inos.
"Your father? You are a queen in your own right?"
"I am."
"How extraordinary!"
Indignant, Inos opened her mouth and then firmly closed it again; a queen with 
only two loyal subjects should be discreet. Which reminded her of her other 
loyal subject--
"Aunt, where is Rap?" She turned back to the curtain of jewels and pushed at it. 
It was still immovable from this side, a one-way curtain.
"Still in the chamber, I expect, dear."
"The slut is in there, I presume?" Azak inquired. Inos and her aunt both turned 
to stare at him.
"The woman who calls herself Sultana Rasha? You have met her? She is beyond that 
drape-wherever that may be?" He folded his arms imperiously.
"Beyond that drape is Krasnegar, my kingdom!" Inos shouted, feeling her 
threadbare self-control starting to rip. This ordeal had been going for a whole 
day and night, and she just couldn't take much more. "I want to go home!"
"Indeed?" He seemed skeptical. "You have no magic of your own, either of you?"
"None!" Inos shouted.
"Inos!" Kade frowned disapprovingly.
The djinn shrugged. "Well, I am no sorcerer, merely the rightful ruler of this 
domain. For sorcery you must deal with the bitch. "
"Is she not your ... Well, if you are sultan here, then what is she to you?" 
Inos demanded, still ignoring glances from Kade. The djinn scowled grotesquely 
at the magical drape behind them. "You have met her, I presume?"
"Queen Rasha? I mean Sultana-"
His already ruddy face darkened and reddened even more. "She is no queen, no 
sultana! She was a dockside harlot who illicitly acquired occult powers. Now she 
styles herself sultana, but there is no truth in that! None!" Just for a moment, 
his anger betrayed his youth.
But Inos knew that Rasha had not truly impressed her as royalty. She had not 
sounded right, or moved right.
"What a marvelous view you have here!" Kade exclaimed, firmly changing the 
subject.
For the first time, Inos took a serious look at where she was. The room was big, 
much larger than Inisso's chamber of puissance, but not unlike. It was obviously 
located high up, it was circular, and it had four windows. If those similarities 
were important and not just coincidence, they must mean that this also was a 
sorcerer's chamber. A sorceress's, of course. Rasha's. The walls were of white 
marble, supporting a huge bulbous dome of the same milky rock. There were no 
windows in the great shell, but light flooded it from somewhere, apparently 
through the stone itself. Moreover, that strange brightness pulsed with 
inexplicable, eerie movements that Inos could see perfectly well out of the 
corner of her eye, but not when she looked straight at them. Then the shiftings 
ceased and there was nothing there except smooth translucent marble; while the 
haunting would have started somewhere else. Creepy!
And the view that her aunt had mentioned-the four wide openings were larger by 
far than the casements in Inisso's tower, triple-arched and not merely unglazed, 
but lacking even shutters. Obviously Arakkaran's climate was kinder than 
Krasnegar's.
At her left, the austere yellow light of morning streamed in from a newborn sun, 
aiming a golden sword at her across the sea. All through her childhood, seaward 
had meant northwardthe Winter Ocean. At Kinvale, although it was well inland, 
seaward had meant westward, toward Pamdo Gulf. Sea to the east was wrong, 
horrifying. It told her she was appallingly far from home.
Southward, towers and more pointed domes obscured much of the view, but she 
could tell she was high in some castle or palace. Beyond them she glimpsed a 
coastline of dry brown hills falling to white surf, stretching off to meet the 
sky. Craggy peaks to the west were already almost lost in a heat haze. They were 
much higher and rockier than the Pondague range, and obviously desert.
Fatigue and despair crushed down on her. She struggled to recall childhood 
lessons from Master Poraganu, wishing she had been more attentive. Djinns were 
tall, fierce folk, with reddish skin and hair ... djinns lived in Zark ... 
desert and sand. Those mountains looked bare as any desert she could imagine. 
But Zark was somewhere in the extreme southeast of pandemia, about as far from 
Krasnegar as it was possible to be. Which would explain why Master Poraganu had 
not gone into details, and why she had not listened.
Her eyes went again to the shining water eastward. That must be the Spring Sea, 
and she remembered Mistress Meolome talking about silk once, long ago.
"Is this truly Zark?" Kade exclaimed. "How thrilling! I have always wanted to 
see more of Pandemia. This will be a very informative and educational visit." 
She beamed warningly at Inos.
"Arakkaran is a small, poor place compared to the Impire," Azak proclaimed, "but 
its people are a proud and noble race, jealous of their own ways and their 
independence. We draw our strength from the desert, scorning the decadence of 
those who dwell in milder climes."
Oh, just juicy! Barbarians.
Again Inos tried the infuriating drapery of gems; again it refused to admit her. 
What was Rasha doing? Was Rap all right, or had the impish legionaries finally 
broken down the door? Her legs wobbled with weariness, but she must stay close 
to this impossible sorcery in the hope that somehow it would lead her home 
again.
Azak's eyes had made her think of rubies on first sight, but now they had 
darkened to garnets and were regarding her with a haughty stare that reminded 
her of Firedragon, the stallion. "You truly have no occult power ... your 
Majesty?"
Inos shook her head, feeling weary now beyond speech. A whole world between her 
and Krasnegar, and Rap. Rap? Suddenly she realized that, more than anything 
else, she wanted Rap here beside her. Solid, dependable, reliable Rap. How 
strange! Rap?
The sultan fingered his beard thoughtfully. His feet had not moved since she 
entered. They were enclosed in very softlooking shoes that curled up absurdly at 
the toes. Certainly not desert wear. Rather decadent, in fact.
"That is indeed curious."
"In what way?" Aunt Kade inquired, casting another worried glance at Inos.
"Because the sorceress slut has cast a spell upon me. By rights you should both 
have been turned to stone before now."
"Turned to stone!" Inos and Kade echoed in chorus.
He nodded. "Anyone who grants me my correct honorific . . . I wonder if the 
curse works only on my own subjects, not strangers? No, the ambassador from 
Shuggaran was smitten."
It would have been kind of him to have mentioned the matter sooner.
"This petrification," Kade murmured, obviously deeply offended by the idea, "is 
it ... reversible?"
He glanced in surprise at her-Kade's queries were often much sharper than her 
appearance led one to expect. "In the beginning it was not. The first half dozen 
or so victims are still statues. Now the jade usually restores them to life 
after a week or two."
"That is the most disgustingly stupid thing I have ever heard of!" Inos said.
"I told you-she is a whore, an evil woman, and spiteful. "
"She must also be half-witted, if she did not see what would happen with a spell 
like that loose! Six people died before she changed to a sorcery she could 
undo?"
He shrugged. "But why were you not immobilized when you gave me my legal title?"
Obviously he had expected it to happen. That realization left Inos at a loss for 
words.
"The effects of the curse are limited to the palace itself," the big man mused. 
"Can it be that this odious sorcerous chamber is excluded?"
Again Inos looked around. She could see nothing obviously sorcerous, only an 
excessive amount of bright-colored furniture, much of it ugly and garish, 
intermixed with ill-suited statuary. Nor could she see any doorway. The floor, 
where it was visible, was a spectacular mosaic of vines and flowers, all 
intricately intertwined and as brightly hued as a swarm of butterflies, but the 
effect was ruined by a litter of rugs, as gawdy and mismatched as the furniture. 
Everything looked expensive, but nothing fit or blended. Whoever had assembled 
the collection had been sadly lacking in even the rudiments of taste. One glance 
at this warehouse would give Duke Angilki a seizure.
But being turned to stone ... Was this oddly youthful sultan trying to be 
humorous? As Inos was planning a suitable query, the drape jingled again. A huge 
gray dog bounded through, skidded on the polished tiles past both Inos and her 
aunt, and came to a stop facing Azak. The dislike was immediate, and mutual.
The dog bared teeth, flattened ears, and raised hackles. Azak put hand to sword 
hilt.
Inos was about to speak, then her courage failed her. Rap had called the monster 
"Fleabag" affectionately, as if it were a cuddly lapdog instead of an overgrown 
timber wolf. It had obeyed him eagerly, but dogs were always happy to go along 
with Rap's suggestions, and Rap was not present now. It had not noticed Kade or 
Inos, apparently, and even to speak its name might attract its hostility.
Moreover, something about Azak's stance suggested that he did not believe he was 
in much danger, and Inos decided that she was more concerned for Rap's dog. 
True, it had overpowered Andor and then savaged the giant Darad. The djinn was 
not as massive as the jotunn had been, but he was almost as tall; he was younger 
and probably faster, and Darad had been hampered by entering the fight when he 
was already on the floor with the monster's teeth in his arm ... Shocked to 
discover that she was assessing the contest as she might weigh an upcoming 
skittles match at Kinvale, Inos looked to Kade, and Kade was very obviously not 
going to interfere, either.
Azak's slim, curved blade slid into view. Inos glanced around at the drape in 
the hope that Rap might appear. If Rasha had allowed his dog through, surely she 
would not leave Rap himself to the unlikely mercy of the imps? The sword was out 
now. The wolf had begun to growl. Was that a good sign or a bad?
It gathered itself to leap; Azak drew back his elbow. The dog turned to stone. 
Kade recoiled, moaning, and Inos reached out to hug her, but more for her own 
comfort than her aunt's, probably.
May the Good be with us! There was no doubt-stone it was. No mundane sculptor 
could ever have matched the detail of the coat so well, nor achieved the cunning 
fit of the grain of the rock to the gleam of light over muscle and bone, but 
otherwise what had a moment before been a living, breathing, and highly 
dangerous predator was now only a graceful ornament. Inexplicably, that felt 
wrong. Inexplicably, that sorcery impressed Inos more than all the miracles she 
had seen and experienced since the terrors began, so many hours before.
Azak, on the other hand, sheathed his scimitar quite matterof-factly, as if 
petrification were no more remarkable in Arakkaran than shampooing, or ladies 
entering rooms through windows.
Before anyone spoke, the jewels tinkled again, signaling the arrival of Sultana 
Rasha. Light flared up behind her and there was no longer an impossible night 
beyond the drapery. She was wearing the face of a mature woman, an imperious 
matron in her thirties-not conventionally beautiful, but striking. In Inisso's 
chamber her appearance had flicked back and forth from age to youth, from 
ugliness to beauty, and her flowing white raiments had varied similarly, from 
coarse white cotton to silks embroidered with pearls and gems. Now, like her 
face, her dress represented a compromise, rich but not ostentatious. Her fingers 
glittered with gems, though.
She stopped abruptly, frowning at Azak. "What're you doing here, Beautiful?" She 
spoke to him as Inos would to a wayward horse.
Azak scowled. His teeth were large and regular and very white. "You summoned 
me." Again the dislike was obviously mutual.
Rasha laughed. "Well, so I did! I'd forgotten. I was feeling bitchy and wanted 
some entertainment." She turned to Inos. "You've met Prince Azak, dearie?"
"He's not the sultan?"
"Oh, never! Don't believe a thing he says. He's a notorious liar. "
A jotunn would have struck her for that remark, even had the act meant suicide. 
Azak almost did. His lips paled, his neck bulged, but he managed to control his 
fury, just barely.
Rasha was enjoying herself. "All men are liars, my dear," she said with affected 
sweetness. "Whatever they tell you, they only want one thing, and lots of it. 
Don't call him `sultan' inside the palace, either-I'm trying to stamp out that 
nonsense. Here's all right; nowhere else. Now come, move your little buns. " She 
led the way, marching like a legionary, her vestments floating out behind her. 
As she went by Azak, she reached up and tweaked his beard. He recoiled with a 
choking noise.
"Wait!" Inos cried. But the sorceress kept going, weaving between the furniture. 
Inos ran after, dodging overstuffed divans and bronze urns and porcelain 
animals. "What about Rap? And Doctor Sagorn? And the goblin?"
She caught up with Rasha at a circular balustrade in the center of the room. 
Here a grand staircase spiraled down to a lower chamber. That was why there were 
no doors, of course.
"What about them? " the sorceress asked, not looking around.
"You just left them there? Left them for the imps to kill?" The sultana walked 
around to the top of the stair and paused at the first step, where the way was 
partly obstructed by a lifesize carving of a black panther, seemingly poised to 
spring at any intruder coming up toward it.
"This is Claws, " she muttered absently, but she was studying the great 
shimmering dome overhead. Or possibly she was listening to something. A small 
smile played around her mouth, registering satisfaction. Then she set off down 
the stairs, stroking the basalt neck in passing. "Isn't he gorgeous? I think 
I'll put him on one side and the wolf on the other. "
Chasing down after her, Inos said, "It's real?"
"When I want it to be. Lucky I remembered to warn it that the Meat Man was 
coming."
Inos was becoming more bewildered by the minute. "Who?"
"Azak," said the sorceress. "I've got lots of names for him, but that one really 
twists his nose. It fits him, though-he's got biceps like the humps on his 
camel. I'll have him show you sometime."
Halfway down, she suddenly slackened her pace, as if the urgency-whatever it 
was-was over. Azak was padding down the stairs behind Inos in his kidskin 
slippers. Aunt Kade was just passing the panther.
"But Rap!" Inos exclaimed. "Doctor Sagorn? You can't just leave them there for 
the imps!"
Rasha continued down the stairs without replying. The lower chamber was as 
overloaded with furniture as the upper had been, mostly innumerable chests and 
tables of random styles. Two windows added little to the light spilling down the 
central stairwell. The walls were poorly lighted, therefore, and yet cluttered 
with ornate mirrors and bright tapestries barely discernible in the shadows. 
Musk and flower scent hung in the air like syrup.
Despite her worry over Rap and the others, despite her bonedeep weariness, Inos 
was intrigued by these exotic, alien rooms. They were like nothing she had ever 
seen, not even in the Duke of Kinvale's collection of lithographs; a collection 
that he had amassed from all over the Impire, and had inflicted on her during 
several mind-numbing afternoons. Neither in art nor reality had she ever seen 
decor so alien. Double doors vast enough to admit a coach and four stood shut; 
against the opposite wall was an absurdly huge bed, the largest four-poster in 
the world, wide and high, draped in filmy gauze. Then her eyes had adjusted to 
the gloom and the nature of some of the statuary penetrated her fog-shrouded 
mind. She took an incredulous second look at the illustrations on the walls and 
was suddenly very glad that such obscenities were so poorly lighted. Kade would 
have an apoplectic fit.
Hastily Inos turned her attention back to the sorceress. Surely the legionaries 
would be breaking down the door by now? "You must save them!"
Rasha spun around. "Must? You say must to me, child?"
"I'm sorry, your Majesty! But I beg of you please save them!"
"Why should I?" inquired the sorceress, smirking. "Because they'll be killed!"
"Better than what you'd have got, dearie, if I'd left you there! You know what 
gangs of men do to pretty girls?"
"No!" Inos had never even considered such a thing. Imperial legionaries? A band 
of raiding jotnar, certainly, but not the imperor's army! It had been Rap who 
had been in danger, and the goblin, also-not her! "Not that!"
"Yes, that! " the sorceress said, her mouth twisting in an expression Inos could 
not read. "I know more about men than you'll ever guess at it, sweetie girl. 
Believe me, I know!"
Inos was still a couple of steps up, staring down at her in horror. Possibly the 
sorceress thought she was not being believed, because she suddenly discarded 
about twenty years, to become again the gem-bedecked, sylphlike maiden who had 
so bewitched Rap, her flesh glowing hot and tantalizing through garments of 
mist.
She smiled mockingly up at Inos. "All men have to do is die, and they have to do 
that eventually, don't they? That's nothing compared to what a woman might get. 
What do I owe them? What does any woman owe a man, ever?" She glanced past Inos, 
apparently at Azak. "Well, Wonderstud?"
Receiving no answer, she chuckled and turned away, sauntering toward the great 
bed with her hips swinging, ruddy flesh and ox-blood hair shining through 
garments that seemed to have become flimsier than ever, over a body even more 
voluptuous.
Inos had heard of women who dressed like that and behaved like that-had heard of 
them mostly in whispered tales in the castle kitchens. She had never expected to 
see a queen do such things.
Shakily she descended the last couple of steps, fighting back tears, trying to 
scrape some last trace of strength from the bottom of her personal barrel. Her 
knees trembled with exhaustion. Her head told her that the sultana's palace was 
rocking gently, like a ship, and that was not very likely. Soon she would simply 
fall over. Oh, Rap! Rasha must be a very powerful sorceress, but she might be 
crazy, also. Was her hatred of men genuine? Had she endured the sort of 
experience she had hinted at?
Could anyone ever believe anything said around here?
Azak stepped past Inos and moved toward the door-head high, back rigid. Kade 
came to Inos's side and took her hand in a gesture that held only caution and 
sympathy. Those were not much use.
Rap! He was only a stableboy, yet he had been the only one to stay faithful. 
Even when Inos had spurned him in the forest, he had not wavered in his 
allegiance. He had endured the ordeal of the taiga for her sake, not once but 
twice. Her only loyal subject! Monarchs dreamed of loyalty like that. For Rap, 
Inos would brave even the fury of a sorceress.
She had just one arrow left in her quiver, and it might make things immeasurably 
worse, because despite what Rasha said, men as well as women could meet ordeals 
more terrible than a quick death.
"He knows a word of power!"
Rasha spun around, matronly dignity replacing nymph seduction instantly. "Who 
does?"
"Doctor Sagorn!" Inos watched the sorceress stalking back toward her like a 
hungry cat. "And Rap has one, too."
"So!" Rasha came very close, smiling dangerously. "So that was why you were 
holding hands with a stableboy? I wondered why the smell didn't bother the royal 
nose."
Queen Rasha herself reeked sickeningly of gardenia. Rap, Inos suddenly realized, 
had smelled of laundry soap, not of horses as he usually did. Which was 
irrelevant ...
"His talent doesn't work on people! Just on animals. He's a faun. "
Kade said, "Inos, dear!" in a warning tone.
Still somehow catlike, the sorceress smiled. "But words of power have side 
effects. Even one word would naturally make a man more successful at lechery; he 
would automatically collect any stray princesses around."
"That wasn't what-I've known Rap all my life! I'd trust him with-"
"More fool you!" Rasha sneered. "Don't ever trust a man, any man. Muscles, you 
stay! I'm not done with you. " Her eyes had not wandered from Inos's face; she 
had spoken to Azak without looking at him. "Men keep their brains between their 
legs. Don't you know that yet, child?"
"Not Rap! "
"Yes, Rap. " She considered Inos slyly for a moment. "Maybe I will fetch him for 
you! I could show you his real colors."
"Don't believe her!" Azak shouted from the door. "She can inflame any man to 
madness!"
Rasha raised her eyes to glare at him. She did not seem to do anything more, but 
the young giant screamed, clutched his belly, and fell writhing on the floor.
"Brute! " Rasha muttered, then went back to studying Inos. Azak was thrashing 
and whimpering. Inos had heard tales of animals caught in traps trying to chew 
off their own paws ... why was she thinking of such stories at a time like this? 
Appalled as much by the sorceress's casual indifference as by the barbarity 
itself, she fought in vain for words.
"No," the sultana said. "They're all after the same thing, and nothing else."
"Not Rap! "
Rasha seemed to grow taller, and her eyes redder. "You think so? What do you 
know of life, Little Palace Flower?"
"Enough!" Inos shouted. "I was about to be married to a man I loved and I saw 
him transformed into a monster!"
"Inos!" Kade said sharply.
"At twelve I was sold to a monster. He was old. He oozed."
"I watched my father die! "
"When I was younger than you I watched my babies die!"
"I crossed the taiga in winter!"
"I was cook on a fishing boat for five men. Can you guess what that was like, 
Butterfly?"
Kade was clucking like a panicky hen at Inos's side. To yell at a sorceress was 
certainly rash, but Inos ignored the warnings. Yet she didn't think she was 
going to win this crazy shouting match. Rasha sounded like one of the fishwives 
on the docks at Krasnegar, an expert.
"I can't help what happened to you!" Inos bellowed, louder still. "But you could 
help me now!"
Azak was still sobbing and squirming in agony on the floor, disregarded by 
everyone.
"Help you?" The sorceress glared. "Help your stableboy lover, you mean?"
Inos dropped her eyes. It was hopeless! Oh, Rap!
"On the other hand . . ." Rasha said more softly. "Which one was Sagorn?"
"The old man. "
"One of the sequential set? But they must share memories, so they all know it? "
Inos nodded, looking up with sudden hope.
"Interesting!" Rasha had reverted to her matronly, queenly guise, which was 
encouraging. "A matched set with a word of power! That could be amusing. And two 
words would be worth salvaging. Come, then, dearie, and let's see."
She started back up the stairs. Hope leaping wildly within her, Inos brushed 
past Kade, ignoring her attempts to signal warnings, following the sorceress. As 
she rounded the curve, she saw the basalt panther watching her with eyes of 
yellow onyx, gleaming bright. They seemed to follow her as she approached, but 
it remained a statue, and she ignored it, staying at Rasha's side.
Before they had quite reached the top, the sorceress stopped, holding out a hand 
to stay Inos, also. Then she advanced cautiously, one step at a time. When her 
head was level with the floor, she paused a long time, seeming to be listening, 
as she had before.
"What-" Inos said.
"Sh! All clear. . ." Apparently reassured, Rasha strode upward again. Once past 
the panther she did not turn north, toward the magic casement, but headed 
instead to the southeast, weaving between bijou divans and tables and grotesque 
carvings, until she came to a large mirror hung on the wall. It was oval, bound 
in an intricate silver frame depicting leaves and hands and numerous other 
shapes, all vaguely sinister. Even the reflections seemed oddly distorted.
Inos stared in horror at the two images she saw there, shadowed and dim. She was 
a fright-face livid, eyes staring, honey hair awry, looking for all the world 
like flotsam washed up on a rock. Rasha, meanwhile, seemed as fair and regal as 
everyone's ideal of motherhood. She was observing Inos's reaction with cool 
disdain.
Then she frowned, as if in concentration. The twin reflections faded and the 
glass darkened. Shapes moved within it. Inos gasped at this new sorcery, seeing 
the mists coalesce into the forms of imp legionaries. Soon she recognized the 
chamber at the top of Inisso's Tower, dimly lighted, with snow swirling beyond 
the panes and settling on the leading. She could make out the shattered door, 
and the throng of soldiers milling around in the thin gray light. There was no 
sound, only the vision in the glass.
"See?" the sorceress muttered. "No sign of your lover."
"He was not that! Merely a loyal subject!"
"Hah! He'd have been slobbering all over you as soon as he got the chance. They 
all do. But I don't see the goblin, either; nor one of the set. "
Inos blinked tears from her eyes.
"And look here!" Rasha said. The scene lurched sideways and steadied again. 
Several of the legionaries were leaning out the great south casement, staring 
down. "Either they had the sense to jump," Rasha said, "or they just got thrown. 
Thrown, I expect."
The scene blurred as the tears won over the blinking.
Rap and Aunt Kade-only two of her father's subjects had stayed loyal to Inos. 
And now there was only Kade.

3
Eastward, a faint glow rising from the sea was washing the stars from the sky, 
playing on waves that rolled in monotonously from the dark to lap a beach 
already shining like hammered silver. Westward, behind Rap, the jungle was 
wakening into carillons of birdsong. He had never heard melody like that.
He had never breathed such air-warn and affectionate on the skin, sweet with 
scents of sea and vegetation. The humidity stole his breath away. It made his 
head spin, seducing him like a hot bed. It felt decadent. He distrusted such 
air, and the soft warm sand, also.
Morning was coming, and he had not slept at all. His eyelids kept drooping, no 
matter how fiercely he told them to behave themselves. Not that he needed his 
eyes, for his farsight told him that no danger lurked nearby. Nothing larger 
than a raven stirred within that dense foliage, and whatever those jeweled birds 
might be, they were not ravens. He had already scanned carefully as far as he 
could reach, satisfying himself that the forest was not merely deserted, it was 
impenetrable, a tangle of lush vines, succulent leaves, and nasty fleshy 
flowers. It teemed with bugs and snakes. He had never known trees so huddled, 
nor so varied.
Three young men stranded on a beach ... Oppressed by the sticky warmth after the 
brittle chill of Krasnegar, they had all stripped off their heavy clothes. Imp 
and faun sat with aims on knees; the goblin was stretched out on his back. They 
had established that they had nothing-no money and no weapon except Little 
Chicken's stone dagger. They had no idea where they were.
Rap had just finished telling Thinal of his two earlier encounters with Bright 
Water, witch of the north. He was certain that it had been the voice of the old 
goblin woman that had summoned Little Chicken to the casement and thus brought 
all three of them here-wherever here was.
Thinal made a shivery noise. "She's not around now, though, is she? I mean, you 
can't farsee her?"
"No. But she doesn't always show to my farsight, even when my eyes can see her. 
" Rap brooded a moment, and then said, "Is it true she's mad?"
Thinal squealed. "Don't say such things! " He whimpered. "Why not? She's either 
not here or she's spying on us, and that's not polite. "
"Polite? Rap, witches and warlocks don't give a spit about polite! "
"But do sorcerers lose their power as they grow old? If she's three hundred 
years old and she's been one of the Four for ... how long? "
"Dunno." Thinal had turned surly, hunched very small. "You wanna talk that sort 
of thing, then I'll call Sagorn."
"No! "
They sat for a while, staring at the ever-rolling waves.
Little Chicken must have been following at least some of the story, for he 
muttered sleepily, "Why Bright Water call me, not you?"
"I don't know," Rap said. "It's certainly you she's watching over. She keeps 
warning me not to hurt you."
Little Chicken chuckled softly, raising goosebumps on Rap's skin, despite the 
sticky heat.
But Rap could not deny that being magicked to Zark was preferable to being 
chopped up by a platoon of angry imps. When there was enough light for the 
others to see, then they all must go in search of something to eat. He was 
impatient to be on his way, angry with himself for feeling so concerned about 
food and sleep when he had more important worries. His failure to aid Inos was 
maddening-he would never forgive himself. She had cried out to him, and he had 
stupidly fallen over, flat on his back like a moron, helpless in the sorceress's 
entrancement. It was easy enough for Thinal to say that no man could have 
resisted such a spell, but that was small comfort to Rap. He had failed Inos, 
his lawful queen, his friend, his . . . his queen.
"Tell me about Zark, Thinal. Have any of you ever been here?"
The thief brooded in silence for a while and then muttered, "I hope this is 
Zark."
Rap grunted.
"Rap, I was wrong. Don't be mad at me, Rap?"
"You said palm trees meant djinns, and djinns meant Zark!"
"Yes, out not those palms. "
Rap glanced up, with eyes and with farsight, to where the frondy trees were 
clearly visible now, dancing in a pewter sky. A wide belt of them flanked the 
edge of the sand as far as he could scan in both directions. The jungle growth 
behind them was different: matted, denser. "What about them?"
"There are two sorts of palm trees. These are coconut. "
"The djinn type grows dates. They're very alike, Rap, and it was dark! I 
couldn't help it!"
Just when you think things are bad, they always get worse. "Then where are we?"
"Hear the birdsong? The dawn chorus?"
Rap could hardly avoid hearing it, even over the rush of the surf. It was 
glorious, still increasing as new entrants added layer after layer of song to 
the symphony. One of the innkeepers in Krasnegar had owned a canary and there 
had been larks in the hills. Ravens croaked, geese honked, and seagulls cried, 
but this was birdsong on a scale he had never dreamed of. Inos would love it. 
"You've heard it before?"
"Sagorn did," Thinal said. "Once. Long ago. I mean, there's lots of places where 
birds sing . . . "
"But not like this? Where?"
"Faerie. It has to be Faerie. Sounds right. Even smells right." Faerie was an 
island, Rap knew, and there was something mysterious about it. "Ardor's been 
there."
"Andor!" Thinal spat. "No, he hasn't. It was Sagorn, when he was much younger. A 
lot of those stories that Andor told you were really of the others. We share 
memories, remember."
Rap growled angrily at the thought of Andor and his lies. "They ... we ... can't 
help it," Thinal said, whining as he did if Rap so much as frowned at him. "I 
mean ... Well, he remembers Sagorn being here, so when he talks about it, he 
would say it was him. " He fell silent for a while, then added, "It doesn't make 
any difference, really. "
It did make a sort of sense, though. Sagorn had spent a lifetime in search of 
magic, seeking to understand the workings of the words of power. If Faerie had a 
reputation for being somehow uncanny, then he might very well have decided to 
visit it. "How far is Faerie from Zark?"
Silence.
"Thinal," Rap said gently, "I'm not going to bite you. I won't even shout. But I 
do need your help! You know so much more than I do."
Thinal was flattered. "Well ... Faerie's 'way west. Krasnegar's north. And 
Zark's east ... and south, I think. "
After a minute he whimpered, "Sorry, Rap."
"Not your fault. We didn't have much choice, anyway, did we?"
"But I should have known. Where Inos went there was daylight, wasn't there? And 
here was still dark. So she went east and we went west. "
"Huh?" Rap was only an ignorant clerk, a glorified stableboy. He wondered if 
Thinal could read and write, and reminded himself that there was probably more 
to the little thief than he showed, or perhaps believed himself. His despicable 
whimpering was pure habit, part of his professional expertise.
"Pandemia's very big, see?" Thinal sighed. "Dawn doesn't come at the same time 
everywhere. Must get to Zark long before it gets to Faerie. "
Much worse! So the problem was not just how to find Inos and help her. The 
problem was how to get to Zark, and then find Inos and help her. So now there 
was no great urgency, and Rap was furious to discover that just knowing that 
made him feel much sleepier. Waves fell and rushed up the gleaming sand and died 
with a tiny hiss. Then the next ... It was hypnotic, soporific.
"But why would Bright Water have brought me here?" he demanded.
But it had been Little Chicken the goblin witch had rescued; Thinal and Rap had 
merely come along for the ride.
"How should I know?" Thinal sniffed. "I'm dumb, Rap. Just a dumb cutpurse. A 
city slicker, an alley thief ... useless in the wilds. You wanna talk smart 
stuff, I'll call Sagorn."
"No, don't! I don't trust Sagorn."
The surprise of Thinal's face was visible even to mundane vision now-a 
nondescript imp face, young and unpleasantly spotted with acne; a pinched face; 
ratty and worried. His ribs stuck out. He was skinny as a ferret, but what would 
a professional thief know of honest labor? He was as puny beside Rap as Rap was 
beside the husky goblin.
"You can trust Sagorn! The king told Inos that. Andor's a twister, and Darad 
would tear you apart. But Sagorn has honor. "
"No!" Rap shouted. Lack of sleep was making him shorttempered, and that sudden 
insight made him angrier still. He lowered his voice. "Maybe the king could 
trust Sagorn. They were old friends. Maybe Sagorn wouldn't cheat Inos, for her 
father's sake-but he's got no scruples about me. "
Thinal mused for a moment. "No, he hasn't. Sorry, Rap. I didn't think. I'm a 
fool. "
When Sagorn had been in Krasnegar, ministering to the sick king, Andor had been 
there, also, alternatively. Andor had been cultivating Rap, befriending him in 
the hope of wheedling his word of power out of him. Sagorn must have known what 
Andor had been doing when he was present, yet Sagorn had kept on calling him 
back.
"Besides," Rap said, "you have Sagorn's memories, don't you? So you know what he 
knows."
"It don't work like that," Thinal said glumly. "He's a lot smarter'n me, a whole 
lot smarter. He understands more."
"I don't see why."
The skeletal shoulders shrugged. "Well, I can remember all the years he spent 
sniffing around libraries. But the books themselves I can't recall like he can. 
They don't make sense to me. Think of Jalon. I hear a tune whistled or sung-I 
don't remember it much. No more'n you would. But Jalon would know it, and be 
able to sing it next time he's around. He'd ring changes on it and craft a great 
ballad out of it. We each have our own tricks. Like the djinn said, we're a 
matched set-artist, scholar, lover, and fighter. All you've got in me is a 
common dip, and there's small pickings hereabouts."
"Sagorn said that you were the leader."
Thinal pouted and looked guilty. "Long ago! He meant I got the bunch of us into 
the mess; it was my idea to break into Orarinsagu's house. Anyway, that was 
years ago. We were all kids. I still am." He turned his face away.
After a moment, Rap said, "Why are you? I know-because you don't exist as often, 
or as long. So you don't age. But why's that? Don't the others call you?"
Thinal wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Sometimes. If one of them is 
hungry, or needs something that can be stolen, I'll help out."
"But you don't stay around. You call him back in your place right away. Why?"
There was a long silence then, while Thinal stared at the sea, weedy chin 
resting on spindle arms. Finally he said softly, " 'Cause I'm no good, Rap. 
That's why."
Rap's head felt stuffed with feathers, but he knew he needed Thinal and must not 
let him disappear. "Bunk! " he said. "Right now, I'd much rather have you here 
than any of the others." Thinal's eyes widened and he smiled shyly, showing 
teeth as crooked as a stork's nest. "Really?"
"Really! I can't trust any of them-not even Jalon, can I?" Thinal sniggered. 
"He'd get lost in listening to the birds. And he might very well call Darad. Of 
all of us, he's the most likely to call Darad. No, not even Jalon."
That was a great pity. If Rap could only enlist the willing help of Thinal and 
his four optional replacements, then he would have a whole gang of useful 
helpers. Five specialists, strengthened by a word of power, a handful of men. He 
wondered if he dared offer a bargain, remembering how Sagorn had said that their 
one common purpose was to collect enough magic to be freed from the spell that 
bound them. They would do anything to learn another word of power, so Rap could 
offer to share his in return for theirs. It would be ironic if Thinal was the 
one to gain Rap's word, after the other four had all tried to steal it without 
success. Now that Rap knew what his word was, he could share it if he wished.
Certainly he must keep Thinal friendly. "Well, then! So promise me, will 
you-promise that you'll not call any of the others without warning me?"
Looking flattered, Thinal nodded and accepted Rap's offer of a handshake. His 
forgers were unusually long, his palm soft. Rap's own attitude toward occult 
power had just changed. Up until now even his farsight and his mastery over 
animals had been more than he wanted, but with Inos in the clutches of a 
sorceress, new rules applied. The more magic the better now! Anyone who knew a 
single word of power was a genius at whatever his talent was. Knowing two words 
made a man an adept, a genius at anything. So Andor and Sagorn had said, but did 
he really trust either of them?
He was too fogged by weariness to decide now. He must not open any doors yet. An 
admitted thief like Thinal would just take Rap's word and then not tell his 
own-the temptation would be irresistible. And even if he didn't cheat, one day 
he or one of the others would certainly call Darad. Then the warrior would come 
after Rap and knot his neck, as he had killed the woman in Fal Dornin. Thus he 
could gain the rest of the power from both words, becoming a more powerful 
adept. Sharing with Thinal would be suicide.
Rap's eyelids closed. Angrily he jumped to his feet and rubbed them open again. 
"It's light enough!" he said. "Let's go!" The little imp shot him a scowl. "Go 
where?"
"Breakfast. We'll starve here. North or south?"
Thinal didn't know. Little Chicken wanted to go north, because it was 
homeward-his grasp of geography was even worse than Rap's-but north was as 
likely as south to bring them to some sort of habitation. They ripped themselves 
loincloths from King Holindarn's robe, and set off along the beach.
Thinal kept edging seaward. "You're casing the jungle, I hope?" he asked Rap 
anxiously.
"There's nothing there but birds and lizards and things. What did you expect? 
People?"
"Headhunters!" For a moment he showed the whites of his eyes. "And monsters: 
griffins and harpies and hippogriffs!"
"They're not home at the moment." The coming of daylight had revealed a wide, 
shallow bay, with beaches curving smoothly away north and south to headlands so 
distant that even the tall palm trees at their tips were barely visible. There 
were no signs of life, either human or monstrous. Nothing moved on land or sea, 
at the moment. Why would Bright Water have moved her precious Little Chicken to 
a refuge so isolated?
"Faerie's an island?"
Thinal hesitated. "Andor probably told you more than I can remember, Rap. He's 
the tourist. Fin the lifter."
"He said something about a town. Only one, I think. Milsomething?"
"Milfior!" Thinal grinned at this triumph. "We can get on a ship there?"
Thinal frowned warily. "I dunno. Certainly you can get on a ship. The trouble 
would be getting off. Where're you thinking of going?"
"lark, of course."
Thinal trudged over the sand in silence for a moment. Then he burst out, "It'll 
take months, Rap! Probably years. You got any idea how big Pandemia is? And that 
djmn sorceress may magic Inos right back to Krasnegar by lunchtime."
Rap's heart sank. "What else can I do? I must try to help her!"
"Go to Hub, maybe? Hub knows everything, and it's in the middle. You can find 
out there where Inos is and from Hub you can go anywhere. You can call on the 
imperor, or the witch of the north, if she's a friend of yours." He sniggered. 
"Or ask the imperial marshal why his legions marched on Krasnegar?"
"Queen Rasha used occult power on the legionaries!" Thinal sucked his teeth 
loudly. "So she did! You think that'll rouse the wardens? Treading on East's 
turf?"
Certainly that seemed possible to Rap, but almost any schoolboy in Hub would 
understand occult politics better than he did. And would the Four care enough 
about Inos even to rescue her, let alone put her on her throne? The 
wardens-three warlocks and one witch-were the occult guardians of all Pandemia. 
What sort of people were they? What were their real motives?
At that moment, the sun hooked a fiery finger over the horizon. The sky had 
unobtrusively turned itself blue.
"Go to Krasnegar! " Little Chicken growled. "Find woman back there." His 
khaki-hued skin was slick with sweat already. "You'd like a good roll in the 
snow, wouldn't you?"
The goblin grunted. Rap went back to prying information out of the imp.
"How about the fairyfolk? Andor said he didn't meet any. He meant Sagorn, didn't 
he?"
"Yeah. They're rare now." Thinal halted and peered all around, shielding his 
eyes from the sun with a skinny hand. The first two fingers on it were of equal 
length. He evidently found nothing and began to walk again. "And dangerous, too. 
Headhunters, it's said." He stopped, frowning. "Lots of troops in Milfior . . ."
"What's wrong?" Rap asked. "Just ... something odd. . ."
"Faerie, you mean? What sort of odd?"
Thinal scratched his unkempt mop of hair vigorously. "I don't know. Why would 
the Impire guard Faerie so closely just because it's dangerous to visit? Why 
post troops to protect tourists from monsters and natives? There's no guards 
around Dragon Reach."
Rap felt suspicious. "Odd? What sort of odd? Whose idea is that? Sagorn's? Andor 
never mentioned that. "
Thinal's feral features were suddenly completely blank. "Nothing. Just a city 
boy jumpy in the jungle."
"Out with it!"
"Nothing, Rap."
"I thought we were partners? We shook hands."
"Yeah. Sorry, Rap! But it's really nothing. I just get sneaky instincts when I 
see something being guarded." He smiled shamedly. "I'm a thief, see?"
"So?"
Thinal laughed uneasily. "I getta sorta itch when I'm near something worth 
lifting. I nearly went batty when Andor called me to Kinvale. He needed me to 
thieve a special brooch, but I wanted to loot buckets, and-"
"What," Rap demanded, "is worth stealing here?"
The lump in the thief's scrawny throat jumped. "Nothing I can see! Maybe I'm 
just going weird. Scary!"
He didn't look scared, though-he looked excited. Had he sensed that Rap's word 
of power was available in a way it had not been earlier? Rap could think of 
nothing else around that was worth any more than one stone dagger. He shrugged 
and kept walking.
"Thirsty!" Little Chicken complained, glaring sideways at Rap as if it were his 
fault.
"Coconuts?" Apparently Thinal understood some of his dialect, but of course 
Darad had spent time among the goblins. "You can get milk out of green coconuts. 
The dagger'll open them. Not the ones on the ground. Them up there."
"I couldn't climb those trees!" Rap protested loudly. Changing direction and 
trudging toward the nearest palms, Little Chicken ostentatiously flexed his 
thick shoulders and spat on his hands. He welcomed any chance to demonstrate 
Rap's inferiority-which was what Rap had expected.
"Quick!" he said, grabbing Thinal's bony shoulder to stop him following. "Tell 
me! Little Chicken insists he's my trash, but-"
"Oh? You're a slaveowner'7"
Rap felt his face grow hot. "Not my idea! He thinks it's his duty to look after 
me-feed me, and even dress me. Not much else. I know he'll defend me in a 
fight."
Thinal peered at him slyly. "Who wiped the imp?"
Rap's stomach heaved at the memory. "He did. Yggingi drew his sword and 
threatened me. He ignored Little Chicken, I suppose because he knew that goblins 
aren't dangerous." Little Chicken had taken the proconsul from behind, 
body-slammed him, applied a brutal headlock, and then slowly sawn through his 
neck with the stone dagger. Even while that had been happening, though, Yggingi 
had been trying to reach his fallen sword and Rap had kicked it out of the way. 
So he had been an accomplice.
After a couple of hard gulps, he added, "But I don't know if he was defending me 
then, or avenging all the goblins Yggingi killed. He won't run errands. "
Thinal nodded, frowning at the sand. "He wasn't gentle with Darad. That hurt-I 
know! All this because you wouldn't torture--"
"Yes. Darad has goblin tattoos-"
"Don't tell me!" Thinal pulled a face.
"But he must know! Little Chicken's waiting for some signal or other, from the 
Gods. When he gets that, then he's released from bondage and free to kill me, as 
slowly and painfully as he can."
"They're a gruesome pack." Thinal picked his nose for a while in silence. "I 
ought to know, Rap ... but I don't. Darad wasn't interested in the slave thing. 
"
"He enjoyed the alternative?"
Thinal shuddered. "Yes. Gods! I still dream about what he did to that boy. 
Trouble with Darad, he's been banged on the head so often a lot of his details 
are fuzzy to me. To him, too." He pondered a while longer. "I think ... it may 
be something like saving your life. Yeah! Never let the goblin save your life. "
Rap started to laugh. The little thief looked at him in surprise, realized what 
he had said, and grinned ruefully, again showing his irregular teeth.
The conversation was cut off by a yell from Little Chicken. Faun and imp ran 
across to where he was sitting in the sand at the base of a tree, cursing 
intently. He had badly scraped his belly and one thigh, and seemed also to have 
twisted an ankle when he landed. His opinions on palm trees were fortunately 
being expressed in dialect so broad as to be unintelligible even to Rap.
Thinal walked along to another tree nearby and flowed up it like a squirrel. In 
seconds he had reached the top and was twisting off coconuts. Little Chicken's 
tirade died away and he glared up disbelievingly at the despicably weedy imp. 
Then he glared even harder at Rap's smirk.
Burglars had their uses.

3
In the more than eighty years since Sagorn had visited Faerie, Thinal's memories 
of the event had become vague. He was fairly sure that Milflor lay somewhere on 
this eastern coast, but he had no idea whether the castaways were right to head 
north.
The jungle contained nothing any of them recognized as edible, but they chewed 
coconut and drank the milk until they were nauseated, longing for fresh water. 
Even under the palms there was little shade, and already the sun was brutal.
The goblin had an old pair of moccasins that old Hononin had found for him two 
days before, but he limped and he had lost his smug air of unworried 
superiority. Maybe his twisted ankle was more painful than he would admit, or he 
was suffering from the tropical climate, or the unfamiliar surroundings 
frightened him-or all three. He was no longer the skilled woodsman who had 
shielded Rap in the taiga.
Rap limped, also, being pinched by his borrowed boots. Faun half-breeds were not 
as heat resistant as he would have hoped. Thinal was in worse shape than either 
of the other two. Andor's silver-buckled shoes would have been too large for his 
brother even when new and they had been split apart by Darad's enormous feet. 
Thinal soon threw them away and struggled along barefoot over the sand, his 
skinny legs laboring harder than they had done in a hundred years.
The headland seemed to withdraw as they advanced. It was hours before the beach 
had turned to face south and Rap began to notice the jungle narrowing. His 
farsight told him there was only more sand beyond the cape, but farsight's range 
was limited. At last the jungle faded away and there were only palms left. Soon 
his eyes could see through them, to another wide bay, as vast and deserted as 
the first. He had not known there was so much sand in the world.
On the point itself, sand gave way to rock. Rap and the goblin sank down and 
leaned back against boulders. Thinal was trailing, several hundred paces back, 
already looking boiled and mashed, as Rap's mother would have said.
"We should leave him!"
Rap smiled, for that had been a credible attempt at impish, although spoken with 
a heavy goblin accent. "We mustn't! "
"Why? Him ... he ... worse trash than me."
"Because he might give up and call Darad. "
Little Chicken scowled, then nodded understanding. Darad's arm would still be 
bleeding from the bites of Rap's dog, his back burned raw, and his eye bruised 
by the goblin's finger. Even in a good mood, the giant would not be a welcome 
companion. Mad, he would be literal murder.
Thinal arrived and sank wearily to the ground. He slumped back against a palm, 
and yelped when it scraped him.
Rap let him rest for a while before he spoke. "There are mountains. "
Thinal twisted around to stare at the peaks now visible over the jungle. "So?"
"You can't recall seeing those from Milflor?"
"No." Thinal wiped his brow with a bony arm and brooded in sulky silence.
So Milflor was some way off yet. North or south? There seemed to be no way of 
telling. Rap's feet hurt already and the thought of retracing all those steps 
was unbearable. He decided to continue north. If the coast swung westward, then 
he would know they had made the wrong choice.
Offshore lay a reef, and from the headland he could hear the surf quite clearly 
and see pillars of spray walking along it as the waves advanced. Faerie would be 
a glorious place, he thought, with proper water and food and shelter. For a 
moment he let himself sink into a fantasy of this beach and those warm waves and 
a picnic with ... with a beautiful girl. God of Lovers!how she would enjoy this 
place!
His head lolled sideways. He jerked it upright. "Come on, then!" He rose.
Thinal had also been dozing. He snarled. "What's the piddling hurry?"
"I have to find Inos."
Thinal patted the sand. "Siddown, Rap. Listen. I know you won't trow this, but 
you're potty. She's in the hands of a sorceress, and an all-fired, real, 
four-word sorceress at that! She's somewhere on the far side of Pandemia-east or 
north, an' you don't know. An' you find her, if you ever, she'll be a grannie, 
and you'll be older'n Sagorn. Come on, Rap! Lay off!"
"I am going to find Inos!"
Thinal stared up at him balefully. "I know you're stubbornbut that's screwball! 
You don't know what you're saying."
"Coming?" Rap said. "Or will you stay here and starve?" For a moment it seemed 
that Thinal was not coming. Then Little Chicken rose and stretched.
"You try better now, imp," he said, spooning out his words with care. "More 
later I carry you. "
Glaring, Thinal heaved himself to his feet and began hobbling over the sand.
They headed north. They had hours of daylight left yet. Waves marched in to die 
upon the beach-wave after wave after wave ...
Behind the veil:
When you and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last, Which of our Coming and 
Departure heeds As the Sea's self should heed a pebble cast. Fitzgerald, The 
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§47, 1879)


TWO
This day's madness

1
Sunlight gleaming along marble wakened Inos. For a moment she stared up blankly 
at gauzy draperies, striving to separate out their soft reality from bitter 
dreams of the tent she had shared with Kade in the long weeks of trek through 
the forest. Then awareness returned with a rush-death and sorcery; betrayal and 
bereavement.
But reality was not all sorrow. It was an unfamiliar silken nightgown soft on 
her skin; it was gossamer sheets and a bed that could have held a family of 
peasants and their livestock, also; it was high-arched windows imprisoning 
cutouts of peacock-blue sky. Also, it was morning; she must have slept the clock 
around. She had vague memories of being awake in darkness, memories of fear and 
grief, and she repressed those quickly. Had there been a tray of food beside the 
bed? She raised herself on an elbow and peered. There was no food there now, if 
there ever had been, but there was a small bronze gong.
Palace life might be very enjoyable, but her kingdom had been stolen from her, 
and she must see about getting it back. Besides, she had never been more hungry 
in her life. Parting the draperies, she reached out and tapped the gong quietly, 
with a knuckle.
The reaction was immediate and almost embarrassing. A lanky woman swathed in 
black swept in through the doorway, hastened across the soft rugs, and sank to 
her knees; abasing herself as if Inos were a God.
"Good morning," Inos said cheerfully. "This is tomorrow, isn't it? Who are you?"
The woman raised herself to sit on her heels. She was old, her face deeply 
scored, and a tiny wisp of white hair peeking from below her head covering of 
snowy white. Her gnarled brown fingers glittered with gems, so she was no minor 
flunky. She might be a housekeeper, except she bore no keys.
"I am Zana, may it please your Majesty." Majesty? Oh, Father!
"what are the chances of something to eat?" Inos inquired hastily. "And possibly 
even some hot water?"
About once an hour for weeks and weeks, she had been promising herself a hot 
bath at the earliest possible opportunity. She might have offered half her 
kingdom for one, had soap and towels been included. Inos had crossed the frozen 
wastes on a flood of imaginary hot water, but her wildest longings had never 
come close to envisioning the long-delayed consummation of her dream as it now 
appeared.
She was conducted deferentially along a corridor to a meadow-size bathroom 
containing a gigantic green marble tub. A team of black-draped maidens stood 
ready to assist, and before Inos could explain that she was quite capable of 
attending to herself, they were applying soap and oil, scents, powders, and 
ointments. Even music! Kinvale had never approached this.
Holy writ might claim that there was evil in every good, but Inos could find no 
evil in that bathtub except that she was too hungry to stay in it for another 
month. Robed at last in cool flowing garments of ivory silk, with her hair 
encased in lace and her feet in golden sandals, she was led along bright, airy 
corridors toward a promise of breakfast. Her way wound past high arched windows 
offering vistas of a great city tumbling away in layers down a steep hillside. 
The shiny blue bay beyond was speckled with sails. Krasnegar was a fleabite 
compared to this place, and its palace a chicken coop ...
Crazy-given the choice, she would take that shabby little arctic rock pile every 
time!
Then she came to a garden, enclosed by shrubbery, high walls, and an air of 
secrecy. Branches overhead cast hard black shadows, dappling grass so smooth 
that it must in truth be a green velvet tablecloth, and the flowers could only 
be silk, or possibly enameled gold. The sky was a fierce blue, the sun deadly, 
and the swiftly swooping birds were colored like nothing Inos had ever imagined.
And talking of birds ... in a grotesquely domed gazebo of fretted marble, Aunt 
Kade sat like a caged dove, calmly nibbling sliced peaches.
Gold lace lay over her snowy hair, but otherwise she, too, was enveloped in 
white. Inos recalled far-0ff days of helping Ido in the palace laundry, when 
sometimes they had draped themselves m sheets to play at being wraiths of evil.
Then Kade looked up. Relief flashed in her faded blue eyes and she made as if to 
stand.
"Don't!" Inos said hurriedly and stooped to give her a kiss. They held each 
other for a moment-dear Aunt Kade, who ought not be bouncing around the world in 
such sinister adventuring, who should be settling in comfortably at Kinvale, 
good for another thirty years of fruitless knitting and conspiratorial 
matchmaking.
"You look very ... austere," Inos said, tactfully not mentioning wraiths. "I 
haven't felt like this since the masquerade ball."
"I 'm sure you would win a prize now, dear." Aunt Kade's inevitable good cheer 
was still present, and only a very close scrutiny suggested that it might be a 
little forced. Her pink cheeks were perhaps not quite so pink as usual.
"Best of Breed anyway." Inos released her. "This is a very pleasant dungeon, is 
it not?"
"Most genteel!" Kade in turn was carefully inspecting her niece for signs of 
wear. "Like something out of a fairy tale. "
"Angilki would turn green."
"He would raze Kinvale to the ground and start over. I take it that you slept 
well, my deal"
Mutual scrutiny completed, Inos settled on a chair as it was moved for her by 
one of the tall young servants. "I must have. I don't remember a thing." No need 
to dwell on tears in the night. "And you?"
"Very well. I looked in on you a couple of times, but you were out cold as ice 
floes." Just for a moment there was a hint there of an old lady who had been 
worried about someone. Then it had gone. "This melon is delicious. The coffee is 
stronger than we are used to, but there are fruits and pastries; and this fish, 
while unfamiliar . . ."
Inos glanced at Zana. "All of it," she said firmly.
The garden was shaded by trees she could not identify, and enclosed by marble 
trellises. The dome of the sky was an incredible cobalt, the flowers much too 
brilliant to be genuine.
Then, just to confirm the unreality, a thing like a jeweled insect floated for a 
moment above the table before InOs s startled eyes. She had barely time to 
decide that it was a tiny bird before it had vanished in a flash of rainbow. She 
began her survey again, looking around, trying to adjust to this unworldly 
setting, trying to believe that this was all real and that she had not somehow 
been transmuted into a hand-tinted lithograph in a romance.
Unfamiliar delicacies were laid before her on dishes of translucent china, and 
she attacked them with zeal. They were all just as delicious as they looked. Yet 
her mind kept chewing away at her troubles. Father dead. Rap dead. Andor an 
imposter. An army of occupation in Krasnegar, and another about to invade. Her 
claim to the throne rejected by the leading citizens. And what could she 
possibly do about it all, stuck here at the other end of the world?
The black-clothed maidens had floated away. Zana hovered discreetly in the 
distance.
"We certainly cannot complain about the hospitality," Aunt Kade remarked. Her 
eyes flickered a warning.
"Yes, I think I could learn to tolerate this," Inos muttered between mouthfuls, 
decoding: ConWlaints may be overheard. She ate swiftly, and in thoughtful 
silence. Again she wished she had listened more carefully to Master Poraganu 
droning away her childhood. She could recall nothing of Zark, and all she knew 
about djinns was summed up in one piece of folklore she had overheard in 
Kinvale: As honest as a jinn.
But how, exactly, was that comment meant to be taken? Every race had its 
stereotypes, however unfair those might be in particular cases. A dirty child 
would be called a filthy little gnome, or a man as strong as a troll. Usually 
such remarks were meant to be taken literally-mean as a dwarf-but some were 
ironic. An imp's secret was common knowledge. Gentle as a drunken Jotunn? And 
another she had learned at Kinvale: Tell it to a faun. What did Honest as a 
djinn really mean?
Well, Inos could hardly ask her aunt that now. "Have you ... have you spoken 
with the sultana?"
"No, dear. But I expect she will be informed that you are awake now. "
Again there was a curious rhythm in the words. Ladies at Kinvale soon learned 
how to pass silent messages under meaningless conversation, especially warnings. 
Aunt Kade was repeating her caution that a sorceress could inform herself. Talk 
could always be overheard-anywhere, at any time. Inos munched for a while in 
silence. But a sorceress could probably mead thoughts, also.
"Imagine me sleeping round the clock! I wonder what they're doing in Kras-"
Oh, that had been stupid! She smiled apologetically at her aunt. Today in 
Krasnegar there would be a royal funeral. For a moment, blue eyes and green eyes 
communed in silence-it had been a release. His pain was over. All things include 
both the Evil and the Good. Inos had been able to say good-bye, and that was 
what mattered. That was why she and Kade had endured the terrible journey 
through the forest. Funerals were not very important. At the last weighing his 
soul would have prospered, the balance gone to join the Good. King Holindarn 
would have left no wraith of evil to haunt the world.
And Inos had given him a promise.
She attempted a smile. "Politically, I mean, of course. I wonder what is 
happening politically in Krasnegar now? "
Kade fumbled with a snowy linen napkin. "The Powers alone know! If Doctor Sagorn 
was correct, then the imps will all run away before the jotnar arrive. They may 
be back across the causeway already. " She did not look pleased at the prospect, 
but the fact that she would even admit to having thought about it showed that 
she was concerned.
If the Imperial troops had gone, then Krasnegar's own imps and jotnar might well 
be at one another's throats by now. The jotnar would likely win hands down, 
given a fair fight, but the fight would not be fair, for the legionaries were 
imps, and they would surely tip the scales before leaving. And when the jotnar 
of Nordland eventually arrived to put Thane Kalkor on her father's throne-her 
throne!-then the tip would go the other way.
Or the imp half of the population might have fled with the Imperial forces, a 
tragic band of refugees. Or the imps might have driven the jotunn half out into 
the snow. Families sundered, friends become enemies ... or ... or ...
Inos realized that she had stopped eating. Her hands could not keep the food 
moving, because her teeth had clenched. "I promised Father I would do what I 
could! I must go back! "
"I am sure that Sultana Rasha will be willing to advise us," Kade said solemnly, 
"and possibly even assist us. "
Us? Me!
Inos thought back to the strange scenes of yesterday. "I'm not sure I like the 
thought of being utterly dependent on the sympathy of a former scarlet woman. "
"Inos!"
"Do you doubt that ... that ... he ... "
"Mistress Zana refers to him as `the Big Man.' "
"Thank you. Do you doubt that the Big Man's description was truthful? "
"I don't think, as guests, we should give credence to vulgar gossip!" Aunt Kade 
assumed a very prim expression that Inos both recognized and detested; she had 
seen it often during her first few months in Kinvale, but not much lately.
"The fact remains," Kade said, "that we are her guests."
"I am Queen of Krasnegar!"
"No, you're not! You claim to be, which is not the same thing at all. You know 
no more about politics than I do, and you don't have an army up your sleeve. Her 
Majesty rescued us from the imps and has provided this superb hospitality. 
Certainly we must trust her judgment and good intentions." Kade took a sip of 
coffee as if that settled the matter.
Inos resumed her meal with a show of calm that she found unexpectedly tricky.
Furthermore, Kade added, "you did not exactly go out of your way to enlist her 
sympathy at your last meeting." Recalling the rowdy scene in the dome, Inos was 
aghastshouting, arguing? God of Fools! "No! I was no credit to your training, 
dear Aunt!"
Kade smiled approvingly at this show of repentance. "Her Majesty realized that 
you were overwrought. After all, she did take you up to see the looking glass."
Inos nodded, and nibbled. "I suppose I should be glad she didn't throw me in the 
dungeons. Or turn me into a frog?"
"Hardly! I am sure that a brief note of apology will be acceptable, and 
certainly not out of place. Apart from that, we can but wait until her Majesty 
is ready to grant us audience." Kade dabbed at her lips with her serviette and 
glanced over the table to make sure there was nothing she had missed. She sighed 
comfortably.
Certainly she had earned a rest after those awful weeks on horseback in 
subarctic cold. Perhaps it was even understandable that a woman of her age would 
be content to settle down to enjoy some decadence-but Inos was not. Write a 
letter of apology like an errant child?
Well, yes. Maybe she had better do that much. Pride would be an expensive luxury 
at the moment, and she had not been tactful. Then sit and do nothing? 
Impossible!
"What exactly happened afterward?" Inos frowned. "Everything seems very hazy 
after I'd seen the looking glass."
"She put you in a light trance, dear," Kade said. "And sent us both off to rest. 
Prince Azak guided us himself, you remember. "
"Not really. She . . . she undid whatever she had done to him? "
Kade nodded, apparently to a purple-flowered bush just outside the gazebo. "He 
seemed quite restored. A little shaky, was all."
What sort of a woman was this Rasha? She had tortured Azak barbarically, right 
before Inos's eyes. There lay some mystery that . . . "Great Gods! What's this?"
Her aunt chuckled, as if she had been waiting for that. "It's curried pineapple. 
I asked. Tasty, isn't it?"
Inos took a sip of an orange-colored draft and blinked tears away. "It ought to 
have a warning beacon on it. Mmm. Yes, not bad, when it doesn't jump out at you. 
What's pineapple?"
"A fruit, I suppose."
"Really?"
"I'm sure our stay here will be most educational. Travel is very broadening."
"Fattening, you mean?" Inos nibbled at something that tasted nutty. True, 
Sultana Rasha had been much more tolerant of Inos than of the unfortunate Azak. 
If one believed what had been said, then Rasha did not approve of men-any men at 
all.
How far could one trust a sorceress?
"You think," Inos said, "that our royal hostess would support the notion of a 
queen regnant in Krasnegar?"
Kade nodded noncommittally. "Especially if the male jotnar objected?"
"Perhaps, dear. "
"So ... if her Majesty will forgive the way I shouted at her ... then we can ask 
her to start by driving out the imperor's cohorts-I imagine a good sorceress 
could do that? Two thousand men?"
"I should think so. According to the poets, the warlock Quarlin defeated three 
armies singlehanded. Inisso built the castle in five hours, it's said." Kade 
looked smug at this efficient recall of ancient schooling.
"Well, then! Rasha can drive out the imps, and if Kalkor and his pirates sail 
in, then she can blow them away again, also?" Kade pursed her lips. "We can ask, 
dear, certainly."
"And then all we need to do is to persuade the townsfolk themselves to accept 
me! Perhaps they're now sufficiently scared by their narrow escape to be 
reasonable?"
Inos considered that program for a few moments. Somehow it lacked a sense of 
progress; it seemed to leave her back about where she had been two days before. 
"And when I explain that I didn't mean to bring the legionaries . . . " She 
paused again. "Of course a suitable husband would still be an important factor, 
I suppose," she admitted sadly. A cold wave of regret washed over her as she 
thought of Andor-not the real Andor, of course, but Andor as he had seemed to 
be. The husband problem was not going to go away.
Then she realized that her aunt was not cheering, or otherwise displaying 
patriotic enthusiasm. Inos eyed her crossly. Kade, unfortunately, did not 
recognize politics as an occupation suitable for ladies of quality.
Inos took a fruit knife and reached across the table to tap her surprised 
companion on both shoulders. "Princess Kadolan, I hereby dub thee our royal 
chancellor, chamberlain, seneschal, and ... well, that will do for today." In 
the ensuing silence, Inos heard a boy's voice say: "And I will be 
sergeant-at-arms and master-of-horse both . . ." Oh, Rap, Rap!
Kade frowned at such levity. "If I am designated your chief advisor, Queen 
Inosloan, then my advice is to restrain your ambitions until you have consulted 
Sultana Rasha."
"Why, pray?"
"Well, even though Krasnegar isn't in the Impire, I do believe there's a rule 
against using magic on the imperor's army." She settled back on her chair, 
pouting as if annoyed at having revealed even that much intelligence.
Unfortunately, on the rare occasions when Kade made a definite statement about 
anything, she was invariably correct. Rap had said something along those lines, 
too. Evil take it!
"The throne is mine by right of birth!" Inos thumped a fist on the table. "And I 
want it! Not because I think being queen of Krasnegar is any marvelous honor, 
but because I have a duty! I promised Father! Gods! If comfort is all I want, 
then I should certainly choose Kinvale-or even Arakkaran. Why should I want to 
go live in the tundra? You know that, Aunt! I've got royal blood. That's a 
ticket into almost any noble family in the Impire."
"Inos! What a disgusting-"
"It's true, and you know it! I could easily find some witless aristocratic 
husband and settle down to growing fat and making babies in luxury for the rest 
of my life-if comfort was all I wanted. But our family has always given 
Krasnegar fair, honest government. Maybe the imps and jotnar don't exactly live 
in peace together, but at least they live and let one another live. They settle 
their disagreements with knuckles, not blades. Usually. "
"Yes, dear, but-"
"But without our house to rule, the imperor and the thanes of Nordland will both 
feel bound to protect their own, and the war will start soon. If it hasn't 
started already!"
And where would it end? If the Nordland jotnar won in Krasnegar, the imps might 
seek retribution against any other jotnar they could find, and there were jotnar 
scattered along every coast in Pandemia. If the imps won, then the Nordlanders 
might start their raidings again, as they had done periodically throughout 
history-as they still did, in a small way, all the time.
The trouble was, Inos decided angrily, that she had been cheated. Had she been a 
boy, then she would have been taught politics and strategy and tactics. She 
would not have been sent to needlework classes at Kinvale, but to fencing 
lessons. She might even have attended the Imperial Military Academy in Hub-her 
father had spent time there. Not singing madrigals, but drilling soldiers! Not 
the ladylike art of conversation, but intrigue, machinations, and unscrupulous 
scheming-those were what she needed! She knew nothing about sorcery or imperial 
politics or Arakkaran's relationship with the Impire. She wasn't even quite sure 
where Arakkaran was. In Zark, yes, but where was Zark? Bottom right, with 
Krasnegar top left ... Master Poraganu, why did you not make me listen better?
"You are not quite of age, yet, dear."
"I am a queen!"
"You are not behaving like one," Kade said sharply. "At the moment you are a 
penniless refugee in a very distant land. Sultana Rasha is your only hope. And 
even if she is willing to help, as she promised, good manners require that you 
show decent gratitude for what she has already done, and also wait a reasonable 
time before you start pestering her. "
Inos glared; her aunt glared back-and Kade's normally mild and rather watery 
blue eyes were capable of chilling into a very icy stare at times.
Suddenly Inos was back in Kinvale again, a much grander version of Kinvale. She 
was not of age, true. She was penniless, also true. Helpless-not a friend ...
Then an interesting idea began to take shape. Not all of the skills she had 
gained at Kinvale were completely useless; now might be the moment to apply 
some. There was one person around who would certainly know a great deal more 
than she did about magic and politics and their dangerous combinations; even if 
he was a barbarian at heart. If you don't ask, you don't learn.
Evil! That had been one of Rap's many little homilies. Rap had always had more 
proverbs than the sea had fish. HeForget Rap! The point was that Azak could be a 
valuable and disinterested advisor, if he chose to be. His views on Rasha 
herself would certainly be informative-there was no love lost there, obviously. 
And Inos thought she knew how to supply motivation in such cases. There were no 
official lessons in that art at Kinvale, but in practice it came ahead of 
anything on the curriculum.
Kade might not approve, especially if she suspected Rasha would not.
Inos made a decision. "I am rightful Queen of Krasnegar! My kingdom has been 
stolen from me, and I swear by all the Gods that I will do-"
"Inos! " Kade's voice rang like a blade striking armor, with all the menace of 
her jotunn forebears. "Do not tempt the Evil! " She made the sign of the holy 
balance.
Inos glared stubbornly at her. Well, she wouldn't say it. But she meant it-do 
anything!
When she did not speak, Kade relaxed, and was at once apologetic for her 
unseemly outburst. "You must learn not to be so impetuous, dear," she said 
reprovingly.
Ha! Impetuous? Just wait!
"Will you approach the sultana for me, Aunt?" Kade sighed. "If you wish."
And Inos would seek out the Big Man.

2
Having dashed off a brief note to Sultana Rasha apologizing for yesterday's ill 
temper, Inos passed the writing materials to Kade. They had settled down to 
letter writing in a truly charming sitting room decorated with frescoes of 
flowers and vines.
Wide windows looked out on the cool greenery of the garden, on its fountains and 
sensuously vivid blossoms.
Zana had been quite astonished when her charges had asked for paper and ink-so 
astonished that Inos at once suspected Zana herself must be illiterate. It had 
taken some time for the requested articles to be fetched, but now Inos had done 
her part, while managing to convince herself that she was doing it of her own 
free will. Kade had begun to pen a note requesting an audience with the sultana, 
and Kade could be counted upon to take at least an hour to do so.
A little exploration seemed called for, but if Inos should just happen to get 
lost, and just happen to find herself somewhere in the sultan's vicinity, then 
who could say what interesting conversations might ensue?
She slid quietly out into the corridor. She was not too surprised when Zana 
materialized in front of her.
So now she had two jailers, not just one?
"Something your Majesty requires?" Zana was close to old age, her face a 
sun-baked desert landscape. Although her eyes were the shade of a robin's 
breast, they were also sharp as flint, and they peered down at Inos without 
blinking.
"Ah, there you are, Mistress!" Inos said blandly. "Little notes are all right 
for ladies, but not for gentlemen. I wonder if you would convey my respects to 
the . . . Big Man . . . and inform him that I am anxious to wait upon him at his 
earliest convenience?" If Zana were indeed illiterate, then verbal messages 
would seem quite normal to her.
Zana smiled. She had a disconcertingly wise sort of a smile. It hinted that Inos 
was being much less subtle than Inos thought she was. On the other hand, it did 
not seem particularly sinister. "I shall see that he receives the message as 
soon as he returns this evening, ma'am." The upper part of her tall shape swayed 
forward, as if caught by an invisible wind.
"You are too kind!" Inos returned the bow and stepped past, intent on having a 
voyage of discovery, alone.
She had gone about six steps when the dry old voice said, "This is not the 
Impire, ma'am."
Inos stopped, turned, and considered. "Obviously."
"These apartments are very extensive, Majesty. It is quite easy to become lost. 
At least take Vinisha along as a guide?" Snapping her fingers, Zana produced one 
of the younger attendants in a feat of legerdemain that Rasha herself could 
hardly have bettered.
Vinisha was no older than Inos and no taller, short for a djinn. She wore the 
standard black garb, including a cloth over her hair, only her face and hands 
exposed. That face, already pink, was turning pinker as she waited for Inos's 
decision.
"Of course, " Inos said cheerfully. She was being bribed with a chance to 
interrogate Vinisha, who would certainly have been chosen for her discretion, 
but it was a fair trade, and a guide would admittedly be advisable in a place 
this size. "If my aunt asks for me, pray inform her that I shall be back 
shortly. "
All her life, Inos's closest friends had been the children of her father's 
servants. At Kinvale she had befriended the domestics quite successfully until 
Kade convinced her that it was kinder not to. She thought she might handle 
Vinisha better than Zana expected.
"I in just curious to explore the guest apartments, " Inos said, striding along 
the wide corridor. "No, please walk beside me." Vinisha moved to her side 
obediently. She had beautiful features, and she moved with a sinuous grace that 
Inos knew she would never master. Even on skates, she could not move like that.
"Is there anything special I ought to be looking for?" she asked. "Any fine 
works of art?" There was nothing much to be seen in the corridor, unless 
stained-glass skylights were worthy of note.
Vinisha looked blank. "No, ma'am."
"Well, what's the best way to go? How many rooms are there?"
Blanker. "I don't know, ma'am."
Vinisha had not been chosen for her discretion. Vinisha had been chosen for her 
stupidity. Inos sighed.
"The sul ... The palace must entertain a lot of guests?" Vinisha's eyes 
flickered at Inos and then straight ahead againblankly, of course, and now 
worried, also. "I don't know, ma'am. "
Inos let two cross-corridors and a large hall go by before she tried again. 
"Well," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. "These are very extensive 
apartments for catering to visitors."
Relief! "These aren't normally guest quarters, Majesty. They were Prince 
Harakaz's habitation. "
"Were?"
"Yes, ma'am. He died very suddenly."
"How sad! A close relative of the ... the Big Man?"
"A brother. "
"Tragic! This happened recently?"
"Just a few days ago." Vinisha was not reluctant to talk, once she was on a 
subject she understood. "His quarters and chattels had not yet been reassigned, 
and Mistress Zana thought we might enjoy entertaining royal ladies."
Inos paused at a junction and then headed for a shady cloister, flanking another 
jewellike garden. It led to a wide and promising flight of stairs. Vinisha 
floated along at her side. A group of women in black stepped aside and curtsied. 
The steps were wide, carved in sumptuous black and white stone. The walls were 
plain white marble; already Inos was becoming so inured to marble that she 
hardly noticed it.
"And who is Mistress Zana, exactly?"
"The Big Man's eldest sister."
Already halfway up, Inos glanced wonderingly at her companion. "Then she is a 
princess?"
Vinisha looked puzzled again. Inos waited patiently. She could hear voices up 
ahead, faintly.
"I 'm not sure what a princess is, Majesty." This was not the Impire, Zana had 
said. "Then what is a sultan's daughter?"
"A woman, ma'am."
The conversation was making no sense to either of them. The stairs led to yet 
another corridor, with large arched windows. Inos noted a dazzling view of the 
city and the bay, but she was not in the mood for admiring scenery. She was 
becoming extremely baffled and anxious not to show it.
"Zana looks old enough to be Azak's mother, or even his grandmother. "
That observation won no reaction, so was apparently not remarkable. At the next 
junction Inos paused, then headed in search of the voices.
"Then by what title should she be addressed?"
"Just Mistress Zana, or `ma'am,' ma'am."
Another bend brought the sound closer and also brought more windows, with a 
vista of a wide park. In the distance men were riding horses. Now that was 
promising!
"Oh, I love horses! Do you ride, Vinisha?"
Vinisha's beautiful eyes opened about as wide as was possible.
Inos sighed again. She swung away from the window and tried not to break into an 
unladylike march. She went back to personalities, as those seemed to be about 
her companion's limit for conversation. "Is she married-Zana, I mean?"
A puzzled headshake. "Not that I know of, Majesty."
"Funny. She sort of seems so ... motherly. "
"Oh, yes! She has borne five sons."
Inos gaped. "And how many daughters?"
The djinn blushed and did not answer. Evidently that question was improper.
Inos's view of Arakkaran as a larger, richer Kinvale was crumbling rapidly. "But 
never married? Who was their father?" Vinisha frowned in thought. "I'm not sure, 
ma'am. More than one, likely. "
May the Good preserve me! What would Kade say to all this? Now they were passing 
doors, all leading to very splendid bedchambers-large and airy, furnished in 
fine furniture and silks. The beds were very large and looked comfortable. 
Kinvale had boasted nothing finer. Obviously the late Prince Harakaz had been a 
very important personage.
The corridor ended at yet another door. It was ajar, emitting sounds of children 
laughing and playing. A classroom? Inos hesitated, suddenly reluctant to push 
that door fully open; afraid of what she might find. Many children, obviously, 
and she could hear women's voices, also. Babies crying? A nursery?
She clutched at the one attractive idea that had come out of this bewildering 
exploration.
"I suppose if I wanted to go riding, that could be arranged? For a guest, it 
could? Couldn't it?"
Vinisha's face registered desolation. She seemed close to tears. "Riding, 
Majesty? On horses? But. . ."
"But what?" Inos snapped. "But you'd have to go out! "
"Out of what?"
"Out of this habitation."
Inos took a deep breath. "Prince Harakaz's habitation? These quarters?"
Vinisha nodded vigorously, looking relieved.
"You mean you don't? Don't go out? Not even into the rest of the palace? Never?"
Each question brought a vehement headshake. God of Mercy!
A word spoken earlier suddenly registered. "You said 'chattels'! Reassigned? You 
were ... You didn't mean ... You meant you! Assigned to him?"
Vinisha nodded solemnly, seeming more confused and worried than ever. And Inos 
could feel her own face burning; she must be the redder of the two now.
"Exactly what were your duties for Prince Harakaz?"
"Exactly? "
"No!" Inos said hastily. "In general."
A wide smile of relief restored Vinisha's face to its normal youthful beauty. 
She laid a hand on the door. "Would you like to see my baby?" she asked 
hopefully.

3
Inos eventually discovered the main door without having to ask. It was locked, 
and a peek through a window told her that there were armed guards outside. What 
she had believed to be the palace itself was merely a minor mansion assigned 
to_the late Prince Harakaz, and he had been one of the junior princesthat much 
Vinisha knew. The whole palace complex seemed to be larger than the towns of 
Krasnegar and Kinford put together.
In a dark mood, Inos returned to Kade and found her happily inspecting the 
unfamiliar flowers in one of the enclosed gardens. The day only got worse as it 
went along. The royal guests were welcome to enjoy all the comforts of these 
quarters, but no, it would not be possible for them to leave without the Big 
Man's permission-or Sultana Rasha's, of course, but Zana firmly refused to 
discuss the sorceress. Nor would she say much about "the Big Man," either.
Once Inos had thought of Kinvale as a prison. This place might be even more 
luxurious, but it was even more of a prison. The note to Rasha brought no reply, 
and Zana explained patiently that the Big Man would very likely be off hunting, 
so he would not receive Inos's message until he returned at sunset.
Inquiries about Azak and Rasha-how long they had respectively reigned, what 
their relationship was, how the people felt about them-all were politely 
declined. Even Kade began to look restless. Her cheerful talk about enjoying a 
welcome rest after the rigors of the long forest trek started to sound hollow.
The day grew crushingly hot. Inos indulged in another protracted bath, 
reflecting that she had several dozen to make up. Kade experimented with a wide 
variety of sweetmeats and unfamiliar foods. Inos counted forty women in the 
"habitation," some old, some barely nubile. They were polite, charming, and 
completely incapable of discussing anything except themselves and their children 
and the exciting prospect of being assigned to the household of some other 
prince in the near future. Vinisha had not been stupid; she had been typical.
Inos also tried counting babies and children, and lost track at 
thirty-something.
Zana admitted that she did not know how many princes there were in the palace. 
Hundreds if you counted all the boy babies, she said. Adults . . . maybe a 
hundred? But any royal male with a mustache was an adult, with a household of 
his own.
And yes, even those would have women assigned to them. This was not the Impire. 
By all the Gods, this was not the Impire!
"Djinns are worse than jotnar!" Inos stormed to Kade when they happened to be 
alone for a few minutes.
Kade blinked her pale-blue eyes reproachfully. "Krasnegar jotnar, maybe. I don't 
know about the Nordland type, though." Remembering the stories of Thane Kalkor, 
Inos quickly changed the subject.
Just after sunset, Zana excitedly informed Inos that the Big Man had received 
her message and would pay his respects to her the following morning. That seemed 
promising, although puzzling. Should not the visitor be paying her respects to 
the host?
After some thought, Inos went and told Kade of the appointment. To have kept it 
a secret would have been to admit that Kade was in charge, and Inos was 
determined that she was now queen, hence senior. Kade merely enthused, as was 
her custom, and did not inquire why she had not been consulted-thus making her 
niece feel infuriatingly guilty.
And a few minutes later Zana appeared to both of them with the information that 
they were invited to attend the state dinner that very evening, apparently a 
rare honor. If the formalities were to take place the next morning, dinner 
parties should have come afterward, surely? This was not the Impire.
Inos indulged in a third bath and reveled in the luxury of letting herself be 
dressed in an even softer, filmier gown. Dubiously she permitted a mantilla over 
her hair, but then the attendants produced a veil, intended to hide her face 
below the eyes. By now she desperately needed to score a point or two, and she 
adamantly refused to wear it. That led to an argument with Zana herself. The Big 
Man already knew what she looked like, Inos said, and this was the only face she 
had, and she wasn't ashamed of it. Zana yielded reluctantly, with deep 
disapproval. It was only needed until the guests arrived at the dinner, she 
protested-guards and other lowly men would see. Let them, Inos retorted. Kade 
stayed out of the discussion, which meant that she approved, and she did not 
wear a veil, either.
Zana herself was included in the invitation, apparently. She had discarded her 
black in favor of a fine gown of ivory silk, with much jewelry and a 
pearl-embroidered wimple that made Inos want to whistle in astonishment. Leaving 
their large band of attendants twittering in approval, the three ladies swept 
off to attend the state dinner.
Across parks and courtyards, they were escorted by six enormous guards, all 
armed with scimitars and extensive collections of other blades around their 
persons. Two of them even wore coiled whips on their belts. Their torches sent 
sparks whirling up into the warm night to meld with a breathtaking skyful of 
stars. Kade chattered about feeling excited, and Inos reluctantly agreed. This 
exotic land certainly had overtones of romance and adventure.
Would there be dancing? Inos inquired of Zana. Sounding rather puzzled, Zana 
assured her that almost certainly there would be dancing. Inos smiled in secret 
satisfaction, confident of her ability to impress on a dance floor. That 
gangling young sultan had moved with a slinky grace that promised he would be an 
admirable partner.
About a dozen other ... er ... ladies of the palace ... had been invited, also. 
They were all young, all sumptuously overdressed, and their excitement at the 
unusual honor of attending a state dinner soon overcame their shyness at being 
in the presence of strangers. Their conversation, regrettably, was confined 
entirely to domestic topics, such as childbirth and teething.
Rasha did not appear.
The food was excellent; Inos could not deny the quality of the food, unfamiliar 
though the dishes were. And the wine was superb. The service could not be 
faulted.
The banquet hall was magnificent, lighted by more candles than there were stars 
beyond the great dark windows. Azak himself was there, resplendent in the green 
of royalty, with his glittering emerald cummerbund plainly displayed. He lounged 
on a divan, one of a great circle of divans, all bearing princes. Inos counted 
twenty-five of them, from graybeards to striplings.
What ruined the evening for her, though, was that she and all the other women 
sat in a high gallery, shielded by a fretwork screen so that they could watch 
the exciting events below them without themselves being observed. The only 
females down on the main floor were the scantily clad belly dancers who 
performed at the end of the evening, right after the jugglers and fire-eaters.

4
Inos was rarely at her best in the very early morning, and her audience with 
Azak-or his audience with her-was set for dawn. Had she still held any doubts 
that she had been transported far beyond the bounds of civilization, an 
appointment for that hour would have convinced her otherwise; but she was ready 
on time, and so was Kade. And they did not wear veils.
When the royal guests set off for the audience chamber, they were flanked by 
Zana and six of the older women, all veiled and swathed in black. Eight of the 
fearsome brown-clad guards escorted them. Protecting them from what? Armed 
guards within the palace itself? This time the journey was even longer.
But despite her early-morning sulks, Inos found the audience chamber 
breathtaking. The great hall at Krasnegar would not have made a pantry for it. 
High-arched windows stretched off along both sides and the mosaic floor shone 
like a treasure chest, wide as the Kinvale skittle field. Even the emptiness was 
impressive, letting the soaring stonework display its own naked beauty. That was 
in striking contrast to the overfurnished mishmash of Rasha's chambers. 
Obviously the sorceress lacked taste. The rest of the palace glowed with it, 
even on this enormous scale, when grandeur could so easily have become vulgar 
ostentation. Inos glanced at her aunt and saw that she, also, was mightily 
impressed.
The two of them were conducted to a low dais that seemed designed to support a 
throne, but there was no throne in sight. They stood in awed silence, 
instinctively edging closer. Zana positioned herself and the other attendants at 
their rear. The others were whispering excitedly, as if this were the first time 
they had been allowed out in years.
Time passed. Inos felt the beat of her heart, and it was speeding up as her 
anger began to grow. She did not understand the backward etiquette. As visitor, 
she ought to call on the sultan, out to keep her waiting when she had been 
placed in the position of honor was deliberate afront.
Then the pale light slinking through the high arches blushed swiftly golden pink 
and brightened to proclaim sunrise. A trumpet blared, and a small procession 
wheeled in at the far end of the hall and advanced, with Azak's unmistakable 
height in the vanguard. Behind him marched at least a dozen other men, all of 
them clad in various shades of royal green. A squad of guards entered, also, but 
remained by the door.
The procession halted before the dais, and for a moment the two parties surveyed 
each other in silence. Inos took her first close look at Arakkaranian princes 
and was not impressed. They ranged in age from fresh-faced boys to grizzled 
elders, but those that could, wore beards. None was as tall as Azak, but they 
were all ruddy-skinned, red-eyed djinns, and despite their gems and the fine cut 
of their garments, they seemed a rough, fierce crew. To a man, they were 
scowling at her in shocked disapproval. She was not accustomed to having men 
disapprove of her appearance, but the distaste was mutual-she thought she would 
sooner trust a longshipful of unwashed jotnar.
There was no doubt who was captain of these pirates. His turban, glowing today 
with pearls, stood clear above all the rest. As he had when she first met him, 
two days before, he wore a loose tunic and trousers, plus the same wide jeweled 
belt that would have purchased a kingdom. But now his pants were tucked into 
high boots and his cloak was of heavy stuff, with a hood thrown back and long 
slitted sleeves dangling unused at his side. These were obviously outdoor 
garments, and his scimitar was a more serious weapon than the one she had 
noticed on him the previous morning. Azak, Inos assumed, was now in his work 
clothes.
Abruptly he snapped his fingers. A slim youth stepped stiffly forward a few 
paces and stopped. His red djinn complexion had paled to a sickly pink, his 
fists were tightly clenched, and something about the way his eyes moved told 
Inos that he was terrified. Sweat shone amid the fuzz of his mustache. He 
glanced around. Azak nodded impatiently. One of the older men frowned and 
nodded, also.
The boy turned back to face the visitors. He swallowed and licked his lips. 
Suddenly Inos knew what was about to happen, but before she could object, it had 
happened.
In a quavering tenor the youngster announced: "His Majesty, Sultan Az-"
He was gone; life was gone. His clothes remained, stirring in the eddies of the 
wind, but they enclosed only a statue of shiny pink granite. As a likeness it 
was superhumanly perfect, in every cruel detail-mouth still open, eyes inlaid in 
cinnibar and mother-of-pearl, staring fixedly at nothing. Kade stifled a cry, 
and Inos felt herself shudder. Azak ignored the transformation. He strode 
forward two paces and doubled over in one of his gymnast's bows, with the same 
elaborate gestures he had used before.
Then Inos saw that the older man in the background was beaming proudly, and she 
felt a moment's relief. To proclaim Azak sultan within the palace brought down 
the curse, so he was using it as a test of loyalty, or courage. It had been the 
boy's turn, that was all, and the others' lack of concern showed that the 
sorceress would remove the spell before long.
Inos was still much too icily furious to say a word. She curtsied. Azak was a 
step lower, but his gaze was level with hers, and for a moment they stared at 
each other, as if each were waiting for the other to speak. He had noted the 
absence of a veil, obviously, but she could read nothing in his expression 
except arrogance. There was plenty of that. Young Azak thought he was 
spectacular, and in a ferocious sort of way he was undeniably handsome. With his 
ruddy face framed by the trim line of beard, with his fierce hook nose and 
flashing red-brown eyes, with his overpowering height and physical presence, 
Azak clearly believed a woman should feel like swooning whenever she looked at 
him.
He might not be too far wrong, damn him! His neck alone was remarkable.
On the other hand-gander saucing goose-his own inspection of Inos could not be 
described as desultory. At their first meeting she had looked like something 
washed up by a flood; now she was better prepared. She was not quite jotunn 
height, but taller than an imp. She wore no veil. Her lace mantilla did little 
to hide her honey-gold hair, which must seem as much a rarity to him as green 
eyes.
Show him! Even dressed in a tent, she thought she should be able to raise male 
blood pressure merely by fluttering her lashes. Thus.
Yes, his pupils dilated satisfactorily.
She wondered about her own pupils, and who had come out ahead. Evil take him! 
Barbarian!
Having expertly appraised her and allowed her a chancehowever inadequate-to 
admire him, Azak bowed again. "Your Majesty is an honored guest in this, the 
humble house of my fathers. If anything at all is lacking to make your stay more 
enjoyable, your Majesty's whims command the nation." Without waiting for a 
reply, he bowed to Kade. "And your Royal Highness, also."
Kade curtsied, while Inos struggled with her anger-and lost. Rashness won over 
caution. If this troll-size savage required his followers to suffer 
petrification just to soothe his bruised arrogance, then he obviously put a very 
high value on courage, and Inos was not going to be outdone in that, despite 
Rasha's warnings. A brief sojourn as a statue might be a restful experience 
anyway.
"We are deeply honored by this opportunity to visit with-" She took a deep 
breath. "-our cousin of Arakkaran."
Kade uttered a small cry of alarm, but nothing occult transpired. The royal 
courtesy had been too subtle for the curse to detect. Azak had noticed, though. 
His eyes widened, and something like a small smile flexed his beard.
With her heart still thumping madly, Inos pushed her luck a little farther. "And 
we welcome the chance to view the beautiful kingdom of Arakkaran ... blessed 
with so noble a ruler. "
This time even the mob of lackeys caught the circumlocution. Glances were 
exchanged, lips pursed. Azak beamed and bowed again, lower than ever.
"Your Majesty is most gracious!"
Her Majesty was quivering with terror at what might have happened, but was 
determined not to show it. "I trust that you have fully recovered from your 
ordeal, Cousin?"
Azak's eyes glinted again, but he faked bewilderment. "Ordeal, Cousin?"
"Two days ago? When we first met, you seemed to be smitten quite severely for a 
while. An agonizing experience, I think?"
"Ah, yes!" He waved a large hand dismissively. "The slut sorceress seeks to 
break my will with mere physical pain. She should know by now that the effort is 
wasted. "
Inos displayed shock. "It has happened before?"
Azak shrugged, but his face was bright with pleasure at this opportunity to 
inform his followers about the incident. "Many times. Pain is nothing. She also 
inflicts plagues upon me: vermin or suppurating sores, disabilities in major 
organs. I have been struck blind, crippled ... I expect she will learn in time 
that no prince of Arakkaran can be swayed from his duty by such trivia. "
Uneasy expressions flitted over the faces of those princes of Arakkaran then 
present.
"But what can she hope to gain by such atrocities?" Inos exclaimed.
Another shrug. "Voluntary recognition of her ludicrous claim to an unmerited 
title. I will not submit if she chars my bones. But now, if there is nothing 
more that your Majesty requires at the moment. . . "
But there was! This futile little ceremony was all a fake, a game that Azak had 
accepted to suggest Inos was his guest and not Rasha's. Inos had played along 
for him, so now it was his turn.
"Well..."
"Yes?" Azak stopped halfway into a bow.
"I am most eager to view some of this beautiful kingdom-" Just in time Inos 
stopped herself adding "of yours. " The narrowness of her escape took her breath 
away.
"Of course! A carriage and escort . . . some ladies of high station to 
accompany-"
She had already noted his high boots and drawn conclusions. "You are going 
riding, Cousin?"
Several hairy mouths behind him fell open in shock, and even Azak blinked. "You 
ride?"
"I do. Is that surprising?"
"Peasant women ride donkeys, I suppose."
"In the Impire ladies of the highest rank ride, many of them very well. And I 
could certainly use a little exercise right now." Plus a long talk about sorcery 
and politics and running kingdoms and military campaigns and things.
Kade uttered a small moan. "I suppose if we do not actually-"
Inos turned to her and smiled sweetly. "No need for you to come with us, Aunt."
"Inos! I. . ." Kade was shocked speechless.
"I am sure that I shall be perfectly safe in the company of ... our cousin of 
Arakkaran. Is that not so, Cousin?" Azak's hot eyes flickered from niece to aunt 
and back again. Inos hoped she was conveying challenge, not entreaty, but for 
the moment the sultan was obviously nonplussed.
"I shall be quite safe, Aunt. Surely you will not insult the ... our royal 
cousin by implying otherwise?"
Kade stuttered, flushing.
Clearly Azak had other plans for his morning, but he was aware of his debt to 
Inos. He swallowed hard, the corners of his beard flexing cutely. "Of course I 
shall be delighted to escort your Majesty in person." He was a terrible liar.
"Wonderful! Who else could better show a queen the kingdom?" Still Inos remained 
unpetrified-the curse was obtuse at detecting innuendoes. "If I may have about 
ten minutes to change? I hope that my riding garb has been cleaned . . ." She 
glanced around at Zana, who was quite boggle-eyed at the conversation, but who 
nodded in agreement. "Ten minutes, then?" Inos extended queenly fingers.
Azak shied backward as if she had stabbed him. For a moment his face showed 
something that Inos thought might be horror. She wondered what terrible offense 
against the customs of Zark could be represented by a lady offering her hand to 
be kissed. Then the huge young man jackknifed himself in another great bow.
He straightened with ill-concealed fury. "However long your Majesty requires ... 
I am at your service always."
Of course he was! Inos curtsied demurely, rewarded him with a last flutter of 
eyelashes, and departed in search of more suitable clothes without another 
glance at her aunt.
Ally-gathering was about to commence.

5
Inos took longer than the ten minutes she had promised. She took even longer 
than the thirty minutes she had planned, but eventually she was ready and was 
led down yet another staircase to where the sultan stood with arms folded and 
toe tapping. The delay had been caused mostly by the need to find someone who 
could braid up a lady's hair-a rare art in Zark, apparently. Then Zana had 
insisted on waiting for a suitable cloak to arrive. Inos had protested that her 
riding habit alone would be much too warm for this climate and she wanted 
nothing more, only to be informed in firm, motherly tones that she must wear a 
cloak of dark material, loose and airy-not for warmth, but to keep off the sun. 
Wind and dust, also, but mainly sun.
Azak acknowledged Inos by folding himself in another acrobatic bow. She 
attempted to respond in kind-Ooof!-riding habits were not designed for such 
maneuvers. The princely gaze wandered arrogantly over her again in blatant 
appraisal. Then he presented the four companions who were all that remained of 
his earlier entourage. All four were princes with guttural- sounding names, but 
the relationships puzzled her. The eldest was one of Azak's brothers, much older 
than he, thick-bodied and bushy-bearded.
She caught the name of the next-Prince Kar-and decided at once that she did not 
like his blandly penetrating smile. He was clean-shaven, another brother, yet 
still older than Azak.
The other two were uncles, identical downy-faced striplings about her own age, 
obviously twins. She made mental notes to have Kade disentangle the royal family 
of Arakkaran for her; Kade was a genius at such genealogical investigation. The 
laws of succession might be worth knowing, also, to explain how a reigning 
sultan could have older brothers.
The princes and their guest set out for the stables-a journey long enough in 
itself to have justified horses. Azak did not speak and he deliberately strode 
so fast that everyone else had to scamper along breathlessly at his side. Inos 
concluded peevishly that this young giant still had a lot of growing up to do.
And again there was an escort of hard-looking guards armed with enough weapons 
to furnish a military museum. Her father had walked alone anywhere in his 
kingdom, yet this so-arrogant juvenile sultan needed protection within his own 
palace!
When they emerged from the last arched doorway and struck out across open 
courtyard, Inos felt sunlight hit her like a falling roof. It took her breath 
away-it would melt horseshoes. She knew she had been rash; now she wondered if 
she had been crazy.
Even the grandeur of the palace had not prepared her for the magnificence of the 
stables, whose tiled roofs seemed to cover a small city. An ocean of silken 
paddock stretched off to faraway fences and trees shampooed in pink blossom. 
Above them the crenelations of the palace itself gleamed against the distant 
sea. Many men and animals were standing around in the open glare, waiting, but 
there was not a woman in sight. Probably these royal boors were finding her 
behavior shameless and outrageous.
So it was mutual!
Among this crowd she made out several who had been with Azak earlier, and many 
other men in green-some already mounted, others inspecting steeds and 
equipment-and obviously they had waited around only to view the extraordinary 
phenomenon of a woman on a horse. Once that was concluded, they were going 
hunting. The unfortunate five, Azak and brothers and uncles, gazed with 
undisguised longing at this mob of men and horses, grooms and kennelmen, 
bystanders and attendants. Dogs strained at their leashes and cadgers stood 
ready with birds.
Inos felt a twinge of real guilt. "I see that I am intruding on your sport, 
Cousin. I was very presumptuous. My sight-seeing must wait until another day. "
Azak glanced down at her with exasperation-a sultan who had announced a decision 
could not then change his mind. "There will be many more days for hunting, 
Cousin."
"I would almost prefer to come along and watch," Inos said with maidenly 
innocence, "if that were permissible. I have never witnessed hawks flown. Those 
are hawks, are they not?"
"Goshawks. "
"Ah. We used gyrfalcons in the north, of course. "
Ten royal eyes lighted up like signal lanterns. "Gyrfalcons!" the two young 
uncles echoed in awed tones.
"You ... yourself?" Azak said. "Certainly."
Five royal faces went stiff with shock. Obviously a woman on a horse was a minor 
obscenity compared to a woman hawking.
"My favorite was Rapier. Very fast, very responsive-oh, how I miss her! Father 
flew a golden eagle for a while, but he had very little luck with her. I tried 
peregrines a time or two at Kinvale, but I learned with gyrfalcons. There are no 
others at Krasnegar."
The princes exchanged glances that might have conveyed doubt or outrage or both.
"Let us see you mounted first. " Azak almost put d hand on her shoulder and then 
withdrew it hastily, gesturing her forward. With the four princes trailing 
behind, they paced over the springy turf to where two horses stood apart from 
the others within a cluster of stablehands. One was a gigantic black stallion, 
undoubtedly the largest Inos had ever seen, jerking and prancing, stamping, 
keeping three grooms both busy and worried. Krasnegar's ponies were hardy, 
shaggy beasts, but she had thought that Kinvale's were the best that wealth 
could buy. This polished ebony marvel could have eaten them alive. She knew who 
would ride that one.
She turned her attention to the sad little plug standing beside it, and any 
residual guilt she was feeling dissolved in a wave of indignation. A longer look 
turned indignation to fury.
"Cousin!" she said in a slender voice that would have frozen any member of the 
palace staff in Krasnegar. "What is the meaning of this? My father would have 
had his hostler flogged for that! "
"Your Majesty?" Azak stared down at her, his rosewood eyes filled wide with 
puzzled innocence. He really was a terrible actor.
Inos's voice went even softer. "Well, if you can't see from the way she's 
standing, then perhaps you should ask the groom to lead her around for you-if he 
can!"
The old mare was back on her heels, hopelessly foundered. With a rider on her 
back she would be as immovable as the palace itself. The quartet of princes 
exchanged glances of appreciation that Inos found both satisfying and 
infuriating.
"Ah!" Azak threw up his hands in sudden enlightenment. "My apologies, Cousin. I 
had not recognized ... I thought it had been fed to the dogs already. The groom 
responsible was hard dealt with, I assure you. You! Take that rubbish away and 
bring a more suitable mount for the queen."
"Something more like that one," Inos said. Error!
The watching princes guffawed. Hairy gibbering apes! Azak's teeth flashed in the 
sunlight. "You are welcome to ride Evil if you wish, Queen Inosolan. "
She had pushed too far. She had been angered by the cruelty of allowing a dumb 
horse to eat itself to death, and infuriated by the arrogant assumption that she 
would not know a foundered horse when she saw one-and so she had pushed too far. 
Eagles and gyrfalcons and now this. She opened her mouth to make a smiling 
refusal, and her anger said, "Well . . ."
Dare she try? She had just completed weeks of riding through the taiga-she had 
never been in better practice. She had ridden Firedragon once, although Rap had 
been present then and horses were always well behaved when Rap was around. Stop 
thinking about Rap!
But wait! Yesterday she had lamented the uselessness of her Kinvale training. 
She had forgotten that she had other training. She had been taught to ride by a 
young man who knew horses as no one else did, who could always tell you exactly 
what a horse was thinking. Here was a chance to pay tribute to his memory.
With her heart going insane inside her chest and every nerve screaming warnings, 
Inos walked over to take a closer look at Evil, a mountain of shiny blackness 
without a single white hair on him. If Gods were horses, They would look like 
this one. She offered to pat his neck as Rap would have done. Evil lifted a 
groom off the ground and rolled a menacing eye at her. The men clinging grimly 
to reins and cheekstrap glared at her resentfully.
Inos glanced around the wide paddock. There was lots of room.
She was a queen now. They had tried to foist a decrepit jade on her first. What 
sort of hack or vicious beast might they try next? A sultan's mount could be 
nothing worse than highspirited.
"Shorten the stirrups!"
Azak's stupid smirk became instant fury. "No man has ever ridden that horse but 
me. "
"That will still be true." Inos met his stare, trying to show much more 
confidence than she felt.
"Queen Inosolan, that horse is a killer!"
Possibly so, but she could not back down now. Besides, Rap had always insisted 
that there were no such things as one-man horses. Of course, Krasnegar's little 
herd had contained a couple of rogues that no one but Rap had ever dared 
approach-but that was irrelevant. Certainly Azak would be a superb horseman; in 
whatever he did, he would settle for nothing less than mastery. So the horse had 
been well trained. Anything more was just a matter of manners.
"Did you or did you not say I might ride him?"
Now Azak was boxed in, also. He was too furious to back down, but the ember-red 
eyes studied her for a long hot minute before he growled, "Do as she says!"
Grooms flocked around to adjust the stirrups, then retreated hastily, leaving 
one man waiting with cupped hands and another at the stallion's head. Both 
looked terrified. A third was poised on the far side.
Inos eased out of her cloak and passed it to someone. She stepped closer, Evil 
showed his teeth and laid down his ears. His withers were higher than her head, 
his saddle the size of a barn roof. How would her knees ever find a grip on such 
a monster! It was a type unfamiliar to her, with a very high pommel, but she had 
seen its like at Kinvale, and she remembered a trick she had heard mentioned 
there. Certain that an instant's pause would snap her nerve, she took the reins 
and reached up to bind her left hand to the pommel with them. She had to stand 
on tiptoe to do it. Evil rolled an angry eye. Inos raised a boot for the waiting 
hands.
She seemed to fly higher than the highest dome of the palace. Men grabbed her 
feet and thrust them in the stirrups, leaping out of the way in the same moment. 
The groom at Evil's head was hurled aside by Evil himself and the saddle rose 
straight up ... Inos had never been hit by anything so hard as the impact of 
that saddle. She was staring down at a fleeing Azak, seemingly far below her, 
framed by Evil's ears. Hooves hit the grass. Impact!
He bucked. Impact! Impact! Impact!
Then Evil was standing erect, front legs dark against the sky. With her face 
buried in his mane, Inos felt as if she were trying to climb a marble pillar. 
Her knees and thighs screamed at the strain. Came the sudden reversal and she 
hurled herself back to meet the rising rump ...
Impact! More bucking ... Impact! Impact!
Without warning, Evil took off, cracking Inos's neck like a whip. She was moving 
faster than she ever had. The paddock was suddenly tiny, the blossom trees at 
the far side rushing straight at her in a blur of white and pink. He would leap 
that fence or go straight through it. He would smash branches with her. She 
kicked and tugged to turn him, and the stallion stopped dead. Her knees slid, 
her shoulder struck in his mane, and only her hand bound to the pommel saved her 
from disaster. A moment later he tried to bite her and she kicked him in the 
jaw. Then he wheeled, bucked again, reared again, was hit again, screamed with 
fury and launched himself forward again. Grooms and princes scattered like 
leaves as she bore down on them. He turned in midair. He skittered sideways on 
four straight legs. He had more tricks than a prestidigitator.
Again she saw sky straight ahead. Impact! Then grass. Impact! Sweat was blinding 
her. Her spine was rammed into her skull. Then into the saddle. Skull again. 
Trees coming up ahead again. She caught glimpses of eggshell palace domes 
against blue, green turf, pink blossom, white fence, black horse, white, blue, 
black pink white black-blue-white-green-blue-white ...
Her legs were breaking with the strain of gripping. She was dead-nothing could 
survive this. How much longer ... get it over with ... back to bucking again ...
The next few hours were all very exciting, but just when she had concluded for 
the hundredth time that she had lost, suddenly, inexplicably-shivering, dancing, 
foaming-Evil surrendered. He dropped to a trot. Feeling a great surge of 
triumph, Inos kicked him into a gallop. Again they rushed at the fence, but now 
she was in charge. Up they went. The top rail was higher than she was, but Evil 
seemed to grow wings and fly. Power!
He landed as gently as a falling petal. No wonder Azak did not want to share 
such a marvel! She circled him, flew him back into the paddock again, and 
cantered sedately over toward the onlookers, rejoicing at the steady leaden thud 
of the great hooves on the grass and the wilder beating of her own heart. 
Triumph! Now those hairy-faced boors knew that a woman could ride.
Now she would be one of the boys!
But there was no cheering. Spectators scrambled back, clearing a path all the 
way to Azak himself, who was standing with arms folded and red murder blazing in 
his eyes. Inos reined in, just as a thunderclap of reaction struck her. Suddenly 
she was shaking, soaked in sweat, fighting not to have hysterics. Any minute now 
she would bring up breakfast. She thought she had sprained a wrist and bruised 
every bone ... But she had done it, damn it! Hadn't she? She was one of the boys 
now, wasn't she?
Evil was in no better shape-foam-flecked, white-eyed, every muscle jittering. 
Everyone else was cowering away in silence from the sultan's fury.
"Flogged, you said!" Azak roared, so loud that Evil shuddered. "Flogged? Any 
groom of mine who treated a horse like that would be buried alive!"
"Huh?" No praise? No congratulations?
"What do you plan to do with him now, wench? Oh, you stayed on! I admit you 
stayed on! But he'll not be fit to use for days, or weeks. Look at him! Would 
you like to try ruining one of his brothers next? Or perhaps you'll accept 
something you can handle?"
Inos slid unaided from the saddle, and it was a long way down. Her knees almost 
folded with the impact. She straightened and thrust the reins at a groom. With a 
great effort she straightened her chin and clasped her hands tightly behind her. 
Then she managed to look up into Azak's glare.
"Something I can handle, please," she said. "And then let's get on with the 
hunt. "

6
Evening at last ...
With her face politely frozen in a Kinvale-style smile of interest, Inos 
strolled along palatial avenues, mounted grandiose staircases, and crossed 
majestic parks. Despite the leisurely pace, she was straining every muscle and 
nerve in her efforts not to limp. Would she ever dare sit again? She moved 
within a worshipful company of at least a dozen princes. They gazed at her with 
wonder and admiration, this green-eyed, golden-haired woman who could ride a 
horse, fly a bird, shoot a creditable arrow, and who claimed to be queen in her 
own right. Arakkaran had never met such a marvel.
The marvel felt like a shipwreck. Her eyes burned with dust and sun, half the 
sand of the desert clung within her hair, and little more of this maltreatment 
would give her a complexion fit to smooth planks. But she had survived the day. 
She was one of the boys.
She had not obtained her confidential chat with Azak, so she could not claim 
total victory. However awestruck the rest of the royal princes, the sultan had 
ignored Inos ever since she relinquished Evil. Most of the time he had been 
barely visible in the distance, usually the far distance, leading suicidal 
charges over the rocky hills. So Inos could claim no victory, merely a draw that 
would let her fight again tomorrow. No hawking tomorrow; tomorrow the princes 
were going coursing. Revolting!
The aged and portly prince on her left was panting out an interminable tale 
about a dagger, a rockslide, and some unfortunate goat he had slaughtered long 
before she was born. A much younger one on her right was continually edging too 
close, fingers straying. Stars were appearing in the darkling sky.
Idly Inos swung her riding crop on her right and felt a gratifying impact. 
"Incredible!" she murmured to the left as the narrator ran out of breath on the 
stairs. That was wrong! Fascinating! had been next on her list. She must keep 
them alphabetical, and not be so gauche as to repeat herself. Still ... not long 
now. The procession took off along flat ground, and the goat killer picked up 
his tale again. Fingers moved in again.
At last the Gods were merciful, and she reached the entrance to her quarters. 
Guards sprang to attention, eyes wide at seeing such an escort. The door opened 
on an unobtrusive signal. Inos turned and smiled at all the princes.
"Your Royal Highnesses, my thanks! Till tomorrow?"
Fifteen or sixteen royal turbans swung forward in salaam. Inos bowed in turn, 
suppressing a whimper of agony. Thendivine mercy! She was inside and the great 
door thumped shut.
She leaned back against it as a tidal wave of questions broke over her. She was 
facing what seemed to be the entire female population of Zark, all jabbering 
excitedly, with Zana vainly trying to restore order. But of course these were 
merely the late Prince Harakaz's women, all eager for news of the day's miracle.
For a moment Inos felt a great surge of annoyance. She wanted a bath and a 
massage, perhaps some food, and then lots and lots of sleep. She did not want to 
recount her life story! Then her annoyance gave way to pity. And it was oddly 
flattering.
She raised a hand, and the babble died down to a few wails from bewildered 
babies. "Later?" she said. "Yes, I did go hunting with the princes. But later, 
please! After I've had a bath and changed, I'll tell you all about it!" She 
smiled as sincerely as she could manage and tried not think about a long evening 
ahead.
With excited promises of hot water and food ringing over a renewed clamor, Inos 
limped off behind Zana in search of Kade. Their way led through a chain of 
rooms, and then outside, to a high balcony. Flocks of gaudy parrots soared by, 
screaming mockery. The sky was a canopy of cobalt suede hung over the Spring 
Sea, and a couple of earlybird stars shone above the everdancing palms. Down in 
the bay, the white sails of dhows and feluccas glided toward their roost like 
ghosts of owls.
Nibbling dates and holding a book at arm's length in the fading light, Kade was 
reclining on a sumptuously overstuffed divan. A frosted carafe of some cold 
drink stood on a table beside her, and the very sight of it made Inos's mouth 
ache.
Every joint screamed as she sank wearily-and very carefully-onto the cushions at 
her aunt's side. She was suddenly aware that she had not thought about Father 
all day. Nor Andor.
Zana was already pouring something musical into a goblet. Kade disposed of the 
book and smiled with eyes like winter sky. "Had a good day, my dear?"
Inos made a guttural croaking noise and drank. Oh, glory! Ice! Cold lemonade! 
What sorcery was this? "Marvelous! And terrible. I feel like bread crumbs-dried 
out and mashed up. But I do think I made an impression, Aunt."
"I'm sure you did."
Zana tactfully floated away.
Gods give me strength, Inos thought. But she had certainly treated Kade rather 
cavalierly that morning.
"I'm sorry if I took you by surprise, Aunt. You know meimpetuous! It just seemed 
like a wonderful opportunity to, er, meet the local gentry"
"You always were good with birds, of course."
Inos almost choked on her second draft of the miracle elixir. "You saw?"
Kade nodded. "Her Majesty showed me in the looking glass-just a few minutes, 
while you were riding out. Did you catch anything worthwhile?"
Inos's hawk had reduced one unfortunate rock dove to blood and feathers, but 
that might not be what Kade meant. "Nothing of any importance." About to mention 
that the chase would resume in the morning, Inos changed her mind. "Patience is 
the mark of the successful hunter, Father always said." She began tipping a 
third cool draft into her internal desert.
Kade was not amused, obviously. Her niece had been behaving in unladylike 
fashion. "When I was having tea with her Majesty-"
Inos spluttered again. Memories of Kade's pompous little tea parties at 
Krasnegar and the awesome dowagers' rituals in Kinvale blended into an image of 
her aunt sipping tea with a djinn sorceress, and together provoked a typhoon of 
coughing. As soon as she could breathe she said, "Then you have made better use 
of your day than I have!"
"Possibly. She showed me many things in her looking glass." Kade sighed as if 
she were discussing the latest outrage in dress styles. "I really had never 
conceived how useful sorcery could be! Imagine-here we are, in faraway Zark, and 
yet she could show me what was happening almost anywhere! Kinvale, for instance! 
We saw the duke supervising the bedding out. It's springtime in Kinvale. Yes, a 
looking glass is a wonderful device. Everyone should have one!" She considered 
her own words, then amended them. "Persons of quality, of course."
"And Krasnegar?"
Her aunt's face darkened. "We didn't ... We were too late. The funeral must have 
been held yesterday."
Inos blinked, and nodded. "And the imps?"
"They're still there. They look as if they're settling in to stay." A rare 
expression of anger showed on Princess Kadolan's normally convivial face. 
"They've turned the great hall into a barracks! They're using merchants' stores 
as stables!"
Inos leaned back against the cushions, wincing. If Arakkaranians used smaller 
bathtubs, they could fill them faster. Raucous parrots swooped by again.
"And what happens now? When does Kalkor arrive with his jotnar? What-"
"I could hardly cross-examine her Majesty!"
"Of course." Inos sighed. Kade would keep the tale going all evening.
"Queen Rasha did confirm what we suspected, though. She can't just evict the 
legionaries for you. Only the warlock of the east is allowed to use sorcery on 
Imperial soldiery."
That closed off one path to sanity. "I see. And a warlock is stronger than a 
mere sorceress? "
Her aunt cleared her throat warningly, her we-may-beoverheard noise. "Their 
respective strengths would not matter, dear. Any sorcerer breaking that rule 
incurs the emnity of the Four combined. That's part of the Protocol. "
"But the thanes can still use force, when they arrive?" Kade pulled a face at 
the thought of violence. "Oh, yes. Force is mundane. No rules apply. I mean, 
that's what force means, doesn't it? But while the imp soldiers are the domain 
of EastWarlock Olybino, of course, is an imp himself-similarly, jotnar are 
reserved to the warlock of the north, and she's a goblin. I mean the warden 
happens to be a witch at the moment, Bright Water. Not all jotnar, just the 
Nordiand raiders."
Inos had never heard her aunt lecture on politics before. It was a staggering 
development, but it must mean that she had won the confidence of Queen Rasha. 
She had therefore put her day to much better use than Inos had; no wonder she 
was so pleased with herself! However muddled the telling might be, the facts 
would be correct, for although Kade believed that wellbred ladies should appear 
scatterbrained, she could apply her wits well enough when she wanted to. Then 
the significance sank in.
Inos sat up straight, heedless of her aches. "You mean that imp versus jotunn 
means one warden against another?"
"Well ... not just any common brawl, dear, but if the Nordland fleet clashes 
with the Imperial army, that does seem to be one possible result. Seapower and 
landpower. The sultana says that this has happened very rarely since Emine set 
up the Protocol, only once or twice in all history. It could involve the 
wardens. It could even split the wardens, two against two. That apparently can 
produce all kinds of disasters. The jotnar aren't there yet, of course. It may 
be a long time before their ships can reach Krasnegar. Queen Rasha says she 
could disperse any other army with no trouble-a good blizzard would not be 
difficult to arrange, she says. But in this case she dare not try to influence 
either side; not the imps there now, nor the jotunn raiders if they come. 
They're both out of bounds for her. Like dragons, she said. "
"God of Turds!"
"Inos! Really!"
"Sorry. But this is awful! This is terrible! Remember when Andor brought the 
news to Kinvale, about Father? We talked? We wondered if the town would accept 
me? We thought neighbor might quarrel with neighbor. Then the imp army moved in, 
and it wasn't just neighbor against neighbor, it was thane against proconsul, 
raider against legionary, Impire against Nordland. Now you tell me it's warlock 
against witch?"
"It may come to that," Kade said cautiously. "The Four may not even be aware of 
the problem yet, of course. "
"Who would win?"
"Impossible to say, apparently. Bright Water is very old, and ... unpredictable, 
I'm told. Olybino is quite young by sorcerer standards, her Majesty says, but he 
has a bad temper and may do foolish things on impulse."
"That's wonderful news! Just wonderful!"
"And the other two may side with one or the other. "
"Or split? Bad, bad, bad!" Inos noticed Zana hovering in the doorway, meaning 
that her tub was ready. But baths now seemed much less important than they had 
before. An account of the occult politics of the Impire-of all Pandemia-was very 
important indeed. Even Doctor Sagorn had complained how hard it was to obtain 
information about magic; the sorcerous did not normally take the mundane into 
their confidence. Kade had won a tremendous victory! The information could not 
be confirmed, but what reason could a sorceress ever have for lying? "Tell me 
about the other two wardens?"
Kade nodded almost imperceptibly to show she had been expecting the question. 
"Both warlocks. South is an elf, Lith'rian. Queen Rasha was, er, rather 
disparaging about ... about elves. Usually there are two witches and two 
warlocks, but West died about a year ago, and a warlock took her place. Zinixo, 
a young dwarf. An extremely powerful sorcerer, the sultana says, and something 
of an unknown quantity."
"Died?"
"Was killed."
Inos thought for a moment. There was must be more, but her aunt was apparently 
reluctant to volunteer any of her own conclusions.
"So what does her Majesty recommend?"
"She suggests we wait and see, of course. The imps may flee. The jotnar may or 
may not come. Hub may or may not interfere-the imperor, the Four ... Meanwhile, 
we are welcome guests. She has invited me to visit her again tomorrow, and of 
course you-"
"I am going hunting again tomorrow. "
There was still quite enough light to show Kade's disapproval. It would probably 
have shown up in total darkness. "How many other ladies will be there?"
"None, I expect."
"Inos, you are being very unwise! Very! Even in the Impire, a lady would not go 
hunting without some female companionship. Here in Zark they have even 
stricter-"
"It's all right, Aunt. I'm one of the boys now. " Gingerly Inos started to rise.
"I am quite serious, Inos! Customs differ, and you have no idea what sort of 
impression you may be making."
"So they won't invite me to their dinner parties again, you mean?"
"So they may think you a complete wanton! "
What exactly was an incomplete wanton? How could she possibly get into trouble 
going hunting with a gang of princes? "What did the sultana think?"
Point to Inosolan.
Kade pursed her lips. "She was amused," she admitted. Rasha, of course, while a 
queen and a sorceress, was emphatically not a lady, and Kade must be having 
trouble reconciling that discrepancy.
"What is Rasha's interest in my ... our affairs? Just aiding a poor defenseless 
woman?"
The question sprang another wanting cough. "I 'm sure that's part of it. The 
best hope, of course, is that cool heads will prevail. Surely Krasnegar is not 
worth a war to either the imperor or the thanes. The Four may simply agree to 
put you properly on your throne. That would be the status quo, as near as 
possible."
So Inos was a pawn in a much vaster game than she had ever dreamed. If the 
warlocks themselves were involved, then anything might happen. Krasnegar might 
be melted down, or moved to Zark, or turned into chocolate pudding.
Krasnegar! She was homesick for Krasnegar!
She drained the last of the lemonade and pushed herself painfully to her feet. 
She certainly had enough to think about while she soaked.
This days's madness:
Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare; Tomorrow's Silence, Triumph, or 
Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why: Drink! for you know not why 
you go, nor where. Fitzgerald, The Rubaryat of Omar Khayyam (§74, 1879)


THREE
Some little talk

1
"No people?" Thinal said. "You're sure about no people?"
"No, I'm not sure!" Rap retorted. "It's right at my limits. I'm sure about the 
huts. I don't think there are any people. None on the path, anyway. And what 
choice do we have?"
It was late afternoon on their third interminable day. The sandy bays had 
followed one another without respite, some broad, some narrow, but all of them 
devoid of streams or rivers. The castaways had survived on coconut milk and a 
few meager sips of rainwater caught on loaves in the frequent showers, but they 
were all weakening fast. They needed food and, above all, they needed drinking 
water--copiously and soon. They needed rest and shelter. Little Chicken was 
furious that these woodlands were so unlike his home forests. In the taiga he 
could have survived indefinitely with no tool but fingernails; here his survival 
skills were little better than Rap's.
The scanty and unfamiliar diet had made all three of them ill. Thinal was close 
to collapse, and his feet were raw. At times he had allowed Little Chicken to 
carry him, and then they had moved faster, but eves the brawny goblin was 
failing. His moccasins were worn away by the abrasion of the sand, his ankle was 
swollen, and obviously only his contempt for pain was letting him walk at all.
Rap's boots were no great advantage. He had torn strips from his loincloth to 
bandage his blisters, but then he had merely developed other blisters in other 
places. Walking on sand was worse than running in snow; his legs ached in every 
muscle and joint. The shallows provided firmer going, but sand and seawater 
together were agony on raw flesh.
At least the weltering of the sun let them walk in the palms' dappled shadow, 
but high tide had driven them up into shingle and shell banks at the top of the 
beach, with every step real torment for the imp and the goblin. And then Rap's 
farsight had solved the strange problem of where the rain went. The lushness of 
the jungle proved that rain was frequent; the absence of streams seemed 
inexplicable. Snapping out of an exhausted daze, he had realized quite suddenly 
that there was a river a short distance inland, paralleling the coast, a river 
that was capturing all the rainfall. A river meant fresh water and it must join 
the sea somewhere, although here it was unreachable, shut off by undergrowth as 
thick as hay bales.
And then, as he forced his farsight out to the limits of his range, he had 
detected a path, a narrow strip of bare reddish soil winding through the trees. 
One end opened on the beach just around the next headland, the other lay on the 
riverbank. There were buildings there.
"Tell about huts, " Little Chicken growled. He was becoming surprisingly 
proficient in impish.
"Just huts." Rap's head was aching with the effort. "Eight or nine of them. In a 
half circle. And some things made of poles. Little buildings, thatched . . . "
"Headhunters!" Thinal wailed. "Fairyfolk are headhunters!"
"What choice do we have?" Rap said again.
Thinal glared at him, his foxy features sour with pain. "You don't have any. But 
I do. "
"You promised."
"Then I'm un-promising! You get me into danger, Master Rap, and I call Darad! I 
said I'd warn you. I'm warning you now." It was astonishing, really, that the 
little guttersnipe had endured as much as he had.
"Okay!" Rap said. "You've done very well. More than I would have expected. You 
stay here, and we'll go ahead and scout. If it's safe, we'll come back and get 
you."
Thinal looked around the beach. Not much of it was visible at high tide, with 
the waves surging almost into the palms. No food. No water. No company. "I'll 
come," he said grouchily. "But I'm warning you-if anyone's head's going to 
decorate a pole, mister, it ain't going to be mine."

2
"People?" Thinal whispered, almost bumping into Rap as he stopped on the path.
"There's nothing alive in the village except chickens," Rap said. "And nothing 
moving in the jungle." He wasn't quite lying, but he hated even being devious. 
"Look behind that bush."
Thinal just stared mutinously where Rap was pointing; it was the goblin who 
pushed in and parted the leaves. Rap already knew there was a dead dog there, 
with an arrow in its hindquarters. It must have dragged itself away to die.
Snorting angrily, Little Chicken pulled the shaft from the rotting, buzzing 
carcass. He returned to the path. Thinal whimpered.
"It's a long arrow," Rap said. "Fairyfolk are small, aren't they?"
Thinal shrugged, but Rap was sure Andor had told him that fairies were 
black-skinned and little taller than gnomes. Long arrows would need long arms, 
surely. The point was made of iron, sharp and barbed. "It's like what the 
legionaries carry, isn't it?"
"Don't know," Thinal said. "Darad would."
"How far, Flat Nose?" Little Chicken asked.
Rap squared his shoulders. "Just around the next bend. Come on." He resumed the 
painful monotony of moving one sore foot in front of the other, leading the way.
Once there had been a dozen huts in the village, clustered in the shade at the 
perimeter of a clearing, but four of them were ruined, probably burned. The 
poles that had puzzled him at a distance were scaffolds for drying nets; a 
Krasnegarian should have recognized those. He could also make out wickerwork 
privies and chicken coops, a couple of boats-and a well. The thought of water 
was making every cell in his body scream.
Then he rounded the last curve and an explosion of cackling startled him; birds 
flapped across the ground in terror and vanished into the trees. Rap headed for 
the well, and his companions put on a spurt behind him.
Water! Praise the Gods! Water and more water ...
Slaked inside and out, soaked and dripping, the three waifs forced uneasy smiles 
at one another. Very uneasy smiles-there was something terribly wrong about this 
abandoned settlement. Four huts burned, no people, a dead dog. Thinal's shifty 
gaze was even jumpier than usual; the goblin's angular eyes had narrowed to 
slits.
The little clearing was well hidden. The path to the oily dark river was short, 
but it was narrow and would be hard to detect from the water. Upstream lay 
other, larger, clearings planted with crops, but even those somehow suggested 
concealment. The calm jungle air was heavy and sticky; the insects numerous and 
savage. Rap slapped and flapped and cursed, as his companions were doing, and 
wondered why his mastery didn't extend to insects, and why anyone would choose 
to live in such a place when the shore was so much more pleasant.
"No people?" Thinal asked for the hundredth time. "You can't see anyone at all?"
"There's nobody moving," Rap answered cautiously. He tore his farsight away from 
one particular spot near the edge of the fields and began to scan the huts. The 
trouble was, he didn't trust Thinal as far as he could have thrown Little 
Chicken, which was no distance at all. The imp's nerves were as tattered as his 
feet, and any nasty surprise was going to bring Darad in his place in a flash. 
He had not replaced his canceled promise.
And the goblin was almost as bad. In the northern forest he had been doggedly 
insistent that he was Rap's trash, his slave and servant. He had not mentioned 
that recently. Here, far from his familiar haunts, his customs and habits were 
being shaken and undermined. He had always been a threat at Rap's back, but now 
the tradition that had stayed his bitter hatred was weakening. He was becoming 
less predictable by the hour.
Thinal ended his cautious scrutiny and hobbled toward the nearest hut. The 
goblin unconsciously drooped into a tracker's crouch as he began quartering the 
ground. Rap followed Thinal.
The cabin was small, its leafy roof low. The walls were made of flimsy wicker 
and no higher than Rap's waist, leaving an open space all around below the 
eaves. In that steamy climate this might be adequate shelter, however 
impractical it seemed to Rap's northerner's eye. He ducked in through the 
doorway, but then he had still to keep his head bent below hanging nets full of 
small gourds and tubers-the family larder, presumably. They reminded him how 
ravenous he was.
Woven mats covered the floor. Thinal was already rummaging through some rattan 
hampers in a corner. There was no other furniture except some clay pots, a 
couple of rough stools, and rolls that were likely bedding.
Thinal straightened with a sniff of disapproval. He flashed an unexpected grin. 
"A thief would starve to death here! Wouldn't he?"
"Dunno. "
Chuckling, Thinal limped over to another corner and flicked aside the mat to 
reveal a wooden disk set level with the dirt. By then Rap had sensed the pot 
buried underneath.
"How'd you know about that?"
"Professional secret!" Thinal sniggered and hauled out a handful of beadwork. 
"Darkest corner. Necklaces ... bangles? Junk!" He tossed it aside. "Coral and 
shells and pretty, pretty junk! No metal. No stones."
Rap left him to his petty pillaging and went out to look for the goblin, whom he 
found studying one of the hearths. He greeted Rap with a mirthless, disbelieving 
show of oversized fangs.
"No people, Flat Nose?"
"One," Rap said softly. "Ran for the woods. He's still there. "
Little Chicken nodded, little mollified. He pointed at the charred ruins. 
"Anything in there?"
Rap scanned casually-and then more closely. "Gods! Bones?"
"No boats. Marks of many. How many people lived here?" A factor's clerk should 
be able to estimate that. "Forty? No, nearer sixty, counting kids."
Little Chicken nodded agreement and grinned again. "Now count the bodies." He 
chuckled at Rap's shudder and walked off, apparently following some sort of 
trail, despite the deepening shadows.
Rap sat down in the dust to ease his feet and began the gruesome task he had 
been given. Bone was hard to distinguish from charred timber, but two of the 
ruins seemed to contain none and he realized with relief that many of the 
remains were those of dogs. In the end he was sure of only three human 
skeletons. Even so ...
He rose and went to report. Little Chicken was standing inside one of the 
undamaged huts, peering up at the rafters. Here the storage nets had been cut 
down and thrown in a corner. "Three," Rap said, and was tempted to add, "sir." 
The goblin was back in his element, evidently. Now his grin showed real 
happiness.
"See here?" He pointed at the flooring. "Blood!"
Rap knelt. The stains were barely visible in the dust, and quite dry. "Maybe."
"Is blood! Spattered. See on walls?" In his excitement, Little Chicken had 
reverted to goblin dialect. "And up here? Marks on wood? Rope! "
"What are you suggesting?"
"Flogged. People hung up here and flogged. Only whips would splash walls like 
that."
Rap heaved himself to his feet, feeling sick. "You have a gruesome imagination!" 
he snarled, and stalked out into the brighter light of the compound.
Maybe. But Little Chicken was an expert on torture.

3
Fire snapped and cracked, working on green wood, throwing nervous shadows around 
the tiny settlement and wafting pale coils of smoke lazily upward. It was 
certainly not needed for warmth. Little Chicken had said it would drive away 
insects; he had been wrong, and likely he just found fire reassuring. Overhead, 
the stars were hidden by cloud. Rain threatened.
An imp, a faun, and a goblin-all far from home, Rap thought wryly, and far from 
happy. In the gathering dark they sat on stools around the fire, too weary for 
the effort of making conversation. Now and again the others would start, 
glancing warily at the encircling jungle. Rap did not need to look at it; he was 
keeping it under surveillance constantly, but nothing was moving out there.
The imp had never been robust; now he looked wasted. Blotchy stubble made his 
narrow face seem dirty, yet did nothing to hide the pustules and blackheads. All 
his bones showed as he gazed despondently into the flames.
Firelight had given the goblin's skin the greenish tinge that Rap remembered 
from the winter nights. He was leaning his elbows on his knees, staring at the 
coals; worried and resentful at being out of his element. His sunken cheeks 
emphasized the breadth of his face and his long nose, but he was certainly in 
better shape than either Rap or Thinal.
And the faun? He at least had a purpose, and somehow that purpose had made him 
leader of this itinerant disaster. He felt woefully unqualified to lead 
anything, having achieved nothing with his life so far except a string of 
disasters. He had betrayed his king in a futile attempt to warn the king's 
daughter; he had failed Inos herself when he should have accepted two more words 
of power to become a mage. She had called out to him, and he had failed her 
again.
He needed help.
Rap coughed. Little Chicken looked up and Rap nodded: now!
The goblin rose, swatting bugs. "I will bring more firewood, " he announced 
loudly. He was a lousy actor, but Thinal was engrossed in watching the embers 
and did not notice. The goblin faded away into the shadows.
Compared to Little Chicken, a butterfly was a noisy blunderer. Quieter than 
starlight, he circled around behind Thinal and took up position as Rap had 
requested earlier, raising a woodsman's ax high, as if poised to split the imp's 
skull. Rap rose stiffly, clutching a slender fishing spear. He limped closer to 
Thinal, who looked up with understandable alarm.
"Don't worry," Rap said. "It's not you I'm after. I want a favor. "
Thinal flashed a nervous toothy smile. "What's that, Rap?"
"I'd like to talk to Sagorn. "
Thinal grinned in relief. "Sure." He tugged at the thong around his waist, 
loosening the knot.
"About time!" Sagorn said.
Rap had been expecting the transformation. He had seen it done before, yet he 
was just as shaken by the instantaneous substitution as he had been the first 
time. He still felt there ought to be some sense of change, of one person 
melting into the other, but there was none of that. The swarthy little imp was 
gone and in his place sat a tall, gangling old man, calmly adjusting the 
loincloth to fit him.
His thin white hair was unruffled, as it had been when he vanished from Inisso's 
chamber. He was clean and freshly shaved. Somehow he could still project a sense 
of superiority, even wearing nothing but a rag. His skin was pallid and limp, 
hanging wearily on his bones, and he smiled an old man's thinlipped smile. 
Firelight deepened the clefts framing his mouth to gashes.
Rap took a deep breath. "I want your advice, sir."
"You need it, you mean. You are a very determined young man, Master Rap. 
However, I give you my oath that I shall recall Thinal. I assume that your 
henchman is standing behind me with another spear?"
"A stone ax."
Sagorn raised spikey white eyebrows. "Hitting Darad on the head would not be a 
gainful procedure. You could only make him madder. But I give you my word."
Rap had been very careful not to look toward Little Chicken. Sagorn had guessed 
he would be there. He was demonstrating his superiority, seeking dominance.
"But you will not mind if Little Chicken stays there? After all, I have no 
reason to trust you."
Sagorn's wrinkles deepened in the smile that always reminded Rap of an iron 
trap. "As you wish. But I bear you no grudge. Darad will not be called by me. I 
give you my word on that."
"Thank you," Rap said awkwardly.
"So you want my opinion of this village?" Sagorn's gaze wandered around briefly. 
"As Andor told you, I never met a fairy. Vicious headhunters, it is said. The 
city is well fortified."
"The doorways here are low, the beds short. "
"So I saw-Thinal saw. Obviously this is a fairy settlement." Rap had already 
come to that conclusion. "But what happened? Why is it deserted? Or is it?"
"Probably one band of fairyfolk attacked another . . ." Sagorn frowned, peering 
up at Rap's face, which could not be very visible to him against the fire. "You 
have reason to think otherwise?"
"Bedding, cooking pots, nets, food?"
The old man tugged his lip. "You are right. Those would be looted. "
"There are bones in those ruins."
"Three skeletons. Three skulls."
"Mmmph! You may be ignorant, but you are not stupid, my young friend. So if not 
headhunting, then perhaps it was a reprisal by Imperial troops?"
"Do legionaries flog captives to death?"
"Yes. "
"But for what?" Rap said. "I thought headhunters used their victims' skulls as 
trophies? There is nothing like that here-no heads on posts, no posts to stick 
'em on, even. Those things over there are for fishing nets. All the weapons we 
found look like hunting equipment. No swords. The arrows are small, bird size, 
not barbed. This is a fishing spear. Ask Little Chicken."
The pale jotun eyes glinted at him in the firelight. "You are more astute than I 
thought, Master Rap. When I first met you, in the king's study ... I 
underestimated you. You have grown a lot since Jalon met you in the hills last 
year. "
Rap had grown enough to resent the patronizing. "The fields are still being 
tended, in places. Ashes in one hearth had not been rained on. Little Chicken 
saw. Weeds are sprouting in doorways, but one hencoop still has occupants. 
Someone has been feeding them. "
Sagorn twisted around carefully to look up at the goblin, who still held the ax 
over him without a tremor. "Things grow here faster than in your northern 
forest, young man."
Little Chicken said nothing, his angular eyes shining gold in the fire's glow. 
Sagorn turned to face Rap again, obviously disconcerted by this looming threat.
"If you allow for the tropics, whatever happened here was quite recent, a few 
weeks at the most." So far the famous sage had not said anything very profound, 
Rap thought, but now he flashed his grim smile again. "And if you detected 
survivors with your farsight, you did not dare tell Thinal. "
"Someone ran away as we approached."
"Just one?"
"Just one. And he is still there, about two bowshots off." Not that an arrow 
would go far through these woods.
"Doing what?"
"Just sitting. He's been there a long time. "
"Well? Describe him!" Sagorn glared impatiently. "I can't do your thinking for 
you if I don't have the information. "
"About this high. Skinny. I can't make out much detail at that distance. No 
weapons, as far as I can tell. Dark, I think."
"Humph! That is not even gnome height. A child, then?" Rap nodded.
"Then I think I agree with your guess. Imperial troops or jotunn raiders. One 
child survived the attack. Not knowing what to do, he has remained here and 
tried to carry on the work of the village in the hope that someday the others 
will return. You must catch him! Use your farsight, or your goblin. " Again the 
old man smiled his sinister smile. "You did not risk calling me just for that 
obvious advice, did you?"
Sagorn rubbed his chin. "No, things are certainly amiss. Thinal's intuition is 
very interesting. As he told you, I was young when I came here. It was before we 
learned our word of power. I have spared no thought for Faerie since then, and 
Thinal has certainly had no cause to. If he now believes it holds something 
worth stealing, then it probably does."
Rap put his suspicion into words. "You mean that the fairies are protected from 
the visitors, not the other way round?"
"That would seem to be one possibility. There are certainly monsters, though. I 
saw a pair of sphynxes and a chimera."
"In cages?"
"Yes. I rode on a hippogriff. But you are right-there is too much protection if 
the purpose is merely to repel wildlife. Even Thinal saw that the Impire does 
not usually bother to defend tourists. No headhunting, you think? And the last 
remaining inhabitant of this village is frightened of you, of strangers. So who 
or what is protected, and from whom?"
Sagorn fell silent, slapping angrily at bugs.
Rap wanted answers, not questions. "Tell me about Milflor, sir. Where is it?"
"On the east coast, near the south, I think. The prevailing wind ... Yes, far 
south. You came the wrong way."
"How big is it?"
"Not big, at least when I was there. Many Imperial troops . . ." He paused 
again. "And ships. Small, coastal vessels. Smuggling?" The pale jotunn eyes 
flickered with excitement. "Now why, I wonder? This is a very interesting little 
mystery, Master Rap! Trust Thinal to stumble onto this. If there is ever 
anything of value around, he will always find it. And steal it. "
A word of power was a thing of very great value. Rap hoped that more than just 
his own word of power was triggering Thinal's acquisitive instincts. "What could 
there be here worth stealing?"
"I don't know. But I suspect that Thinal will find it."
"I just want to get away."
"Let me give you some real advice, then, as that was why you summoned me. " The 
old man glanced down at Rap's feet. "All of you need rest. You must stay here 
for a few days to recover. No, hear me out! You will gain nothing by killing 
yourselves, and Thinal is at the limits of his endurance. I am astonished he has 
stayed. You have been flattering him, and I suggest you continue to do so. You 
are quite right not to want either Jalon or Andor around, and I cannot help with 
the traveling. So keep praising Thinal. It will help him, and you."
Thinal, of course, would remember this conversation. "What's your interest in 
this?" Rap demanded suspiciously.
Sagorn chuckled dryly. "The occult! Why did the magic casement react so strongly 
to you? And Witch Bright Waterwhy, I wonder, is she so solicitous of our brawny 
friend here?" He gestured with his thumb at the goblin. "What have you done to 
rouse the wardens?"
"I only know what I told Thinal," Rap said.
"And Thinal believed you. Of us all, he is perhaps the best at detecting lies, 
so I shall accept his judgment."
"Then tell me about this Bright Water, sir."
"She is very old and said to be mad-a safe enough bet."
"Oh, work it out! Remember how horrified you were when I first told you about 
your own word of power? The sorcerous live a long time. They can have anything 
they want: power, riches, women-or men, of course-youth, and health. Anything! 
It must pall after a decade or two. And yet they live in perpetual dread of 
other sorcerers."
"Who seek to steal their words?"
Sagorn hesitated. "Possibly. Andor told you that, right? But no mundane really 
knows how their minds work. There is another possibility. A strong sorcerer can 
bind a weaker to his service with a spell of obedience. The wardens are reported 
to do that. Other sorcerers fear the wardens, because they are the strongest of 
all, jealous of rivals, and they always seem to have retinues of mages and 
lesser sorcerers at their command. I suspect each warden continuously scans his 
sector, hunting for sorcerers he can bind to his service. Inisso's castle at 
Krasnegar ... remember the occult barrier you sensed around it? You told Andor. 
"
Now Rap felt he was getting somewhere. "And the chamber of puissance was outside 
the shield, above it, like a watchtower?"
"Well, then! Sorcerers seem to have two options. Some build strongholds like 
that in remote places and become virtual hermits, cowering inside occult shells. 
Others just hide from view by not using their powers-that is the only way I can 
explain how sorcerers spring up without warning. History is full of such 
stories. The new warlock Zinixo, for example, supposedly inherited all four of 
his words from a great-great-grandmother who had used her abilities only to 
prolong her own life. No one had ever known that she had occult power."
Bright Water, Rap recalled, had claimed she could detect power being used, even 
his tiny talent. He shivered.
Sagorn twisted around toward the menacing figure of Little Chicken. "Would you 
mind putting down that ax, young man? I find it remarkably unsettling, even just 
knowing it is there."
Rap nodded, and the goblin slowly lowered his arms and stepped back a pace; but 
he did not relax, and he kept his angular eyes fixed firmly on the scholar. The 
fire was dying, giving less light and more smoke.
Still frowning, Sagorn turned back to Rap. "How much do you know of the other 
wardens?"
"Very little, sir."
"Well, we know more about their activities than we do of minor sorcerers', 
because it is they who make history happen. Again take Zinixo as an example. He 
is a young dwarf, little older than yourself, I fancy. His predecessor, Witch 
AgAn, had been West for almost a century. Perhaps she had grown careless. About 
a year ago she attended a wedding in the Peacock Hall of the Imperial palace. 
She was struck down by a bolt of lightning. Five bystanders were killed, also, 
and many more wounded."
Rap grimaced. "Lightning indoors?"
"Certainly. But only moments later there was an even greater manifestation in 
the public gallery, around Zinixo himself. Parts of the balcony collapsed and 
the death toll was much greatermany people burned or crushed. I was working in 
the library, at the far end of the palace, and I felt the tremors and heard the 
blast. It was an awesome release of power, and Zinixo's survival is an 
astonishing tribute to his occult strength. "
"Who did that?"
"Good question! Possibly one or more of the other wardens had aided him in his 
coup against Ag-An; probably one or more of the others then tried to retaliate. 
Or it was an attempted double-cross by one of his former allies. Or some other 
nonwarden sorcerer took the opportunity to make his own move before the newcomer 
could consolidate his position. You see the problem? We just don't know! But you 
were right last year to dislike the thought of being a sorcerer. It can be a 
dangerous trade."
It would be a disgusting trade! "Zinixo might have faked the attack on himself?"
Sagorn's mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth, and for a moment he just 
stared at Rap. The fast flickering of the firelight made his face impossible to 
read.
"Ingenious! " he murmured. "But I think not. A warlock has no need to impress 
anyone, except perhaps other powerful sorcerers-and they would not likely be 
deceived. No, I think I prefer the popular belief, which is that the second 
attack was a retaliation by Warlocks Lith'rian and Olybino-South and Eastwho 
tried to smite the upstart in his turn. If so, then he withstood their combined 
efforts!"
"Is that possible?" Rap felt crawly and scratchy whenever the occult was 
discussed, but he knew that this information was important if he was to have any 
chance of ever helping Inos.
"Certainly! One warlock has often defeated two others in combination. On that 
score at least we have good historical records. That is why the Protocol needs 
the Four; one may withstand two, but never three. Never? Let us say `rarely.' 
Who knows?"
Silence fell, broken only by fire noises and the muffled fall of surf in the 
distance. Scattered raindrops hissed in the hearth. Rap realized that Sagorn was 
regarding him quizzically, as if waiting for him to catch up.
"Zinixo is warlock of the west?" A nod.
"West's prerogative is the weather?"
Sagorn flashed his gruesome smile once more. "No! I've heard that said often 
enough, but the records just do not bear it out. There are too many reports of 
sorcerers raising tempests and so on. I don't know what force is reserved to 
West. I assume there is one, though. " He thought for a moment. "He may just 
have some special status within the Four. Possibly his prerogative is the 
imperor himself, although the official position is that the imperor is 
sacrosanct."
"And we are in West's area?"
"I assume so. Faerie is certainly very far west. And south, too, of course."
"So Bright Water had no business moving us here?" Another patronizing smile. 
"Not without his permission."
"She is a friend of this Zinixo?"
"She may be. She may even have aided his accession. Warlock Lith'rian is 
universally believed to detest him-elves and dwarves are rarely compatible. 
Warlock Olybino ... this is just between you and me, young man, but I have seen 
him ... Olybino is a pompous owl. Anytime South and East combine, then West and 
North are likely to become friendly-you understand?" Sagorn frowned up at the 
sky, as if warning the raindrops to stop falling. "So North's inexplicable 
interest in your goblin ax-man may involve the warlock of the west, also. On the 
other hand, Witch Bright Water may just be confused. She may have made a 
mistake. She may have forgotten all about you by now. "
Remembering the old hag he had seen slouched naked on the ivory throne, Rap felt 
attracted by that thought. "I hope she has!"
The old man rubbed his hands gleefully. "Or not! So you see why you can trust 
me, Master Rap? I find all this fascinating! At least you can understand that I 
do not want to let Darad get his murderous hands on you. I would much rather let 
you blunder along in your own way, just to see what happens to you and your 
goblin-a unique opportunity to observe power at work!"
"So we're nothing more than an amusement for you?"
"What more could you be? Or me to you? Friends?" The old man scowled; his voice 
became brittle and bitter. "Which of us would you want as a friend? We are five 
solitary people. You can trust none of us in a tight spot. We cannot even trust 
each other!"
"Not Thinal?"
Sagorn sighed and stared wistfully at the hissing embers. The drops were 
becoming unpleasantly frequent. "The last time I saw Thinal, I was ten years 
old, and trying to hide behind Andor-five of us facing an angry sorcerer."
Rap tried to imagine that long-ago scene. "How old was he?"
"Thinal? About fifteen, I suppose. He seemed very big and manly to me. Do you 
understand guilt, Master Rap? He has never forgiven himself for what happened 
that night. You are everything he would like to be-determined, self-reliant, 
honest. So keep on building up his self-esteem, and he will continue trying to 
be worthy of your friendship."
Rap did not think Thinal would agree with much of that. "Trust him, you mean?"
"You have no choice, do you? At least until you all get to Milflor and can start 
looking for transportation back to the mainland. That may be tricky ... perhaps 
we can talk again then? Take a few days' rest. Keep your feet clean. Wounds 
become poisoned very easily in this climate, and you have a long walk ahead of 
you." The old man smiled sardonically. "Well, as the weather seems to be turning 
sour, and I have no desire to provoke my lumbago, I think I shall depart. "
Little Chicken raised the ax again. "Wait! I have to find Inos-"
Sagorn laughed raucously and shook his head. "So you keep saying. But it would 
take you months, or even years, to reach Arakkaran or Krasnegar. A few days' 
rest now will be a wise investment and can make no difference. "
"I have another question," Rap said. "Why did the sorceress take Inos?"
The scholar fumbled with the knot on his loincloth. "Who can say?"
"Sir!" Rap took a step forward. The spear quivered in his hand.
Sagorn looked up, glaring. "Threaten me, boy, and you will answer to Darad! "
"Then be helpful!"
"You have a brain-use it! I can think of at least four reasons, but I can no 
more decide among them now than you can."
"List them!" Rap demanded, still hot with anger. "God of Patience! They are 
obvious! To steal her word of power-and if that was the cause, then Inosolan is 
dead or tortured into madness by now. Or to do her a kindnessshe was in a 
dangerous situation, remember. Or thirdly, it may just be that the Rasha woman 
is bored and wants to meddle in politics like a warden. Even a sorceress is not 
omnipotent. Not the most powerful warlock could ever create a genuine living 
princess with an established lineage and a claim to a throne-only the Gods can 
do that. So Inos has rarity value. "
Rap had already thought of all this. "What's the fourth reason?"
The hearth steamed and hissed. Rain drummed on the leaves; water dribbled down 
Sagorn's face. "Tb use as a bargaining chip."
"What? " Rap roared. "Is that the best you can do? Bargaining chip? If sorcerers 
are so powerful, then what can they ever need to bargain for?"
The jotunn's long upper lip curled in an arrogant, aristocratic sneer. "Boy, if 
you need to ask that, then you have not heard a word I told you! "
He was gone. Only the haughty sneer remained, incongruous on the paltry Thinal.

4
Farsight was not like vision. Rap did not see, he just knew. Even in the dark, 
he knew where the rotten sticks lay, where the thorns and creepers tangled his 
path, where the mossy trunks and low branches waited; and even in cellar 
blackness he somehow knew of their intrinsic greenness, also. In daylight he 
would never be as skilled a stalker as Little Chicken was, but at short range on 
a rainy night with no light at all, he was unsurpassed. Step by cautious step, 
he advanced through total darkness toward a sleeping quarry curled up under a 
bush in the jungle.
Or perhaps not sleeping ... When he was a dozen paces away, he sensed that the 
child was a girl, and then that she was weeping-lying under a bush, sobbing. She 
was slight and blackskinned, and very small.
Some members of her family had been brutally murdered, perhaps in front of her 
eyes, and the rest dragged away in bonds. Now other intruders had driven her 
from the village she had been haunting like a wraith, taking even that feeble 
comfort from her. Rap wanted to weep, also.
Deliberately he cracked a twig, and she sat up with a tiny, quickly stifled 
wail.
"Don't be frightened," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I brought some food. 
I'm a friend. "
The child whimpered and huddled down, impossibly little. "I can see in the dark, 
but I won't come any closer. I know where you are. You have your arms round your 
knees. There's a tree right behind you, right? And a trowel near your foot. I'm 
not moving, not coming closer. You can hear my voice, so you know I'm not coming 
closer. Don't be frightened."
There was no reply, no sound except the tramp of rain on the forest canopy high 
above and the steady drip of water. The air was thick with damp woodsy scents, 
the fetor of rotting leaves.
"I am going to lay down my bundle. I brought a blanket and a gourd of water and 
some food. There, I've laid it down. Now I'm walking away again. You can hear me 
going away, can't you? And now I'll tell you how to find the bundle I brought. 
Aren't you hungry?"
Still silence, but ...
"You nodded. I saw you nod. So I can see in the dark, but I'm not going to try 
to catch you. You can hear that I've gone farther away, can't you? "
The child nodded again. Rap thought he could even sense her hands trembling and 
her fast breath.
"Now I'll tell you how to find it. Move forward . . ." The child merely clutched 
her knees more tightly.
"I can guide you to the food. " She shook her head.
"All right," he said, "you don't have to. But I don't want to hurt you. Who 
killed the people in the village?"
Her lips moved at last. "Soldiers."
"Well, I'm not a soldier. I have two friends with me, and they're not soldiers, 
either. We want to help you. If you crawl forward, I can tell you how to find 
the things I brought for you."
But the tiny figure still did not move. Obviously Rap's efforts were only 
increasing her terror. He could have soothed a frightened foal, or calmed a 
puppy, but with people he had no occult skill at all.
"Then I'll go away and leave you. Do you want that?" She nodded.
"Then you come and see me in the morning. I'll go out to the place where you 
were pulling weeds, and you come and see me, and we'll talk. In the morning. All 
right? And I'll leave this food right here, and the blanket. I'm going now. "
Whistling a sad tune, hating himself, Rap turned and walked noisily off through 
the invisible forest. The child stayed where she was, in the rain.

5
She did come the next morning, after Rap had been waiting in hot sunlight for 
nearly an hour. He had thought to bring a stool, for his feet were inflamed and 
painful, but he had no sunshade and all he could do about the insects was slap 
and swear. Thinal and Little Chicken sat in plain view at the edge of the 
clearing.
The girl had been watching them from the jungle all that time, but Rap had 
pretended not to know. He had spent his time studying the vegetables, trying to 
guess what they were. The only ones he knew for certain were beans.
His patience ran out at last. Turning to face her, he cupped his hands and 
shouted. "Come out! I won't hurt you. I'm not a soldier. "
After a few minutes, she emerged, walking toward him with so light a grace that 
she might have been floating. At most she was twelve years old, but her head 
barely reached his chest. She wore a simple dress of brown homespun, with no 
shoes or adornments. Her hair was straight and hung loose. Like her skin, it was 
black, and her eyes were black-all black. Even the sclera were black, as if her 
face had been carved from a single block of ebony. Rap had not noticed that in 
the night. He hid his surprise with a smile and sat waiting for her, his hands 
held open to show that he had no weapon.
She came much closer than he had expected, stopping a few paces from him and 
trying to return his smile with a lip that insisted on wobbling. His pale-brown 
skin and gray-and-white eyes must make him seem just as uncanny to her as she 
was to him.
"I shall call you Food Giver," she said, her voice quavering. "How will you term 
me?"
Rap had already opened his mouth to tell her his name; he was nonplussed to be 
asked for hers instead. Then he remembered one of his mother's 
superstitions-that evil sorcerers sought out people's names in order to do them 
harm. Perhaps fairyfolk had the same belief.
"I shall term you Forest Sleeper."
His guess worked, she seemed to approve. She took a deep breath. "Food Giver, 
you are welcome to our hearth and spring. May the Good be prospered . . . " She 
hesitated and bit her lip. Black lips, black tongue. It was almost a relief to 
see the tips of her teeth and learn that they, at least, were white. She tried 
again. "We offer all we have, and may the Good be prospered by your coming. May 
your stay be joyful and your leaving ... ah ... not soon?" She smiled 
uncertainly. "Did I say that right?"
"I think so. You said it very well. But I don't know the right words to answer. 
Can you tell me what I am supposed to say?" She shook her head apprehensively.
"Then I'll just say thank you, Forest Sleeper, and tell you again that I want to 
be your friend. "
She smiled with relief.
"Will you come and meet my friends now? I have two friends, and we don't want to 
hurt you. They want to be your friends, too. "
The child hesitated, then gave him her hand. The palm was sticky with fear, the 
fingers tiny as a baby's. He rose and led her back toward the huts, marveling at 
how she seemed to float over the ground. As she moved through rows of plants, 
the leaves hardly seemed to note her passage.
"When did the bad soldiers come?"
"A long time ago."
"And you were the only one to escape?"
She nodded. Rap thought she was going to start weeping. He cursed himself for 
questioning her so soon.
"Momma had sent me to the fish trap, for food to offer-" Her voice broke off in 
a near sob.
"You can tell me later. I expect you're hungry again? When you've met my 
friends, then we'll all eat, and then have a talk." What was he going to do with 
this orphan? If Imperial soldiers had been responsible for the atrocity in the 
village, then he could not take her to Milflor. She might be in danger there, 
and she would certainly not be happy. So Rap would have to go in search of 
another fairy settlement-and that might take weeks. He certainly could not 
abandon her here alone.
"When the moon shines," she said timorously, "and I want to dance, will you clap 
for me?"
"Of course. "
She smiled happily. "I have danced a little, as I could, but there was no one to 
clap. I will clap for you to dance!"
Rap thought she was going to have another disappointment then, but he promised 
he would dance.
She stopped suddenly, tugging his large hand with her tiny one. He looked down 
in surprise at her worried expression.
"Food Giver," she said, "what is nearest your heart?"
"Er . . ." Rap smiled as cheerfully as he could. "I don't think I understand, 
Forest Sleeper. I come from a long way away, and I do not know how things are 
done here."
"Oh. " She looked alarmed.
"You tell me what I'm supposed to tell you. "
It seemed that Forest Sleeper was not sure of the answer, nor why she was 
asking. She hesitated, fumbled for words, and then said, "Tell me your dreams?"
Rap felt inadequate and bewildered. He knelt down on the red soil to study the 
strangely haunting face, and even then his eyes were higher than hers. "My 
dreams?"
"What you seek." His inability to understand was frightening her again.
"What I want most, you mean?" Rap asked, and earned a vigorous nod. "Oh! I seek 
a lady, a friend of mine. She was taken away ... She had to go away, and I want 
to find her. "
The black-on-black eyes seemed to search his. The fairy child's skin was very 
shiny, as if polished, but her eyes gleamed brighter still-like black metal, 
oddly beautiful in spite of their strangeness.
"So I may serve her. Because she is my queen."
Another pause, and a sudden childish grin, as if this had all been a joke. "You 
do not know!"
Apparently that cryptic remark concluded the ritual, if it had been a ritual. 
Seeming greatly reassured, Forest Sleeper tugged at Rap's hand to make him rise, 
and then set off skipping at his side. But he did not think that curious episode 
had been a joke and he hoped that there were no more unfamiliar customs in 
store.
Her increasing confidence had changed her gait to a dance. Rap felt as if he 
were holding her down, that without his grip on her hand she might flit away 
into the sky. Andor had told him once that the elves were the most graceful of 
all the races of Pandemia, but Andor had never met a fairy. Few had. Her 
features were fine and delicate, and her jet skin had a strangely fascinating 
beauty. Even her fingernails were shiny black.
Thinal came forward a few feet. Perhaps he thought he might be less frightening 
than Little Chicken, but the girl's hand gripped Rap's very tightly as she 
approached him. Then they stopped, and for a moment no one spoke.
"I shall call you Small One," she announced. Bewilderment crossed Thinal's face, 
and he looked to Rap. "Name her," Rap said very quietly, almost mouthing the 
words.
"Oh. I shall call you ... Dark Lady."
She giggled, as if that were funny. "Small One, you are welcome to our hearth 
and spring. We offer what we have, and may the Good be prospered by your coming. 
May your stay be joyful and your leaving ... er. . . "
"Be long delayed," Thinal prompted. Her eyes sparkled. "Belong delayed!"
Thinal bowed. "May the Good grow within your house and the Evil diminish. May 
your men be strong and your women fertile, your children wax in beauty and your 
elders in wisdom. May your crops flourish, your herds increase, and all your 
arrows fly true. "
Forest Sleeper-or Dark Lady-clapped her tiny hands joyfully. She looked up at 
Rap in reproach. "He knows the words!"
"Then he shall teach me. "
"It's a faunish greeting," Thinal said, with a smug glance at Rap. He repeated 
the ritual, line by line, and Rap in turn spoke it to the girl.
She laughed when he had done. Then she became troubled again, stepping very 
close to Thinal and giving him the same steady stare she had given Rap. "Small 
One, what is nearest your heart?"
Again Thinal's eyes flicked to Rap's for guidance. "Your greatest ambition?" Rap 
muttered.
"Ah! Dark Lady, I seek to be relieved of a spell placed upon me by a wicked 
sorcerer."
The fairy studied him for longer than she had Rap. Then she gave the same reply, 
but hesitantly. "You do not know!" And now obviously it was Little Chicken's 
turn, and the fairy was gaining confidence. She told him that his name was Big 
Ears, at which Rap and Thinal hastily suppressed grins. The goblin's slanted 
eyes widened slightly.
"I term you Beauty of the Night," he said in his heavily accented impish.
Rap was surprised and gratified. Not bad at all! Knowing how goblins disparaged 
women, he had been afraid of some surly rudeness.
Beauty of the Night rattled off her ritual welcome, and Little Chicken replied 
with Thinal's faunish formula.
Then he was given the close stare. "Big Ears, what is nearest your heart?"
Rap knew the answer to that. He wondered if Little Chicken would be truthful. He 
was, but he spoke in goblin.
"Kill Flat Nose. Long, long pain."
This time the scrutiny was longer still. Then the fairy child said, "Oh!" and 
held up both hands to the goblin. Rap was astonished to see that her deep jet 
eyes had brimmed over, her cheeks of polished ebony were glistening with tears.
"You do know!" She tugged at the goblin's arms. Puzzled and wary, he sank down 
to his knees. Even then she had to rise on tiptoe to embrace him, to reach up 
and kiss his cheek.
Rap and Thinal shot each other glances of mingled astonishment and amusement, 
Thinal rolling his eyes; but before either could frame a suitably ribald 
comment, Little Chicken cried out and clutched at the tiny form, suddenly gone 
limp.
He lowered her gently to the ground. Rap knelt to see, but even as he did so, he 
had no doubt. She was dead.
Just like that-dead.
Faun and goblin stared at each other across the body in mutual horror.
"Did not hurt!" Little Chicken protested. He scrambled to his feet and backed 
away, paler than Rap had ever seen him, livid green blotches highlighting his 
cheekbones. "Did not touch!"
"No, you didn't. I saw."
Thinal gave a choked cry and vanished. A thong snapped, a loincloth fluttered to 
the ground, leaving Sagorn naked and absurd-and paralyzed with shock, staring 
down at the body. All the color drained out of his already pale jotunn cheeks, 
turning them almost as white as the strands of hair still plastered over his 
face by the previous night's rain.
"He didn't touch her!" Rap said. "She put her arms around him. He did nothing! 
In fact, he had his hands behind him, like this."
Sagorn licked sallow lips. "I saw, too. Thinal did." His bewilderment seemed as 
great as Rap's.
"Well?" Rap shouted. "Doctor? You're the great scholar! Explain this, old 
man-there's a dead child here. What did we do wrong?"
"I ... I have no idea." Sagorn gazed at Rap in frank dismay. "No cachexia or 
morbidity or trauma I have ever encountered . ." He sank down and felt the tiny 
neck for a pulse. Then he closed the all black eyes with fingers that seemed 
cruelly huge. He rose stiffly; seeming to notice his nudity for the first time, 
he stooped to retrieve the loincloth.
"I have never seen anything like that," he muttered. "I know of nothing to 
induce moribundity with such alacrity. Postulation of occult agency must-" He 
sucked in his breath.
"Well?"
The old man was staring at Rap with pure horror contorting his features. 
"Nothing!"
But there was something.
Then there was no Sagorn. He had vanished, calling back Thinal in his place.
Rap roared and stepped over the dead girl to grab the imp by the shoulders. 
"What did he remember?"
"What? Rap!"
Rap could barely restrain himself. He wanted to shake Thinal like a dusty horse 
blanket. "What did Sagorn think of, that made him leave like that? He remembered 
something, didn't he?"
"I don't know."
"Think, man! Think!"
"Rap, you're hurting ... He thought of a book he read-"
"What did it say?"
"I don't remember! I don't know! It was years ago, in the Imperial library. Just 
a book, Rap. About Faerie, I think-" He was lying. Rap was certain of it. But to 
bully Thinal was to risk Darad. To demand that Sagorn be brought back would be 
useless, for he would not remain if he did not wish to be questioned. With a 
great effort, Rap released the imp and swung around to the goblin, whose ugly 
face bore a strangely bemused expression.
"She spoke to you. Didn't she? She whispered something in your ear. What did she 
say?"
The goblin pouted. "Don't know. "
"You're lying, trash!"
A dangerous glint shone in Little Chicken's eye. "Not impish. Not goblin. Didn't 
understand. "
He was lying, also. In dismay, Rap stared around at the hot jungle and the 
pitiful cluster of huts, bereft now of their last pathetic inhabitant. Wanting 
to hide his tears from the others, he muttered something about a spade and 
walked away.
He wept.
There was a mystery here that he could not start to understand. He was only a 
dumb stableboy, or at best a factor's clerkfar from home and hopelessly out of 
his depth. Inos seemed farther away than ever and he more lost than ever, 
trapped with two companions he dared not trust.
He had brought an innocent child to her death. Somehow his blundering ignorance 
had killed her.
The world was a much stranger place than he had expected.
Some lime talk:
There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I 
might not see: Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE There was-and then no more 
of TREE and ME. Fitzgerald, The Rubatyat of Omar Khayyam (§32, 1879)


FOUR
Destiny with men

1
"Steady there, lady," Inos said. "Steady! Now I take a look at your hoof. All 
part of the game." She slid from the saddle, then tried to comfort Sesame, 
patting her neck and cooing. "Sorry, girl! Sorry! " Sesame champed her bit and 
backed away rebelliously, clattering on the wind-polished pebbles; she kept that 
up for several minutes before allowing herself to be soothed. She was one of the 
sweetest-tempered mounts Inos had ever met, but at the moment she was very mad, 
and with good reason.
The only vegetation in sight was thorny scrub, useless for tying reins to. Apart 
from that there was sand and stone as far as the eye could see, hot enough to 
bake bread. Heat lay on the desert like a lake of molten lead. It shimmered in 
silver mirages and blurred the rocky ridges, even the closest. It poached the 
eyeballs. The Agonistes were barely visible ghosts, snowcapped and remote.
Sesame was still fretting, perturbed by the lack of other horses, perhaps not 
trusting Inos to find the road home again. The last of the hunt had just topped 
the ridge ahead, disappearing after the hounds; the beaters and dog handlers 
were leagues back. Timeless silence had returned to the barren hills; the air 
was still and cruel, too hot to breathe, and smelling of dust.
Inos unhooked the canteen and dropped her veil to drink. She had no objection to 
covering her face out here in the hills, because everyone did, even Azak. She 
ought to pretend to inspect Sesame's shoes, but at the moment there was no one 
in sight, so she could just say she had done so. She shook the canteen and 
scowled at it for being so near to empty. The sky was frighteningly huge, and 
she could imagine herself as a God might see her, an insignificant dot on a 
great barren expanse of rock.
She replaced the canteen, wiping her face with her sleeve. It had been a tougher 
day than usual-she wondered again what on earth she was hoping to achieve, 
broiling herself in the desert. For more than two weeks now she had been 
imprisoned in Arakkaran, Pandemia's most luxurious jail, and in those two weeks 
she seemed to have accomplished nothing at all. Nothing for Krasnegar; nothing 
even for her own satisfaction, for she had not achieved that monarch-to-monarch 
talk with Azak that she had set out to win.
Likely it would have done her little good anyway, for Sultan Azak seemed to 
spend all his days in hunting, all his evenings at state dinners with his 
brothers and uncles and cousins. When had he ever had the time to learn anything 
about world politics? He was only an untutored savage, who probably knew less 
than she did.
"Stubborn, I am!" she told Sesame. "I just don't want to quit! I don't want to 
crawling back to Kade, admitting that I can't even back a man into a corner when 
I try. Stubborn!" Stubborn as a certain mule-headed faun she had known once.
As far as she knew, Kade was not making much progress, either. She seemed to 
pass her days in teaching the palace women how to run tea parties and ladies' 
salons, and the sorceress had been encouraging this importation of Imperial 
customs. There had been no change in the situation in Krasnegar-so Rasha had 
told Kade. Of course news took a month or longer to travel as far as Kinvale. To 
cross all Pandemia might take years, so what the sorceress had not heard, no one 
had.
"So why do I bother, lady? Tbll me that!" Inos patted the pony's sweaty neck. 
"I'll tell you why I bother-because I don't want to waste my days lounging 
around with Kade drinking tea and eating cake and growing old and fat! "
Sesame blew a loud breath of disbelief.
"Well, you've got a point," Inos admitted, scanning all around again without 
seeing any change in the empty land. "It would be more comfortable, and I'm 
probably aging much faster out here. So you're absolutely right-I do it because 
I want to show I'm as tough as any of these hairy-faced baboons." Sesame shook 
her head and backed up a few steps.
"No? Well, I suppose I'm not, am I? And they don't care now anyway, do they?"
The novelty had worn off, and the princes were mostly shunning Inos. Perhaps 
they resented her, and the example she was setting for their womenfolk. Some of 
the younger men still spoke to her, although what they wanted to discuss would 
have been unthinkable in Kinvale. Only one of them had actually offered to 
include marriage in the arrangement, young Petkish, and she had not seen him 
around lately. She hoped there was no connection between his marriage proposal 
and his disappearance.
Still, at least she had learned that a woman could get married in Zark. Marriage 
was unusual, and it brought very few rights, but it was possible. Nice to know.
"You're absolutely correct," Inos told her horse sternly. "I do this because I 
don't like being snubbed by an ignorant oversize savage. He knows I want a 
private word with him and he's deliberately staying out of my way, and I'm going 
to chase after him until he's sick of the sight of me."
Sesame sighed disbelievingly.
And then a horse came into view in the distance, one of the hunt returning. It 
was heading straight for Inos, so obviously the rider had already seen her. In a 
few minutes she recognized Kar's big gray. Surprise! To see Kar farther removed 
from Azak than his own shadow was very rare.
As usual, Azak had outridden the entire court, vanishing over the horizon with 
uncles and brothers straggling in pursuit behind him. Often he even outrode his 
brown-clad guards, known as the family men. Kar's return meant that the kill had 
been made; the others would be along shortly.
In a moment he flowed up effortlessly beside Inos's stillrestless mare and 
simultaneously slid from his saddle with a grace that suggested descent from a 
thousand generations of horsemen. He dropped his own reins brashly, snapping a 
word of command at the gray. Then he reached out to stroke Sesame's neck, and 
she stilled as if soothed by magic. Azak had the same knack. It wasn't quite 
Rap's magic, but it was almost as impressive.
"It was just a rock," Inos said. "Then I thought I'd give her a rest. "
"Which foot?" Kar inquired, with a smile.
Kar always smiled. Kar had probably been born smiling and most likely slept 
smiling and would be acting out of character if he did not die smiling. Alone 
among the full-grown princes, he was clean-shaven, his face round and boyish. He 
was shorter and slighter than most of the others, probably in his late twenties, 
a little older than Azak. He was another ak'Azakar, either brother or half 
brother to the sultan. His eyes were wide and innocent, as red as any, and yet 
the coldest eyes Inos had seen outside a fish market. There was something 
sinister about Kar that she could not place, and yet she had never heard him 
raise his voice or even seen him frown. Or stop smiling.
"Right front," she said.
"It looked more like back left." The smile grew broader, buckling his cheeks 
without touching his eyes at all. "But it doesn't matter, does it?" He stooped 
to run his hand down Sesame's fetlock and then lift her hoof. "It was quite 
realistic."
"Who is telling lies about me? You could not have seen it yourself."
"I see everything."
Inos had preferred not to watch the antelope being pulled down and torn apart. 
Coursing was low on her list of favorite sports.
"It fooled most of them," Kar remarked to the hoof he was studying. "The Big Man 
didn't notice, luckily. But this frog does seem a little tender. Did she have 
any trouble earlier? Real trouble? " Even when he was bent double, there was 
something very irritating in Kar's manner.
Tempted to lash out with her boot at so profitable a target, Inos regretfully 
refrained. "Not that I noticed. I mean, no! She was fine. "
He grunted, released the hoof, and went for another. Sesame tossed her head as 
he ducked below it. "Don't ever try it when he might see."
"I have more sense than that."
"I thought you had more sense than to try it at all. You think your sex would 
protect you?"
Inos rejected her first choice of response and framed a more civil reply. 
"Certainly not. I expect I should receive much the same lecture as Prince 
Petkish did. "
Kar made a scoffing noise. "Lecture? You think that was all Petkish got, a 
lecture?"
As huntmaster, Azak was a fanatic. Princes who muffed a chance at game or 
displayed anything less than total mastery of their mounts were certain to 
receive royal reprimands, which were usually long and invariably savage. No 
matter how senior the culprit, or how many lowborn attendants might be within 
earshot, Azak would bellow out his scorn and contempt for all to hear. He 
wielded an enormous vocabulary without pityridicule upon humiliation, insult 
upon sarcasm-irony, scorn, and scurrility. Frequently the tongue-lashing would 
continue until tears dribbled down the victim's cheeks, and days might then pass 
before he dared come again into the sultan's presence. A public flogging would 
have been kinder and less feared.
Azak, in short, treated the princes with undisguised contempt. He was reasonably 
patient with the lowborn-with grooms, falconers, and other attendants-but he 
made no allowance for human fallibility in royalty. It was not a style of 
leadership that appealed to Inos. The third or fourth time she witnessed one of 
his brutal tirades, the victim had been young Petkish, just two days after he 
had started inserting marriage into his frequent offers of cohabitation. His 
horse had balked at jumping a wadi, a very nasty little gully, rocky and deep, 
its edges crumbling. Azak had somehow seen what happened behind his back and had 
returned to berate the culprit with a fury of invective that continued until the 
lad dismounted and threw himself on the ground before Azak's horse, rubbed his 
face in the dirt, and begged for forgiveness. He had then been sent home, and 
Inos had not seem him since.
Within a few minutes, Azak had been leading the remainder of the hunt at full 
gallop over terrain that would have caused any reasonable man to dismount and 
proceed on foot. The remaining princes had clung to him like fleas, with Inos in 
their midst, heart in mouth-if mere princes could do it, then a queen must not 
fail. By a miracle no horse or rider had come to grief, but that night she had 
awakened several times sweating and shaking; and understanding a little better.
She understood, also, that such leadership did not permit Azak himself ever to 
fall below perfection. His mount must never stumble, his arrows never miss. And 
apparently they never did. It was small wonder that the younger men worshipped 
him, and even the oldest cowered below his frown.
But now she felt a stab of alarm. She had liked Petkish. Almost alone among the 
princes he had seemed to appreciate that a woman might be human once in a while. 
"What else happened to Petkish, apart from the lecture?"
"He was banished."
Kar was still doubled over, but Inos kept her face schooled anyway, hiding her 
distaste. Banished-for a single refusal, or because he had been too friendly 
with the visiting royalty? Poor Petkish and his tiny ginger beard! Either way, 
he had learned a hard lesson.
Azak couldn't banish Inos, because she was Rasha's guest, but if he learned that 
she had faked a lame horse in order to avoid the sight of blood, then she would 
no longer be one of the boys. She would be back doing flower arrangements with 
Kade.
"You were misinformed, Highness," Inos said. "My horse did pick up a stone. Had 
I known I would be doubted, I should have saved it as evidence. Surely you are 
too much of a gentleman to tell tales?"
Kar completed his deliberate inspection of the second hoof, then straightened 
up. He rested one hand on Sesame's withers and turned to Inos with quiet 
amusement.
"I always tell tales," he said. "I tell everything. I am his chief of security. 
Did you not know?"
"No. I didn't."
Kar shrugged. "He trusts me. I am the only man he trusts." Inos felt very much 
aware of being alone in an empty desert with this smiling, baby-faced enigma. 
She had never spoken with Kar before, and he made her scalp pucker. She wished 
the rest of the hunt would come into view. "The only one he trusts completely, 
you mean? He must trust some of the others somewhat?"
"How can you trust anyone somewhat? "
"Well."
Kar's smile widened. He moved around to check Sesame's rear feet. "Why do you 
wish to speak with him?"
Ah! So this was business? She should have guessed! Obviously the straightforward 
approach was suspect and she was supposed to do things in devious ways. Faking a 
lame pony might be the correct form of address when seeking audience, and now 
Azak had sent Kar to open negotiations.
"I wanted his advice, as one monarch to another."
"Why should he give you advice?"
Nonplussed, Inos snapped, "Why should he not?"
Kar was scratching at the hoof with the quillon of his dagger and he spoke 
without raising his voice at all. "You are in league with the bitch sorceress. 
She brought you here for some purpose of her own. Your aunt spends half her days 
drinking tea with her, spreading dissent and sedition among the women of the 
palace."
"I bear no malice toward Arakkaran! "
"What evidence do you offer, apart from your own word?"
Idiot! She should have expected this suspicion. She had not been thinking about 
local politics at all, only her own.
This was not the Impire. It most certainly was not Kinvale, and she had been 
playing games. Azak might indulge in sport, but he would never play games. "Do I 
look like a threat to Arakkaran?"
Kar straightened and regarded her with less smile than usual. "You look like an 
imperial spy."
"That is rubbish! I no more look like an imp than you do."
"There is a scent of war in the wind."
"Yes, there is. The imps stole my kingdom!"
"So you have been telling the women. You have also been asking questions," Kar 
said softly. "Strange questions. You asked how the sultan is chosen, for 
example."
"Yes! How is the sultan chosen? That can't be a state secret, yet no one will 
tell me. Azak has many older brothers. Why him? In Krasnegar, and in the 
Impire-"
"In Zark it is done otherwise." Kar bent to the fourth leg. "By election."
"Very democratic!"
"Yes. When a sultan dies, then the imam calls the princes to assembly. "
"Bishop. He asks who is to succeed. If more than one steps forward, the imam 
dismisses them. The next day he calls them, again."
She felt sick. "Until there is only one claimant?"
"Exactly. "
Election by elimination? "And how many stepped forward with Azak? "
Kar completed his inspection and straightened. He was still smiling, if 
redder-faced than usual. "How many would you have expected"
"I think I understand."
"That is good. Lead the mare around."
"I'm sure she's all right."
"Do it! You never know who may be watching."
Did he mean mundane eyes or occult? Inos led Sesame around in a small circle, 
wondering if the sorceress had driven the whole palace mad or if all Zark was 
like this. Even Kade had become strangely tight-lipped and jumpy lately.
"She is fit to ride," Kar said. "The previous sultan-"
"zorazak. Our grandfather, of blessed memory."
"And how-"
"Extreme old age." Djinn eyes darkened in bright sunlight, and Kar's were now 
the color of dried blood. "Very sad." Despite the brutal heat, Inos shivered. 
Now she knew why no one had been willing to discuss this. "How old?"
"Almost sixty. His passing was slower than we expected, but quite painless."
"I am greatly relieved to hear that." Honest as a djinn! Now she knew what it 
meant.
Kar nodded. "The sultan said to tell you that you have made your point, and your 
continuing presence on these hunts is no longer necessary." The smile grew more 
loving. "And I give you some advice from myself. Stay out of politics, Inosolan. 
They are an art too dangerous for women-even queens regnant!"
Slender and lithe, Kar strode across to the gray, which had hardly moved a hoof 
since he left it. He vaulted into the saddle without using the stirrups and 
instantly was gone, cantering away over the gravel, leaving Inos standing beside 
Sesame. Sesame snickered loudly.

2
Alone and early, Inos returned to the stables; there were no guards available to 
escort her. With a snort of indifference, she gave Sesame a farewell pat and set 
off by herself, striding along a well-known route through halls and cloisters, 
shady groves and narrow short-cut alleys. She moved within a glow of anger that 
burned worse than the sunlight, that seemed to be still increasing. Perhaps it 
was easier to be angry on foot than on horseback.
She had been a complete imbecile! A child! She had charged into Arakkaranian 
high society like a mad bull, expecting all those royal princes to change their 
entire way of thinking just because a slip of a girl could ride a 
horse-expecting the sultan himself to change!
She had been wrong and Kade had been right, and that hurt worst of all.
Imagine Azak at Kinvale? Impossible! Azak at Kinvale was unthinkable. Inosolan 
in Arakkaran was unthinkable, too. She must have seemed brash and wanton and 
insolent and ... Ugh! Immature!
A queen must always think politically! She would remember that in future.
In a scorching open courtyard, about fifty small boys were doing sword drill 
under the raptor eyes of a couple of elderly family men. She swept by them, 
staying close to the wall, and no one paid any attention to her. Fifty more 
princes in training, fifty more arrogant, women-hating, pig-headed . . . Bah!
Rasha was absolutely right!
Now Inos had thrown away her chance to enlist an ally, a disinterested advisor. 
She would have to rely entirely on the kindly intentions of the sorceress and 
somehow she felt less inclined to trust that shape-changing old hag than she did 
to trust Azak, even if he did treat women like livestock and had murdered his 
grandfather. Anyway, that story had come from Kar, whom she trusted less than 
anyone.
Still, Mastery is made of mistakes, as Rap had always said, and she must try to 
learn from this one. She stalked along a cool arcade, hearing her bootsteps echo 
in odd patterns from the arches of the roof. The second day ... That was where 
she had gone wrong. The audience with Azak, the riding of Evil, even the first 
day's hunt-all those had been sound strategy. Her presence that first day could 
almost have been passed off as an accident. Exactly who had invited her to hunt 
again the next day she could not recall-one of the graybeards, she thought-but 
she should have declined. Politely, of course. Very gratefully ... but declined. 
Then they might have come to her. Azak might have. Out of curiosity. Instead she 
had turned herself into an everyday spectacle, a curiosity instead of a marvel.
Do anything! she had vowed, do anything to recover her kingdom. And all she had 
done was play games and flutter eyelashes. Well- no more games!
But the first order of business must be to apologize to Kade and admit that she 
had been right. Grrr!
Inos swung around at the sound of feet running. One of the family men was 
chasing after her. She stopped and waited until he arrived, flushed and gasping 
in the heat. He was shorter than most, very youthful. He wore a scimitar and at 
least two daggers and an odd sort of conical cap that she had noticed before 
among the guards. His face was round and innocent, and very, very red.
"Came ... escort ... Majesty . . . " he gasped, chest heaving.
Inos was practically at her destination and quite obviously in no real need of 
an escort, but she nodded graciously. "That was very kind of you. You need to 
rest for a minute?"
He shook his head, and she would not have been suprised to see drops of 
perspiration fly off him like rain. In some way this earnest young guard 
reminded her very much of the banished Petkish, with his well-meaning offers of 
protection; and he did need to catch his breath.
"Tell me something," she said, not moving. "What do the rings on your hat mean? 
"
He raised coppery eyebrows in surprise. "Mean? These? Nothing, your Majesty. 
They're a weapon." He raised a hand and hooked the top ring off his cap to show 
her. The outside edge was honed like a razor. "It's called a chakram, Majesty. I 
throw them. Off a finger. " He raised a free finger and twiddled it around to 
illustrate.
"Deadly?"
He nodded, grinning, and drew the finger across his throat. Inos shivered. 
"Thank you."
He replaced the ring, and the two of them started to walk. Get them alone-that 
was the secret! Kar had talked when he was alone with her. They didn't like to 
be seen talking with a mere woman. She smiled over her shoulder, and the coppery 
eyebrows jumped nervously.
She did a little dance step that put her at his side instead of in front. "Tell 
me something, then. Why are you guards known as `family men'?"
He had recovered most of his breath, so he was able to puff himself up proudly, 
even if for only a moment. "Because we have sworn our loyalty on the heads of 
our sons!"
Which was what she had been told before. Allowing for the beard, he looked about 
seventeen. With a sudden glint of devilry in his eye, he added, "Three, so far, 
your Majesty."
Inos hoped she did not blush. She was almost at her quarters. She might get one 
more question in before they came within sight of the sentries and her informant 
became tongue-tied again. "And how does one become a family man?"
The question puzzled him, and he frowned for several paces before he worked out 
what she wanted to know. "Royal birth, ma'am."
"A prince?"
He went redder still. "Not always. I wasn't quite. Palace bom, but too distant. 
Great-grandnephew of the Sultan of Shuggaran, your Majesty."
So that was what happened to all the excess princes-palaces exported swordsmen.
"Thank you," Inos said sweetly once again and let him drop back a pace as they 
rounded the corner and the apartment doors and its guards came in sight. 
Ex-prince Petkish, she assumed, might well be practicing chakram-throwing in 
Shuggaran right now. That would teach him to propose marriage to an Imperial 
SPY.
Just a few minutes' friendly chat with an anonymous guard has been enough to put 
Inos in a much better temper. By the time she had stormed up a long staircase 
and thrown down her hat and veil and gloves and cloak and slammed a couple of 
doors, her fury was back again. And she knew why, too! She was going to have to 
confess to Kade that she had failed utterly. In two weeks of bone-grinding 
effort, she had obtained not even two minutes' private talk with the sultan. 
Perhaps such a discussion would have done her no good anyway-that was not the 
point! The point was that she was feeling like a complete fool. It was not a 
totally unfamiliar sensation, but it was not a common one, either, and it was 
certainly not welcome.
Wondering where everyone was, she threw open another door, heading for Kade's 
favorite balcony. And there everyone was. The little salon seemed to be crammed 
with all the residents of the habitation, from wizened old crones down to 
dampish 'babies. Everyone turned toward the door and fell into an excited, 
expectant hush when they saw who had just entered-back early, of course. Kade 
was there, in the middle of the excitement, and Zana was overseeing everyone 
with her wrinkles wrapped in a grandmotherly smile.
Swiftly women and youngsters cleared out of the way, so Inos could see the 
strikingly beautiful woman quietly blushing in the center of it all. For a 
moment Inos just gaped, causing a couple of small girls to start giggling. It 
was Vinisha.
But her gown was an Imperial-style ballgown. Thralia was putting the final 
touches to her high and elaborate coiffure, and Vinisha's hair was revealed as a 
stunning auburn. She had not yet put on any jewelry. Perhaps she had none. But 
the gown! Enormous masses of shining samite were gathered around her, cascading 
out from a very low waist, and above the waist ... remarkably little, just a 
low-cut bodice. Very low-cut! Vinisha had a striking figure; there was no doubt 
about that. It had been months since Inos had seen a ddcolletage anywhere near 
that daring, and then the dowager duchess had ordered its wearer from the hall. 
For a moment Inos thought of strolling into a gathering of Arakkaranian princes 
in that outfit, and her mind reeled.
The gown was a miracle. It set off a djinnish complexion perfectly, but it was 
also the exact same shade of green as Inos's eyes, and the gold thread in the 
samite would match her hair, near enough. Vinisha was the same size as Inos-near 
enough. The bodice was too tight on her ... but certainly near enough. The 
tragedy of a figure like that buried in a sack all day!
Uneasily aware that she was filthy and dusty and stinking of horse, Inos tore 
her eyes from the gown and looked at Kade, who beamed opaquely.
"Where did you get that wonder?"
"You like it, my dear? Sultana Rasha showed us some functions in progress in the 
Imperial palace. She adjusted the color of the material for us. Then Mistress 
Thralia, and Mistress Kasha, and..."
Of course the design would have to be from Hub, or at least one of the major 
cities of the Impire. A provincial backwater like Kinvale would be shocked 
speechless by that neckline, and the fabric alone would buy a coach and four.
Inos gave her aunt a hard stare. Kade fell silent.
"Vinisha, you look absolutely enchanting!" Inos said, earning a stammering 
blush. "Now, Aunt, let's you and me go and have a little chat?"
Kade nodded in innocent surprise. "If you wish, dear."

3
The town was shadowed now, the sun just setting. Inos leaned on the cool marble 
balustrade and stared down at distant sails on the enamel blue of the bay. She 
felt uncomfortably aware of her own grubby stickiness as Kade came to stand 
beside her, ignoring the comfy divan she normally favored on this balcony.
"Zana found me an Imperial breviary today!" she said brightly.
Inos muttered congratulations. Kade liked to offer a prayer each night before 
retiring, but her illuminated pocket prayerbook had remained behind in 
Krasnegar. Its loss had wounded her deeply, because it had been a gift from her 
mother and one of her most treasured possessions. Worse, she had discovered that 
the prayers in Zark were different-and therefore wrong, of course. Kade was old 
enough to believe that the Gods had the same traditions that she did and would 
prefer to be invoked in old familiar words. Inos suspected that They might enjoy 
a little variety after so long. Kade must know most of the prayers by heart, 
anyway.
To business! "Pray explain that gown," Inos said. "If I appear in the palace in 
that, then nothing will remain for me in Zark except a career in belly dancing. 
Or have you already arranged for my first lessons?"
"Gracious! Certainly not, dear." Kade looked shocked and sounded slow-witted. 
Kade, therefore, was choosing to be inscrutable, and that meant being a good 
deal less scrutable than a cupful of tea leaves. "Her Majesty planned it all, of 
course. She has asked that you call on her this evening, and she wants you 
suitably dressed. "
"Suitably for what?"
"Suitably for a queen, I suppose." Kade peered up blankly. Inos felt baffled. 
Zarkian hunting she thought she now comprehended, but she had not yet got around 
to learning all the niceties of social life; if there were any, which she 
doubted. But her ignorance was her own fault. She had seen little of her aunt 
lately, probably because she had not wished to confess to lack of progress in 
her pursuit of the sultan. Most evenings she been so exhausted by a day of 
persecuting wildlife that she had just tumbled into bed as soon as possible.
The royal guests had been granted a standing invitation to Azak's daily state 
dinners, but after the first experience had shown what was involved, Inos had 
pettily declined, protesting that she was not a devotee of belly dancing. Kade, 
however, had been attending regularly, and must thereby have befriended many of 
the senior palace ladies in their spectators' gallery.
Moreover, Kade had been spending her days nibbling cookies with a sorceress. 
Could she have become so used to the situation that she saw nothing sinister in 
this odd development with the gown? Or was it Inos who was missing the point? 
Kade had never been a gossip and in their few brief chats she had volunteered 
little information about Rasha. Possibly this mysterious appointment would turn 
out to be just an innocent get-together.
And yet . . . a full formal ballgown for a private chat? It made no sense. It 
was wrong for Zark, it was out of character for Rasha. Rasha was quite capable 
of magicking Inos to a grand Imperial ball in Hub itself in that gown, or she 
might be planning a ball of her own under the great alabaster dome, a coven of 
sorcerers and sorceresses from all over Pandemia.
Why bother with a real gown when sorcery could make Inos look like anything or 
anyone? That question suggested a possible explanation for tonight's activities 
that roused whole legions of internal butterflies.
"She didn't say what she had in mind?"
"She wants you to meet someone, I believe."
But that time Inos heard a wrong note. "Aunnl" she challenged.
Kade laughed and reached out to squeeze Inos's hand where it rested on the 
balustrade. "I lm sorry, dear! I just couldn't resist teasing. You are to be 
presented! Such an honor!"
The butterflies took flight again. "Presented to who ... whom?"
"His Omnipotence Warlock Olybino, my dear! Warden of the East." Kade began 
exuding copious ladylike excitement. "There is news of Krasnegar! Not all good 
news, I'm afraid, but now the imperor knows what has been happening, and the 
Four do, of course, even if the capital itself has not officially been 
informed-mundanely informed, that is-or so her Majesty tells me. Just think, 
Inos, you and I, here in faraway Zark, know things about Krasnegar that even the 
Senate in Hub hasn't heard yet! "
That had been true ever since they arrived. Inos listened with half an ear to 
the preliminaries, while running her mind's eye over the possibilities. Surely 
the warlock would not be coming here? So she must be going to Hub.
Escape from Zark!
Why did that prospect make her feel so uneasy? It should be good news!
Kade was at last getting to the point.
"...Hub yet, not by post, but apparently there is a sorcerer somewhere in 
northwest Julgistro, and he, or perhaps she, reported what was going on to one 
of the wardens, Witch Bright Water, because that area is within her sector. 
She's North, you see? So the Four met with the imperor. " Kade lowered her voice 
and glanced around. "His Imperial Majesty is very upset! It's never happened 
before in the history of the Impire, the sultana says." "What hasn't?" Inos 
inquired sweetly.
"Goblins, dear! They've burned Pondague and they're raiding over the pass! 
Raiding inside the Impire!"
"Good for them!"
The odious Proconsul Yggingi had not only taught the goblins how to ravage, he 
had moved the entire Pondague garrison to Krasnegar. He had left the door 
unbarred.
"And of course the imperor ... Inos? Inos, did you say-"
"The goblins want revenge, Aunt. Wouldn't you? If you'd been burned and 
pillaged?"
Kade blinked uncertainly. "I suppose so. I hope they don't do any serious 
damage!"
"I expect they'll try. Now, what of Krasnegar'?"
"Well, no real change, dear. No signs of the jotnar yet. The ice is not out of 
the bay yet. "
"And what exactly is the sultana planning for tonight?"
A faint hesitation ... Kade gazed for a moment at the other bay, the harbor of 
Arakkaran, a bay that would never know ice. "Just a meeting with Warlock 
Olybino, dear, to discuss how you may be restored to your throne."
Kade was clearly holding back now, and yet what she had said was enough to stir 
the tiny hairs on Inos's arms. "What is there to discuss? He has two thousand 
men in the town, doesn't he? The warlock of the east controls the legions, 
doesn't he? He need do no more than send me back there with a letter to Tribune 
Oshinkono. Need he?"
"That wouldn't solve everything," Kade said firmly.
No, of course it wouldn't. Not with Kalkor and his raiders due any day, a 
population divided and perhaps disloyal, a queen who could certainly not be 
trusted to choose herself a husband.
Now it was Inos who scowled out at the exotic city below her, the waving palms, 
the moon wakening to silver as day retreated in somber tones of mauve. She ought 
to be enjoying this adventure at the far end of the world. She ought to be 
excited at the thought of accompanying the sorceress to great Hub itself, to 
play the royal role, a queen making a state visit. Or at least she ought to be 
sighing for the safety and comfort and peace of Kinvale. But instead she was 
merely very homesick for dowdy little Krasnegar-Krasnegar as it used to be, 
without invading imps and the looming threat of Nordland. Without sorcery!
Father dead. Rap dead. Possibly many others dead now, if there had been 
fighting. But it was Krasnegar that stuck to her heart. Like a molasses 
sandwich, Rap would have said.
"A visit to Hub?" Inos mused. No more need to fret about Azak and Kar and family 
men. That should be exciting-why wasn't it?
"Isn't it wonderful?" Kade enthused. "I have dreamed all my life of visiting the 
capital, as you know, dear. And you are very fortunate to have a powerful 
sorceress like her Majesty to act on your behalf like this!"
Again a wrong note. Inos peered hard at her so-cheerful aunt. "What gown will 
you be wearing?"
A momentary flicker of worry crossed her aunt's face and disappeared. "I'm not 
invited. Just you."
So that was what Kade was hiding!
Inos turned and hugged her, tightly. "I'm not going anywhere without you, Aunt! 
Absolutely not! After all, you are my chancellor and chamberlain, and so on!"
Kade gave an almost imperceptible sigh. "That's very kind of you, dear, but of 
course you must be guided by her Majesty. " Meaning that a mundane4could not 
resist a sorceress. Whatever Rasha wanted, Inos would have no choice but to 
comply. Why was Kade not included in the invitation?
Inos released her, suddenly remembering that she was not in a state for 
closeness, not even polite company. She must certainly wash up and make herself 
presentable before she was presented to a warlock.
Kalkor the fearsome thane of Gark . . . Foronod the factor ... imps and jotnar 
... even the imperor himself... none of those mattered now. If the wardens 
wanted Inos to be queen of Krasnegar, then she would be queen of Krasnegar.
And if they refused to support her, then. nothing in the world would help.

4
At the third hour of the night, Inos draped her revealing gown in a voluminous 
cloak, covered her face, and set off across the palace grounds, escorted by four 
grim family men. They were all fierce, husky types bedecked with things for 
slashing, stabbing, or throwing; one bore a battle-ax slung on his back. They 
looked collectively capable of dismembering an Imperial legion, but when they 
came to the entry to the sorceress's quarters, they stepped aside to let Inos 
pass without even trying to conceal their relief that they need not accompany 
her farther.
She acknowledged their salutes with a regal nod, lifted her skirts, and started 
to climb the long stone staircase, her heavy train rustling over the treads 
behind her. She went quickly, so that she could attribute the thumping of her 
heart to exertion. At the top, she paused to discard the cloak, then set off 
along the wide corridor, her progress lighted by the restless flames of torches 
in golden sconces. She must have come this way on her first day, but she had no 
memory of doing so.
The voluminous samite gown was heavy and awkward, and yet a comforting reminder 
of similar, lesser gowns she had worn at Kinvale. She felt much more assured in 
it than she would have been in a Zarkian chaddar.
This was not a game, she reminded herself. This was not like calling on the 
fearsome Ekka, dowager dragon of Kinvale. This was politics, an affair of war 
and death.
But how to deal with the sinister Rasha? Kade had reported what little 
information she had been able to glean about the sorceress. Rasha had been the 
only daughter of poor fisherfolk in a tiny coastal village. At twelve she had 
been married off. Sold had been the word she had used to Inos herself, that 
first day, and a poor family with seven sons and one daughter had probably 
needed money to feed those more-valuable sons. Small wonder that Sultana Rasha 
hated men!
Her life had undoubtedly been hard and horrible in ways that Inos could not 
imagine, and yet somehow she had gained occult power. Now she was effectively 
ruler of a kingdom and could negotiate with warlocks. There was a great mystery 
there.
The corridor was barred eventually by massive double doors of metalwork and 
carven wood, inlaid with bright-fired jewels. Inos paused, irresolute. Should 
she knock or try to enter? Nestling amid writhing serpents and clawed reptilian 
monsters, the centerpiece of each great flap was a hideous demonic face with 
ivory tusks and eyes of some bright yellow stone that gleamed .ominously in the 
wavering light. Inos reached for one golden handle, and the two faces sprang 
into life. Four eyes rolled around to regard her. She froze.
Lips of mahogany writhed over sycamore fangs, and a sepulchral voice boomed from 
the face on the left. "State your name and business!"
Kade had warned her, but it was a moment before she found her voice. "I am Queen 
Inosolan of Krasnegar. "
The faces faded back into inanimate carvings, and the doors creaked open on 
their own.
She blinked,; momentarily blinded by light that seemed as bright as noon. Then 
her eyes adjusted, and she blinked again. This was the same great circular 
bedchamber she had seen before, but now the jumble of ugly furniture and 
grotesque statuary had been removed.
Filmy draperies still floated around the same enormous fourposter bed at the far 
side, but everything else had changed. The wide expanse of mosaic floor was no 
longer concealed by rugs. Chairs and tables were few and elegant, vulgar clutter 
had been replaced by restrained good taste, and the tapestries on the walls now 
depicted landscapes or demure rural merrymaking. Inos recognized Angilki's 
touch, even if at secondhand. Now she knew what Kade had been up to in her days 
with the sultana.
The moon hung beyond the windows, but its rays were drowned in a flood of what 
seemed to be sunlight streaming down the central stairwell. Rasha was not 
present and must therefore be waiting in the upper room. Determined that a queen 
would not be intimidated, Inos raised her chin in defiance and set off toward 
the stair. She heard a gentle thump as the doors closed behind her.
Climbing purposefully, she looked up and saw that the white dome itself was the 
source of the light, blazing as if the sun were directly overhead and shining 
through the stone. Evil-begotten sorcery! Her curving path brought her within 
sight of the top, and it was flanked by the basalt panther and the glittery gray 
wolf, their front paws hooked over the uppermost step, their shiny amber eyes 
fixed upon her. They continued to watch as she approached and passed between 
them, but they remained statues.
Kade had been busy in the upper chamber, also, transforming cluttered ugliness 
into elegance, letting the intrinsic beauty of the great circular space speak 
for itself. A few simple divans and tables assisted, and did not argue. Inos was 
impressed, thinking that the duke of Kinvale himself would have been hard put to 
do better, even with the same occult resources. She could see evidences of 
sorcery: a potted palm whose fronds were writhing more than the usual breeze 
could account for, a bronze bust that represented a different person every time 
she looked at it, a device like a blue birdcage that buzzed and hummed. She 
decided to ignore those.
Three windows imprisoned stars and moonlight within their darkened arches, while 
the fourth was obscured by the jeweled drapery of Rasha's magic casement. Inos 
turned away quickly, oppressed by a sudden jolt of memory: Automatically she 
glanced over to the big looking glass in its silver frame-the glass that had 
told her of Rap's death. Now it was reflecting a distant image of Inos herself, 
her fine gown of pale green, her golden hair piled high and seeming strangely 
alien in Arakkaran now, even to her.
A tall girl was standing near it, waiting in solitary grandeur. Inos took a deep 
breath and walked toward her.
It was Rasha, but so transformed as to be barely recognizable. She seemed little 
older than Inos herself, but now she was using youth and beauty to depict 
ice-maiden innocence instead of voluptuous seduction. The high-prowed djinn nose 
seemed somehow less conspicuous but no less arrogant; thick rosewood-colored 
hair was piled high and pinned with gems; her gown was a luxurious miracle of 
yew-green silk, patterned in scrolls of a million tiny rubies. When selecting a 
style for Inos's gown, Kade had apparently held back from the extremes of Hub's 
current fashion, but Rasha had not. Her scanty lace bodice did nothing to 
conceal the jutting curves of large and shapely breasts, nor their hot djinn 
coloring.
Inos could not imagine herself ever appearing in public like that-not in Hub, 
nor Kinvale, nor Arakkaran.
She can inflame any man to madness, Azak had said. Would men would prefer this 
challenge of haughty majesty or the previous brazen inducement? That might 
depend on the man, of course, and either would be effective. Much less allure 
than this had reduced Rap to a babbling jelly.
Inos stopped and curtsied.
Rasha nodded approvingly. "It suits you to perfection, child. You are a great 
beauty. " She had lost her harsh Zarkian accent. At a loss for words, Inos 
curtsied again and then blurted, "I shall not be noticed beside yourself, 
ma'am."
Rasha registered faint amusement. "I certainly hope not! You know why I summoned 
you this evening?"
"To call on the warlock of the east, I understand." Inos wished her mouth was 
not so shamefully dry, wished she dare clasp her hands to restrain their need to 
tremble.
"Oh, hardly!" Rasha's laugh was a genteel tinkle, not the raucous mockery she 
had used before. "I would not fall into that trap! No, his Omnipotence will be 
calling onus!"
So Inos need not demand that Kade be summoned to accompany her! A deluge of 
relief told her how tense she had been at the prospect of arguing with the 
sorceress. That discovery annoyed her.
Rasha continued her calculating inspection of Inos. "However, he may send a 
votary in his place. As long as whoever comes is male, you will impress him, in 
that splendid Imperial style costume. " There was more than a hint of sarcasm in 
her tone.
Inos curtsied again.
Rasha sneered. "Think you can impress a warlock, do you?" Well ... yes! Inos was 
a far more genuine queen than this upstart slattern before her. She had been 
trained to wear finery and converse with cultivated gentlemen.
"I repeat, your Majesty, that he will not even see me in your company."
"That depends. If he materializes fully he will. That is why I arranged for your 
gown-your beauty is mundane and genuine, mine only occult artifice. Even if 
Olybmo does appear in person, he will probably send only a projection of 
himself, and in that case his ability to penetrate my glamour will be very 
limited. He will also be harmless." She shrugged perfect shoulders. "It works 
both ways, of course. I hardly expect him to reveal his true appearance. What 
good is sorcery, if it will not nurture vanity?"
"Come," she said, and led the way across to a pair of divans, upholstered in 
ivory silk and set at an angle to each other. "Don't be too proud, child. 
Warlocks are accustomed to gratifying their whims. If you do too good a job of 
impressing him, you may find yourself ... surprisingly eager to accommodate his 
wishes, shall we say?" She laughed softly, but her eyes were mocking Inos's 
shock. "Do sit, though. We have a little time to kill. Wine?"
"Er ... thank you." Inos sat and fussed at arranging her train, but eventually 
she forced herself to lift her chin and look across and meet the sultana's 
scornful gaze.
"Your Majesty, I behaved very badly the last time I was in this room. I did not 
thank you for rescuing me from the imps. Truly I am grateful and I apologize 
again for my discourtesy. "
A slight movement of Rasha's lip seemed to convey more than a whole shrug might 
have done. "You were overwrought, and besotted by a man. Girls are subject to 
such fits of insanity. I hope you have recovered by now?"
"I shall never forget Rap. What he did for-"
"Your aunt told me. Whatever he did, he did for one reason only. Everything men 
do is aimed at possessing and using women!"
In Zark that might be more true than Inos had first thought. Rather than argue, 
she just smiled.
"You don't believe me?" The sorceress stretched out a hand and cupped the 
crystal goblet that stood on the table beside her. There was another on the 
table beside Inos, who had not previously noticed even the tables.
"You have much to learn, child," Rasha said. "Now I must warn you of something. 
" She stabbed a stiletto fingernail toward a small rectangular rug. "Our visitor 
tonight will appear there. "
Inos might have guessed that, for the mat was so positioned that anyone standing 
on it would be facing the two women, putting the three of them in a logical 
triangular grouping. She wondered why no chair had been provided; that seemed 
very inhospitable.
It was a curious mat, patterned in metallic tones of gold and silver and fiery 
copper, but as thin as paint. Even the knife-edge joints in the smooth mosaic 
floor seemed to show through to its surface, yet Inos could imagine that this 
strange carpet was not resting on the floor at all, but was somehow suspended 
above it, and the shiny spirals in the metallic surface went round and round 
while a faint, high note like a distant violin.
She jumped.
Rasha had snapped her fingers. "Don't look too hard at the mat, Inosolan. It's 
powerful stuff for a mundane. "
"Er ... yes. Thank you." Shakily Inos took a mouthful of wine, still aware of a 
faint singing in her ears. The patterns seemed to have daubed themselves on her 
eyes, dancing faintly in the air between her and anything she looked at.
"They're known in the trade as welcome mats," Rasha remarked. "So much power 
tends to leak a little. As I said, our guest will materialize there. There could 
be danger."
"Danger?"
"Yes, danger. And not just to your precious virtue, either!" Why did she keep 
raising the stakes? Of course there were old tales of sorcerer wars and battles 
where occult powers had been loosed, but Inos had never paid them much heed.
"The sorcerous rarely trust one another. " Rasha lowered her long dark lashes, 
and for a moment looked as untrustworthy as could be imagined. "Olybino may 
attempt a strike at me. "
"Oh? " Inos wondered darkly which team she should be cheering.
"He may seek to lay a loyalty spell upon me. The wardens are particularly fond 
of that abomination-I expect they all do it. Of course, I might prove to be the 
stronger, and then he would be mine." Rasha smiled in thoughtful silence and 
sipped her wine.
Inos debated which question to ask first. Apparently she was expected to ask 
something. "Is there any way of . . . Can you judge in advance who-"
"Who's stronger? Not usually. It would require extensive intelligence work, and 
of course a sorcerer will normally seek to invoke the aid of his votaries. 
Battles between sorcerers can mushroom into occult wars with dozens involved on 
each side. That was what destroyed Shing Pol, and Lutant. Even the water in the 
harbor boiled at Lutant, so they say ... I'm sure Olybino has been around long 
enough to have collected quite a few votaries."
"Slave sorcerers?"
Rasha smiled, catlike. "But he has not had time to bring any to Arakkaran by 
mundane means, and I haven't detected any occult intrusions. I might have missed 
them, of course." She did not seem very worried; indeed, she seemed to be 
looking forward to whatever was going happen. "As I said, he may be too cautious 
to come himself. Even if he does, he will probably materialize very faintly, 
just a transparent wraith. In that case we shall merely have a civilized little 
chat, and he will depart again. If we wants to use any sorcery here, then he 
must project more of himself, and if he steps off the welcome mat, we can be 
sure his intentions are hostile-he will be trying to bring in help. I doubt that 
even a warlock can manage to do that and hold me off at the same time, but you 
had best take cover if it happens."
"Take cover where, your Majesty?"
"Downstairs. Run like hell," Rasha snapped. That was the first real flaw Inos 
had detected in the aristocratic impersonation. The accent was still pure Hubban 
aristocrat, but the words did not ring true, even as humor.
"Run swiftly," Rasha said crossly, "to the stairs and get below floor 
level-understand? Apart from this chamber, the palace is shielded. That doesn't 
mean he can't come after you, of course, once he has dealt with me." She took 
another sip of wine, again regarding Inos carefully as she did so. "Or he might 
try to steal you away from me. Refuse any invitations or instructions to 
approach the welcome mat. Your aunt would miss you."
So that was why Kade had not been invited! Inos was a token in the evil game, 
and Kade was a hostage for her good behavior.
Inos reached for her glass again, conscious that her hand was shaking again. She 
hoped that was only from anger.
"Tell me about him," she said.
Rasha smiled like a satisfied cat. "He is about my age, and an idiot. He likes 
to play with soldiers, and yet he has no more sense of strategy than a pigeon. 
About a year ago, the dwarf Zinixo appeared out of nowhere and slew Ag-An, the 
witch of the west. Had Olybino had any sense at all, he would have hailed the 
new warlock and tried to make friends. Instead he let himself be talked into a 
counterattack with Lith'rian, the elf. Elves hate dwarves, of course, but what 
had that to do with East? Nothing! Anyway, they failed miserably! So East has 
made a dangerous enemy. Whatever he may tell you, just remember that he is a 
very worried warlock! "
"Worried, ma'am?" What on earth could worry a warlock? The sorceress nodded 
gloatingly. "He fears the dwarf's grudge. Only his alliance with Lith'rian 
protects him; he certainly can not trust mad old Bright Water to take his part, 
especially now his legions have despoiled her fellow goblins. So he needs the 
support of the imperor. He can vote, too, remember, if the Four split evenly. "
Inos nodded dumbly, wondering what this had to do with her. "Olybino has two 
thousand men stranded in Bright Water's sector, likely to be destroyed by jotnar 
as soon as the ice goes out. What will the imperor say to that, mmm?"
"I know that, but where do I come in?"
"You," Rasha said with obvious relish, "are extremely important! "
"I am? " Inos felt a tremor of excitement and hope.
"Yes, you are. If the warlock aids his troops against the jotnar raiders, then 
he violates the Protocol, because they are reserved to the witch of the north. 
If he tries to withdraw his men, then the goblins will attack, and Bright Water 
may come to their assistance. Again, he would provoke an occult war between 
wardens. "
"So he needs a peaceful solution!" Inos cried. Who would have dreamed that 
events in tiny Krasnegar could have such farflung repercussions? But Kade had 
been right all along to trust Rasha! Cool heads must prevail, she had said.
"And a peaceful solution needs you, Inosolan. If the wardens agree to put you on 
your throne, then they can force Kalkor to withdraw his claim, and the imperor, 
also. You are the only solution that may be acceptable to both sides."
Foronod and the hometown jotnar could not resist the wardens, either. They would 
just have to accept a reigning queen whether they liked it or not! Wonderful! 
Inos took a drink in celebration.
The sorceress lifted her own glass and sniffed, testing the fragrance of the 
wine while regarding Inos carefully over the rim. "Azak lusts after you."
Damnable woman!
"You blush, so you already know that."
"I have seen no evidence of it; he avoids me utterly. And any lady would blush 
at such a statement. "
"Lady?" the sorceress muttered. "What exactly is a lady? Never mind. Give me 
your opinion of our self-styled sultan."
"He is crude and violent, a barbarian!" Of course, if all a woman cared for was 
muscles and size, then Azak was unsurpassed. But what sort of woman would want a 
human stallion? Red fire burned within the ice-Rasha's eyes glittered at Inos 
over the top of the glass. Inos wondered nervously what she might have provoked, 
and why, but all the sorceress said was, "You have not told me what you think of 
my wine."
Inos reached for her goblet. "It is quite delicious, ma'am. Elvish, is it not?"
"No, it's only the local rotgut, but I upgraded it. Glad you like it. Where have 
you tasted elvish?"
"At Kinvale, at Winterfest. Well, my father let me try it once . . . "
Rasha sipped thoughtfully, still playing the part of haughty aristocrat to 
perfection. In what way was this cryptic sorceress hoping to impress the 
warlock? Inos could imagine her floating into any ladies' salon at Kinvale 
without ruffling a single eyelash-except of course the conspiratorial mothers 
and duennas would indulge in mass suicide on seeing their marriageable wards and 
daughters so utterly outclassed. A mere adept, knowing only two words of power, 
could master any skill with ease, so Kade would have found a sorceress a 
miraculously quick pupil.
Coursing after hounds with Azak suddenly seemed like a very relaxing occupation 
compared to this sinister soiree.
"Your quarters are satisfactory, your Majesty?" Rasha laid her goblet carefully 
on the table and smiled.
So now it was conversation time? Inos hastily gathered her wheeling wits and 
began enthusing politely about her quarters. The small talk danced rapidly 
around Arakkaranian horses, Kade's life in Kinvale, and comparisons of climate. 
To babble such trivialities with a sorceress was a weirdly unexpected 
experience, but Inos was quite willing to cooperate. Peaceful solution! 
Extremely important!
If Rasha was now seeking to put her at ease, then she was being very skillful, 
and of course even the Imperial gowns, more familiar than djinn costume, might 
be designed to help. Alternatively, the sorceress might just be practicing her 
own acting technique. Or both.
Inos prattled on in the approved Kinvale fashion, saying nothing, playing the 
game. When she had first been introduced to small talk, she had found it a 
deadly boring pastime. Then she had discovered that it had little rules, and she 
could keep score, and play it as a contest. She had confessed this once to a 
couple of other girls at Kinvale and discovered that they were doing the same. 
Even their respective sets of rules had turned out to be similar.
Rasha was holding Inos to a tie.
"Your aunt Kadolan is a remarkable woman. " 
Ah! Two points for compliments about a relative.
"I love her dearly. She is all I have left. " One point for sickly sentiment.
The sorceress nodded and for a moment seemed to brood. "There is something about 
her ... She is a lady, I suppose. So she regards herself. My experiences of 
so-called aristocrats have rarely been pleasant, Inosolan. I was prepared to 
despise her. I thought that `lady' meant `parasite.' I deliberately told her 
something of my history and background. I expected contempt. Silence fell. Lose 
the match for going serious..."
Inos said softly, "She pitied you. She still does."
"Yes, she does. And that surprised me, I admit."
"Despite her affected ways, Kade is a very genuine and sympathetic human being. 
There isn't a mean bone in her body."
"No, there isn't. I have learned much from her in the last two weeks. As you 
have noticed?"
Inos took her courage between her teeth and said, "You can read my thoughts?"
Rasha glanced at her quizzically, then laughed. "You can usually tell when 
someone is lying, can't you?"
"I ... I may suspect."
"A sorcerer knows. Mundanes give themselves away all the time, as obviously as 
dogs wagging tails or cats arching backs. That is most of it, a talent called 
insight. Sorcery can go further, of course, but I don't like to pry, because it 
takes all the fun out of things. Other people's minds turn out to be as 
disgusting as one's own, and mucking about in them is depressing. It also tends 
to addle their brains. Torture is cleaner."
Inos shivered, and Rasha chuckled. Then she glanced over at the east window and 
frowned. "He is late!"
She was forgetting her illusion of youth. No woman of her apparent years, a mere 
girl, could ever radiate confidence as she did. At Kinvale Inos had met maidens 
of great beauty and such elevated breeding and self-esteem that they could 
hardly breathe, but none of them had been as assured as this seeming innocent. 
And she was criticizing a warlock, no less.
The wine was superb. Inos was grateful for the warmth it poured through her. 
Despite the white glare of the dome overhead, this was nighttime in Arakkaran 
and the sweet-tempered wind was cool now on her arms and shoulders.
"It is nearly three weeks since your father died." Inos sobered. "Yes, ma'am."
"Three weeks since he gave you his word of power."
Very sober! "I don't think he did give me a word of power, your Majesty. I think 
he tried, but he was too ill, too weak. He said something, yes. It was only 
gibberish."
Rasha eyed her thoughtfully. "They are all gibberish. No one knows what language 
they are in or what they mean, if anything. If you heard it, you must remember 
it. Can you remember it?"
"No, ma'am, I can't. I mean I can just remember bits of it. Like a long `ooo' 
sound near the end. "
What if Rasha demanded the word of power and Inos couldn't tell heft What if the 
warlock did? Red-hot hooks or addled brains? Inos's hand tightened around her 
goblet, and she reminded herself yet again that she was a queen and must play 
politics with truly royal nerve.
Now the scrutiny was longer. "Everyone is good at something."
"I beg your pardon?" Inos said politely.
"Everyone has a talent for something. Gulth's was thinking like a fish."
Inos peered carefully to see if the sorceress was trying to be humorous. "Did 
you say, `Thinking like a fish,' your Majesty? "
"When I was twelve, my parents owed much money to an old man called Gulth. He 
took me in part payment."
"Katie told me. Tragic."
Kade might not have a mean bone in her body, but Inos was uncomfortably aware 
that she herself had quite a few. "Mmm. Gulth had a word of power. His native 
talent was a skill at fishing. Even without the word, he might have been a 
success. With it, he was a genius. Always he knew where the nets should go, 
where the fish would be that day. Had he also had any real brains at all, he 
might have grown rich. He didn't. Even so, he was the least poor man in the 
village."
"Least poor! You are being ironic, Majesty?"
"Meaning he had two blankets and his roof was the only one that didn't leak. He 
taught me what I must do to please him. It was better than being beaten. "
"But not much better, I expect? Not at that age."
"Very much better. Obviously you have never been properly beaten. And I had a 
natural talent for it."
For being beaten? Surely not! Inos wished that the warlock would arrive soon and 
interrupt this dangerously personal conversation. "Talent for ... ?"
Queen Rasha's lip curled in either contempt or sarcasm. "For pleasing men, your 
aunt would call it. Gulth was old and weak. He was also greedy, once he 
understood what he had in me. He told me his word of power!"
Inos didn't think she understood that, and might prefer not to.
"Shared it. He whispered it in my ear one cold, damp dawn, and I, too, became a 
genius, a genius at pleasing men. But he was old and sick. I expect the word had 
been helping to keep him alive. He weakened his power by sharing it, you 
understand? And then he overexerted himself."
"Doing what?"
"Being pleased."
"Oh."
"So I was a widow and just turned fourteen, but I was a genius at pleasing men. 
"
"And my talent was even stronger after he died, of course. A self-defeating 
talent most of the time!"
"Why that?" Inos inquired foggily, thinking of Azak for some reason. Did big men 
need more pleasing than little men? "Babies."
"Oh."
"And what is your natural talent, Inosolan?"
"Not politics, certainly. Perhaps riding and hunting-"
"No," said the sorceress firmly. "You used no occult power on Evil that first 
day. I saw that episode. You ride well, but only as a mundane."
Shocked, Inos said nothing. The sorceress stared at her darkly. "You don't seem 
to have one, do you? You're certainly not hiding anything from me. You just 
don't know the answer. I've watched you from time to time, but I don't know, 
either!"
"Could I have a talent for just being a good all-rounder?" Rasha laughed 
abruptly and took a sip of wine. "That's a contradiction in terms, I think. We 
shall have to wait and see. Perhaps one day you'll discover you're the world's 
greatest ventriloquist, or vase painter-but when you say you don't remember what 
your father said, you're lying."
Inos started to protest and the sorceress raised a hand to stop her. "It adds to 
your value. Let us talk of pleasanter things." Shaken by that ominous mention of 
value, Inos racked her brains for a safe topic. Perhaps Rasha was not too 
dangerous when there were no men present and the conversation was kept well away 
from men. And how many people ever had a chance for a heart-to-heart talk with a 
real sorceress?
She must try to learn about magic, of course. "How did you learn the rest of 
your words, ma'am?"
"From men! " The sultana scowled dangerously, but her gaze was on the sinister 
mat, not on Inos. "A word makes you lucky, they say, and I suppose mine did-at 
times. A widow's lot is never easy, and yet I lived in a palace for a while."
She glanced up momentarily. "No, I was not assigned to a prince. k commoner's 
cast-off is not worthy of such an honor!" Inos felt herself blush and saw the 
sorceress sneer faintly in response.
"I entertained important guests! Oh, it was a fair living. But one word won't 
stop you aging. I was out again when I was twenty-two. When I was sixty, I was 
one of the lowest-price whores on the Arakkaran waterfront. And that is low. "
Kinvale training faltered. Inos could think of nothing to say. She could not 
even imagine such a life, so any sympathy she offered would be as phony as 
Prince Kar's smiles. She hoped the warlock would come soon.
Rasha, too, was becoming impatient, glaring out at the stars beyond the windows, 
absently scratching at a cushion with a long carmine nail. "Then there was a 
sailor they called Nimble. He was old, like me. Older. It may just be that our 
words attracted each other, but he was still nimble, and I still had my genius. 
He had much joy of me, and he shared his scanty fare." She seemed almost to have 
forgotten Inos, seemed almost to be talking to some long-forgotten invisible 
ghost. That was creepy enough, but to hear a young girt speak of times long ago, 
of disease and poverty and suffering in the seaport slums of Zark, was even more 
unnerving.
In his last illness, she said, Nimble had told his friend of a lucky word he had 
heard once, long ago and far away, in Guwush. "So he died, and I was an adept."
"I don't know much about adepts, your Majesty."
The sorceress hesitated and then laughed her discreet Kinvale laugh. "I didn't 
either, then. And I don't know why I'm telling you all this now. Could that be 
your talent, Inosolan? Your genius-to worm out confidences? But I detect no 
ripples."
"Ripples, ma'am?"
"The use of power sets up ripples in the ambience. The more power, the more 
disturbance. At this range, I could detect almost anything you were doing, 
perhaps even just using one of the sights. But your power would not work on me 
anyway. " She took another sip of wine and pouted again.
"Your magic casement behaved very oddly that night. When you first opened it, 
the whole of Pandemia rang with escaping power, and yet such devices are valued 
precisely because they are usually discreet. Something had charged it with 
power, and I don't know what would do that. You were very fortunate that most of 
the sorceress were safely asleep in their shielded little beds. I was awake and 
felt the shock, even here."
The ruddy eyes slid sideways to watch Inos. "I was pacing the floor, waiting for 
someone."
Inos took a sip of wine. The talk was again becoming dangerous.
Rasha went back to frowning at the rug and picking her nail on a silken cushion. 
The noise felt like sand under Inos's skin. "So you want to know about adepts? 
An adept rarely has much occult power, but give her a lesson or a few hours on 
her own to practice and she can become expert at any mundane skill. Like acting, 
for instance!"
"When I understood what I could do," Rasha went on, "I headed for the nearest 
palace, which happened to be this one. I moved in. "
"No one stopped you?"
"No one saw me. At least, they didn't see what they should have seen. You don't 
know what slums are like, child, but I knew palaces. Much nicer!"
That was funny-that the harlot from the docks should walk into the royal palace 
and not be questioned by anyone. Inos risked a chuckle.
Even Rasha smiled. "Yes, it was amusing. I helped myself to whatever I wanted. I 
ate and drank, joined in the conversations, slept between silken sheets, and no 
one ever questioned why a toothless crone should be living among the 
undistributed maidens. They saw me otherwise, and assumed I was an instructor of 
some kind. Until I ran into the sultan one day. "
"Sultan Zorazak?"
"Zorazak. " Rasha sighed, then. "He was an adept, too, you see."
Suddenly everything became very clear. For centuries the kings of Krasnegar had 
known one word of power. The sultans of Arakkaran had known two. Well, not quite 
everything . . . "So you didn't fool him?"
"Not for an instant. He demanded to know who I was and what I was doing. So I 
told him."
"What happened then?" Inos asked, bracing herself for some more horrors, 
dreading that now she would hear of some final fiendish experience that had 
completed Rasha's hatred of men. "He sat down and laughed until he cried."
In the silence that followed, Inos felt goosebumps rising on her arms and she 
hugged herself against the playful teasing of the wind, rich with the scents of 
night flowers. Two adepts in a palace, and one of them the sultan? She must not 
let her suspicions congeal into thoughts lest her face betray her. Which one did 
she trust less-Azak or Rasha?
Rasha just sat and brooded.
"They used a slow poison on him," she said at last. "They weren't sure about the 
magic, you see, but there had always been rumors in Arakkaran, and they wanted 
to give him time to pass along whatever he had. At best they hoped for a single 
word. "
And the old villain had bequeathed both his words to Rasha instead of Azak, the 
obvious successor. Rasha had then been a full four-word sorceress. But what had 
Rasha been to Zorazak? Friend? Occult companion? Or much worse? How long had she 
lived in the palace after the sultan discovered her, and had she used her 
sorcerous wiles to make the old man bequeath her his words of power? Inos 
wondered if she dared ask any of those questions and vacillated between them 
like a donkey between hay piles-and in the end she got to ask none of them.
A soldier stood on the welcome mat.

5
On one particularly bad afternoon at Kinvale, Proconsul Yggingi had cornered 
Inos between a spinet and a hydrangea and delivered an interminable 
sour-breathed lecture on military insignia. She recalled only that the color of 
the helmet crest was important; white for a centurion and so on. Purple for the 
imperor himself, scarlet for the marshal of the armies-who else but one of those 
two would wear a cuirass inlaid with the Imperial star in gold and jewels?
There were more gems inset in his greaves and the hilt of his short sword, but 
the helmet now being tucked under that muscular arm bore a crest that looked 
more like spun gold than dyed horse bristles.
She was on her feet and did not recall rising. Rasha was lounging back at ease 
on her divan, but yet she was watching the newcomer tautly. He had already 
saluted her. By removing his helmet he was making the visit unofficial, 
informal. He was smiling.
He was tall for an imp, square jawed, dark-eyed, and astonishingly young. Teeth 
flashed as he glanced around the big dome and made some complimentary remark to 
Rasha. Black curls. He looked solid, not in the least transparent.
Then he seemed to notice Inos for the first time and stopped speaking in 
midsentence. His bright eyes widened in wonder. Corny, yes, but still effective 
when well done.
"You are Inosolan?"
Inos curtsied low. When she rose, he bowed-gracefully, of course. No absurd 
Zarkian flourishes, either; just a good, solid, Imperial bow. Rasha had said he 
was old, but he didn't look old. Bronzed and lean, and sparkling eyes ... even 
Andor would not have competed with him in looks.
Or youthful charm: "They told me you were a great beauty, ma'am, but I was 
making allowances for the usual exaggeration. All imps cherish romantic ideals 
of royalty. Queens are wonderously beautiful by definition!" He grinned. "You 
redefine the standard!"
Marvelously done, with just enough humor to carry it off. Evil take it, but she 
was blushing like a child!
"Your Omnipotence is most gracious. "
He chuckled. "No, I'm genuinely impressed, and it takes a lot to surprise a 
warlock." He seemed to tear his eyes away from her in order to address Rasha. 
"You did us all a favor, mistress, when you rescued Queen Inosolan from that 
rabble. God knows what might have happened! "
"I know exactly what would have happened," Rasha said coldly.
The warlock lifted eyebrows that reminded Inos of a poem about ravens' wings. 
"Yes, I'm afraid I do, too. Well, we are grateful for what you did. And we must 
certainly undo the damage, and see justice done and her Majesty installed on the 
throne of her fathers. "
He turned back to Inos and gave another long sigh of wonder. "Tomorrow is 
Blossom Day in Hub and the Blossom Ball in the Opal Palace. The imperor will be 
there. Everyone will be there! Consuls, senators, the aristocracy of the Impire. 
And you will amaze them all! Queen Inosolan, would you wear that gown for me 
tomorrow and do me the very great honor of letting me escort you to the Blossom 
Ball?"
Inos stammered. She was being bribed. Flattered. Seduced. She must remember that 
he had no more right to look youthful and handsome than Rasha had. But he was 
making her heart pound, and she recalled how Rap had been unmanned by the 
sorceress. Unwomanned? It didn't feel like being unwomanned. He made her feel 
very womanly. Charm! Even his renewed grin seemed to admit what he was doing to 
her, a naughty-boy, isn'tthis-fun grin. She must remember Kade.
He held out a hand.
She took a step. Another. Remember Kade. He's not a boy. He's old. Remember 
Kade. Remember Kade ...
"That will do for now!" Rasha said. Cold bath!
Inos stopped, feet frozen to the floor. Her hand was stretched out to the 
warlock's, the fingers almost touching.
The warlock shrugged. "Something wrong, ma'am?" he asked the sorceress, while 
flickering a hint of a wink at Inos. "You forgot to leave some coppers on the 
dresser. "
He pursed his lips disdainfully, yet he did not lose his amusement. "Then by all 
means let us discuss what reward we can offer. The Four always repay debts, 
usually manyfold!" He smiled apologetically to Inos. "Do please be seated, Inos. 
You don't mind if I call you Inos? I'm sure this won't take long."
By the time Inos had returned to her couch and adjusted her train, a seat had 
appeared behind Warlock Olybno-a chair like crystallized sunbeams, a throne 
raised on a dais, with sculpted gold ablaze on arms and back, encrusted in 
rainbow jewels. Inos had never seen its like, even in picturebooks or paintings. 
She wondered what it weighed, and if it was real, and whether the floor would 
support it. Everything else in the great dome seemed suddenly dull and shabby. 
In one lithe movement, the warlock stepped up backward and sat, placing the 
crested helmet on his lap, smiling down at the two women.
Puzzled, Inos glanced at Rasha and caught a hint of a sneer. What had she said 
about Olybino knowing no more strategy than a pigeon? The throne was wrong! Did 
warlocks forget how to handle defiance?
Rasha had hardly moved since the warlock arrived. She conveyed ease and yet 
wariness, like a watchful cat. "That looks like a very uncomfortable seat. I can 
recommend a good physic for piles, if you feel the need."
His smile faded to sad reproof. "Perhaps you do not understand the situation, 
mistress? We are talking justice here! We do not buy and sell queens, or 
kingdoms! You are not bargaining in a bazaar for a poke of dried dates."
"And you are not dispensing judgment in Emine's Rotunda. "
He frowned. "Take care that I do not!"
Inos sensed a pompous man trying not to bluster.
Rasha sat up suddenly. "Enough of this nonsense! I have the girl, and you need 
her! "
"Need?" He shook his head and favored Inos with a brief glance of 
what-does-she-mean perplexity.
But Inos knew what Rasha meant. Help had its price. She was going to be sold! 
Kade had been wrong, and she had been right! Rasha was no friend. Rasha was a 
whore and thought like a whore. And what mattered except price when these two 
evil old sorcerers wanted to bargain?
"Need, mistress? I am a warlock. I need nothing."
The sultana snorted. "You need protection from West!" Her polished accent was 
starting to sound scratched. "You and the elf can't handle him. You can't count 
on Bright Water to keep the peace, because she doesn't always find her mouth 
with the spoon these days. You dare not antagonize the imperor by losing those 
men in Krasnegar, and you can't solve the Krasnegar problem without her!" She 
jabbed a fingernail in the direction of inos.
Raven wings swooped low-the warlock scowled. "What strange rumors have you been 
hearing, mistress? I need no protection from Warlock Zmixol Young West is doing 
splendidly. I've been giving him pointers. He's an apt pupil, and grateful. 
South doesn't like him, but that's to be expected. Everyone knows you don't 
invite elves and dwarves on the same evening."
Rasha yawned. "Meet my price, or go away. I can peddle my wares elsewhere."
Peddle my wares! Inos shivered with an urge to unsheath claws and slash with 
them. How dare this phony old strumpet speak of her like that!
The warlock smiled slyly, narrowing his eyes. "Besides, even if I suggested 
restoring the girl to her homeland, how could we be sure of Bright Water's 
cooperation? Her agreement is essential, for it is a jotunn matter, and in her 
sector. Her feet do not always point the same way these days, as you said, and 
she has always had a soft spot for butchers like Kalkor. It's her goblin blood. 
"
Rasha shrugged. "Let her choose the husband. He will have to be neutral, and she 
must have hundreds of relatives scattered around."
Olybino nodded, suddenly thoughtful.
Inos did not believe it. "What!" she shouted. "Marry me to a goblin?"
"Quiet!" Rasha snapped, without looking away from the warlock. "They're all the 
same color in the dark, dearie, and no one's going to let you go back home 
without a husband."
"Such a waste," Olybino muttered. "But intriguing! Yes, it might just work!"
Married to a goblin? Inos felt sick. At least the Krasnegaians would unite to 
oppose that-and yet their resistance would be useless against the Four. And her 
only option would be to kill herself.
"Definitely a possibility," the warlock said. "And your price, Mistress Rasha?"
"The red palace, of course," Rasha said.
"Impossible!" Olybino roared. In one fast move he donned his helmet, sprang from 
the throne, and landed nimbly back on the mat. The throne and its dais vanished 
at his back. "Completely impossible!" He put his fists on his hips and somehow 
seemed to swell, grow thicker, older, larger. He no longer resembled the urbane 
military officer who had sipped tea in Kinvale drawing rooms. Now he was much 
more like the rough soldiers Inos had known on her journey through the 
forestdangerous, ruthless. He glowered, huge and menacing, embodiment of the 
Imperial legions, the armored bullies of all Pandemia. "Think again, sorceress!"
Rasha was on her fleet, also, although Inos had not seen her move. The room 
seemed to shimmer, like water approaching the boil.
"That is the price, Warlock!"
Olybino hunched his shoulders, glaring. "Fool! It is inconceivable."
"Then I keep the girl, and Kalkor will have your cohorts and-"
"Let him! Do you think it matters? Pondague was a penal posting. They are the 
scum of the army, they had deserted their post, and the imperor will be well rid 
of them. Jotnar or goblins, it does not matter. And who cares about Krasnegar, 
anyway? It was never of any importance-as you would have realized, had you known 
any Imperial politics at all!"
"Begone!" Rasha screamed.
Just for a fraction of an instant, Inos thought she saw them as they were: old, 
squat, ugly-Rasha short and fat, Olybino paunchy and balding ...
Lightning flashed, thunder roared. And the lights went out.

6
The sun, which had completed its daily rounds in Zark some hours before, was now 
winding up in Faerie, also. Already bird headed for nest and bee sought hive. 
Night beasts stirred from their slumber, while welcome shadows crept outward 
from the edge of the jungle and spread across the fields ...
Hugg was a troll and therefore not nearly as stupid as he looked. He was not 
especially bright, either, but he knew he had laid his supper on the dirt beside 
him only a moment before. Now it was gone. While he thought about that, he 
linked his fingers together around a coconut and cracked it. Munching the 
pieces, Hugg came to the firm conclusion that he had been robbed. That meant he 
would get nothing more tonight except probably a beating for losing the bucket. 
He had brought his meal to the edge of the field so he could sit in the shade. 
He had not seen the thief out in the open, but there were bushes behind him.
Hugg rose, reared to his full height, and turned around. Trolls' ears and noses 
were much more acute than those of most other men, and their strength let them 
move through thick jungle faster than almost anything else. They could also do 
so in eerie silence if they wished, despite their size and ungainly appearance. 
In fact, trolls were unsurpassed as woodsman, and the wind was in his favor.
He put his head down and lurched forward like a charging behemoth. He did not 
bother with stealth, because he could tell that his quarry was still in motion, 
bearing the precious lunch bucket farther away all the time. Furthermore, he had 
not removed his clothes, and they caught and tugged and ripped on thorns and 
branches. Stripped, Hugg could have slid through the undergrowth as silent and 
unscathed as a fish in water.
Under the lowering rain clouds of their native valleys in the Mosweeps, trolls 
haunted forests of perpetual gloom. Although their doughy hides were durable as 
pigskin, they were very susceptible to sunburn, and any good overseer knew 
enough to provide his trolls with a complete covering of clothes. It was an 
extra expense, but trolls were worth it.
Hugg was twenty-four years old. When he was fourteen he had wandered into a 
village to trade some bright stones for a chisel. Trolls were much given to 
erecting massive edifices of raw masonry among their jungle-quilted hills, 
usually choosing a site that straddled a stream, so that they could have running 
water in every room. A troll might spend years on such a constructiort and then 
just walk away from it before it was complete, only to begin another two or 
three valleys over. Hugg had begun to feel restless and unsatisfied with the 
tower his parents were building. He had decided to go off and begin work on one 
of his own rather than continue to help on theirs. Perhaps, when he had 
completed two or three rooms by himself, some wandering trolless would come 
along to help. Meanwhile, the first thing he needed was a chisel, one of those 
shiny bronze ones and not the junky steel kind that rusted away in a week or so.
Ever since conquering that part of the Mosweeps fifty years earlier, the Impire 
had been striving to gather the inhabitants out of their dark, damp forests into 
specially designed model villages, hoping to civilize them and keep an eye on 
them and encourage them to increase their numbers. Out of the trees and into one 
of these villages wandered Hugg. He was at once arrested for indecent exposure 
and for not possessing a permit. He did not know what a permit was. He did not 
know why clothes were necessary. He explained patiently that he would cover 
himself until he departed if that was required, but normally he never saw anyone 
except his own reflection; and in the forest, cloth or even leather would 
certainly rot away to pulp within a few days. He did not understand why his 
offer was not an acceptable compromise.
Nor did he understand the courtroom proceedings, short and simple though they 
were. He was sentenced to two years' hard labor and led off for a three-week 
introductory course in the value of docility. His bright stones had been taken 
from him, but they were not mentioned in the court records.
Ever since the reign of the Impress Abnila, slavery had been illegal in the 
Impire; but the army had to find some way to cover the cost of its occupation of 
the Mosweeps, and graft was as widespread and inevitable as weather.
As soon as Hugg had learned to do exactly what he was told as fast as possible 
and never to speak unless spoken to, his place of confinement was changed from 
Hamlet 473 to the town of Danqval, and from there he was marched in an 
ever-increasing brigade of other convicts down to the market in Clamdewth.
Later he and a few others enjoyed a brief sea voyage, Hugg having,an oar all to 
himself on the basic principle of two men or one troll. He arrived at last at a 
plantation somewhere to the north of Milflor and was then provided with a chance 
to escape, which he did.
They always did.
He was run down with hounds and horses and given a lesson that left him ever 
after with a slight limp and a ringing in one ear. Even trolls could learn from 
that sort of teaching, and they healed quickly. Never again did he try to 
escape.
At twenty-four, Hugg was still there. He did not know that he should have been 
shipped home after two years. Had he known that, and asked for an explanation, 
he would have learned that his file had been mislaid and he must pen a formal 
petition to the marshal of the armies, in Hub, as his area had been under 
military rule at the time of his offense. But he did not ask, and no one told 
him, and nothing would have changed anyway.
He dug and tilled and harvested; he chopped wood and bore burdens as he was 
told. He grew to be the largest and strongest troll on the plantation, and no 
one ever stole his supper.
Following the scent and unmistakable sounds of flight, Hugg plunged through the 
trees and bushes, smashing and breaking and even uprooting as required, heedless 
of his own noise or the damage to his clothes. After a few minutes, he realized 
that there were two or three persons ahead of him and he remembered old stories 
of headhunting fairyfolk. Perhaps he had been rash, therefore, but he had never 
heard of any natives coming near the plantations, and the fugitives were 
obviously running away as fast as they could. That was good, because their scent 
was not troll scent, and therefore he could outrun them in this undergrowth. 
Furthermore, if they were running away they were probably unarmed, and then he 
would not hesitate to accept odds of three to one, or perhaps even four. Trolls 
were placid by nature, but they could be roused to anger like anyone else. Hugg 
enjoyed his daily bucket of slop. He intended to win it back.
He heard a few loud oaths ahead of him, a couple of shouts, and knew from the 
sounds that his pursuit was to be contested. Two kept running-still carrying his 
meal, doubtless-but one had turned back to challenge. A moment later Hugg 
crashed through a dense wall of shrubbery and saw him. He was a husky youth, but 
shorter even than the average imp, and half the size of a troll. In the dappling 
shade of the branches, he seemed a very odd color. He smelled strange and his 
eyes were curiously angular. He was standing in a half crouch, holding out his 
hands and waiting for Hugg with a big toothy grin.
Mrolls preferred action to thought. Roaring with joy and never breaking stride, 
Hugg swung a fist that should have stoved in the brat's chest. The last thing he 
saw was a tree trunk, dead ahead.
"God of Mercy! " Rap shouted. "Did you have to kill him?" Little Chicken folded 
his arms and turned his smirk into a sneer. "You think he wanted to talk?"
No, the giant had not wanted to talk; and now he would never talk again. The 
bark of the tree bore more obvious damage than did his head, but his neck was 
undoubtedly broken. Abandoning futile efforts to find a pulse, Rap rose shakily 
to his feet and glared across the corpse at the goblin.
The situation was a creepy echo of the time they had faced each other across the 
body of the fairy child, but then Little Chicken had been as distraught and 
bewildered as Rap. Now he was showing his huge goblin teeth in a satisfied grin, 
proud of having beaten an opponent so much larger than himself.
L'
Since the castaways had left the fairy village and headed south, Little Chicken 
had changed ominously. He now spoke passable impish and thus could express 
himself better, but there was more to it than that. He had grown in confidence. 
He swaggered now, he often smirked as if relishing some secret joke, he 
patronized Rap again, as he had in the taiga, and he treated Thinal like an 
unwanted and unpleasant child. He was obnoxious and unnerving.
"Used a leg throw on him, " he said, nudging the corpse with his foot. "Didn't 
see the tree there. Not much time to plan ahead when you're about to be smeared, 
Flat Nose. "
That was not quite what Rap had seen with his farsight. Admittedly his attention 
had been mostly on his own undignified flight through the shrubbery, and he had 
not seen the throw, but he was fairly sure that Little Chicken had then picked 
the troll up bodily and rammed the tree with him. In fact the evidence was 
clear-the man had obviously made a right-angle turn somewhere on his journey.
Thinal was creeping back through the bushes, at the same time gobbling whatever 
was in the pail he had stolen. Using two fingers, he was scooping mush into his 
mouth, spreading it liberally on his chin, also. Rap shouted to say it was all 
clear, then went back to scowling at Little Chicken's self-satisfied smirk.
Time had ceased to mean very much, but the moon was almost full now, so the 
refugees had been in Faerie more than two weeks. Their journey south had been 
aided by the equipment salvaged from the deserted village-nets and waterbottles, 
hats and boots made by Little Chicken, backpacks jammed with food. Those 
supplies had lasted them all the way to the edges of the impish colony around 
Milflor. Here they had been forced to detour inland, staying in the fringe of 
the jungle and gradually replacing the fairy kit with whatever Thmal's quick 
eyes fancied. Their passage through the settled lands had been marked by a 
steady pilfering of local garments and foodstuffs, as the little thief looted 
larders, clotheslines, and even ovens.
So Rap had a good pair of boots at last, and a fine cotton shirt. Little Chicken 
wore nothing at all except a soft and frilly pair of silk pants. He was 
extremely proud of those, not having realized that they were actually a woman's 
undergarment, as Thinal had sniggeringly confided to Rap.
Now Thinal himself squeezed cautiously through a canebrake and gulped at the 
sight of the corpse. "By the Powers!" He looked at the goblin. "How'd you 
manage. . . " He shot a scared glance at Rap, who knew what he was thinking, 
although none of them had ever yet put it into words.
"Little Chicken is a skilled wrestler."
"Skilled?" Thinal shook his head in wonder. "That's a fullblooded troll!"
"He's big."
"Big? They're just about indestructible. Even the halfbreeds ... Listen, 
officially there's no such things as gladiator contests anymore, right? But some 
of the big houses round Hub ... Darad's made money fighting at them."
Little Chicken looked interested. "They wrestle?"
"Not usually." Thinal shoveled more of the paste into his mouth. "But a troll 
with a club against men armed like legionaries-that's a popular match. Big 
stakes."
"How many imps?"
"All together, usually three. One at a time, it may take five or six to wear him 
out, sometimes more. And you just knocked off a troll singlehanded?"
The goblin chuckled. With a lightning snatch he relieved Thinal of the bucket, 
then held it out to Rap. "Eat!"
"I don't want any."
"Eat, Flat Nose!"
"No!"
"I will stuff it down your throat. Have to keep your strength up, faun."
He was mostly just mocking, Rap thought, flaunting his superiority; but perhaps 
he still regarded himself as Rap's trash, who must care for his master. Either 
way, Rap had no doubt that he had best do as he was told, for clearly Little 
Chicken's blood had been roused by the fight, and he would love an excuse for 
another tussle.
So Rap took the bucket and stepped back from the huge corpse. Flies were buzzing 
around it already.
"Let's go somewhere better, then. None of this poor guy's stuff will fit any of 
us." In fact, only the troll's boots were worth a second glance. He had pretty 
well stripped himself naked coming through the undergrowth, ripping even his 
leather breeches in a dozen places. His fungus-colored hide was barely scuffed.
"Let's get well away!" Thinal said, wiping his mouth and then licking his hand. 
"Someone'll come looking soon . . ." He gaped at Rap in sudden horror. "Hounds! 
When they find his body, they'll put hounds on us!"
"Leave hounds to me," Rap said, gagging at the sour taste of the slave's mash. 
"But they may have more trolls, and this one was following our scent. "
Thinal nodded with disgust. "I'll remember in the future." A city thief had not 
expected a victim to trail him that way, nor thought to check wind direction. 
Even an occult genius was not infallible.
"Leave trolls to me," said the goblin, with another satisfied gloat at the dead 
one.
Destiny with men:
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days Where Destiny with Men for Pieces 
plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays, And one by one back in the 
Closet lays.
Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§49, 1859)


FIVE
Slave and sultan

1
The moon was all wrong in Zark. It rode much too high in the sky and it seemed 
to have been tilted sideways, so its face was strange and unfamiliar. Not that 
Kadolan was looking at the moon, out she was aware of its beams shining on the 
floor below the windows, and those bright patches were much smaller than they 
could ever be in Krasnegar. Such unleaded windows would be unthinkable there at 
any time, while here even in the middle of a spring night, the wind was no worse 
than cool. Reflections of moonlight on marble gave ample light.
She huddled on the edge of her bed in her flounced robe, a frilly nigl-ticap 
pulled down low to hide her curlers, and her feet snug inside goatswool 
slippers. Her niece was pacing the chamber as the cheetah in Duke Angilki's 
zoological garden paced its cage. Just as the cheetah made a sort of half rear 
at the end of each length to start its turn, so Inosolan swept her train around 
in a swish of samite before retracing her steps.
She was on the third or fourth telling now, still very upset, understandably. 
"Aghast" might be a more exact word. Kadolan had not even grasped the enormity 
of it all herself and had not experienced the terror of it firsthand, as 
Inosolan had. Small wonder that now she need talk herself down from an emotional 
high that had flown perilously near hysteria. ". . . so here's my choice except 
that I don't even get to choose but apparently I'm either to be married off to a 
goblin or else the imps and the jotnar will fight each other to the death and 
the goblins move in to finish up the survivors and everyone I know'll be dead 
and there won't be a kingdom left to rule anyway and as for me I'll probably end 
up entertaining important guests down on the waterfront ... "
The windows opened on a balcony overlooking one of the many moonstruck gardens 
of the palace. Kadolan worried that many ears were listening, but Inosolan had 
ignored all suggestions that she lower her voice. The sorceress certainly wasn't 
listening, she said; she was occupied otherwise. That bit had not been explained 
yet.
What Inosolan really needed was a good, long, motherly hug, but Kadolan was not 
skilled at such intimacies. Her strong point had never been children, and she 
had not known Inosolan as a child. By the time she had reached Krasnegar after 
Evanaire's death, the chance for closeness had gone. They had not shared more 
than two or three hugs, ever.
". . . maybe should be glad I don't get to choose! I mean, suppose they line up 
a dozen or two bristle-faced goblins and..."
Kadolan had never borne children of her own, or she might have learned better 
how to cope with them. Adolescents were her specialty. She knew by instinct how 
to deal with adolescent girls, or at least she could never remember when she did 
not have a knack for them. There was no great magic involved, only clear rules 
and endless patience. One had to set an example as best one could, for those 
quick young eyes spied out hypocrisy at once; so one stood up honestly for one's 
principles, like a lighthouse at the end of a difficult strait. One encouraged, 
one explained, one kept one's temper, and in the end, usually without much 
warning, the strait had been traversed, the ship was in the harbor, and another 
young lady was available for matchmaking. Very distant cousins, or just friends 
... Inosolan had been merely the last of many, many girls who had called Kadolan 
"Aunt" at Kinvale. Kadolan had failed none of them, but none had been a keener 
or a more gratifying pupil than her own niece. None had met with more success, 
or less good fortune.
Inos was still wayward and impetuous, of course, but those traits were part of 
her jotunn heritage, and she would not likely ever outgrow them. They cropped up 
frequently in the family.
"A goblin? Can you imagine? A goblin king in Krasnegar? What do you think-would 
he amuse the guests by carving up the servants or entertain the servants by 
cooking up the guests? "
That was better. Murderously unfunny humor, but humor. Inosolan's voice was 
steadying, too.
And she had seen that lost kingdoms were not returned like misplaced parasols, 
that there must be a price to pay-perhaps not as much as marriage to a goblin, 
but a price. What price would Inosolan be willing to pay? Would she be given the 
choice?
The irony of it all was that Kadolan, having guided her niece through to 
womanhood, should now feel so completely useless as an adult confidante. She was 
too old for this wild adventuring. Her life had been much too sheltered for her 
to know anything at all about women like Rasha-who, despite her incredible 
occult power, was still only a woman, a hard, twisted, bitter woman, a woman who 
had fought for every crust shed ever eaten, a woman abused and maltreated by men 
in ways Kadolan could not imagine and did not want to.
Inosolan was younger and stronger and had been coping amazingly well, 
considering how very little room she had to move at all. Now came this latest 
outrage-warlocks and warfare. No one could be expected to cope with this. 
Kadolan was out of her depth. She felt she was being left behind. That was old 
age, she supposed.
Suddenly Inosolan fell silent and still, a beauty's dark profile against the 
moon-drenched sky within the arches.
"I do talk a lot, don't I, Aunt?"
"Come and sit down, dear."
"Yes. " Inosolan came across and joined Kadolan on the bed, and put an arm 
around her. "Thank you for listening. I feel better. "
"I wish I could do more than listen. What happened after the warlock left?"
"Rasha threw a tantrum. I suppose she can see in the dark. She started tossing 
thunderbolts at things-the welcome mat and then the furniture. I ran. "
"Wise! "
Inosolan gulped, then laughed shakily. "It was so childish it was almost funny! 
I was too scared to feel scared, somehow. I slipped on the stairs and hurt my 
ankle-Rasha healed it for me later-but I crawled over to the doors, and they 
wouldn't open, and I just crouched there until the thunderstorm stopped. Until 
the noise stopped and the smoke cleared and Rasha came down. "
"How terrible!"
"Well . . ." Inosolan shivered. "The worst part was that I was afraid of the 
panther and the wolf-they were roaming around somewhere in the dark, I thought. 
And maybe demons? Something flapped overhead a few times ... Or maybe it was 
worst when the torches blazed up in the sconces and she came slinking down the 
stairs. Your Kinvale lacquer was very thin, Aunt. She was back to being a 
brothel seductress again."
What is a lady? Rasha had asked. Kadolan had tried to explain that being a lady. 
was a discipline, a way of life. A lady was considerate of others' feelings. A 
lady was the same to all people, of high rank or low, at all times, under all 
conditions.
Those, the sorceress had said with a believing sneer, might be useful things to 
know. "Show me!" she had commanded. "For I must deal soon with the wardens, and 
these impish manners may impress them. "
So Kadolan had shown her, and she had learned amazingly fast.
"Yes, dear, I know. I knew she was too old to change, of course. I knew it was 
only affectation. But she was so very convincing I found myself believing in 
her. Forgive me! "
"Nothing to forgive, Aunt! You did a much better job with Rasha than I did with 
Azak. "
Kadolan had been wondering why she had heard no news of Azak.
"Imperial lady, sultana, dockside slut," Inosolan said reflectively, "but I fear 
her most when she plays seductress. Inflame any man, Azak said-remember? It 
sickens me. It frightens me. She's a man-eater, wriggling her body around like a 
worm on a hook. That's how she was-young and gorgeous and shining through gauze, 
promising love, and yet burning inside with hatred and contempt ... That's the 
hook. "
Kadolan tried to find something to say, but couldn't.
"Had I been a man ... If there was a man there, I thought, he would be driven 
mad. Am I wrong?"
"I don't think so, dear. It is an evil magic." After a moment Kadolan added 
quietly, "Lust is not love, but I don't think her Majesty has ever been taught 
the difference."
Inosolan shivered again. "She cured my ankle and my bruises. Then I wanted to 
go, and she made me stay longer. She talked. She insists she was right and 
Olybino was lying. He really is in league with Lith'rian of the south against 
Zinixo. He really does need to find a peaceful solution to the Krasnegar 
problem. They're all afraid of the dwarf. So she says."
Kadolan squeezed her, but she was still rigid as a statue, trembling slightly 
even yet.
"I said, `So I must marry a goblin?' She laughed and said she would bespell me 
so that I was crazy about male goblins! Ughh! Can you imagine?"
"It's all over now, dear, and you should try to get some rest."
"Gods! It must be halfway to morning." Inos fell silent, and her aunt realized 
that she had not heard it all yet. There was still more to come.
Inosolan rose, started to pace, and then stepped to a window. For a moment her 
hair and shoulders were washed in silver by the high moon. Then she turned and 
spoke. "I won't marry a goblin. But I will get lack my kingdom! "
This time she did not swear any oaths about doing anything at all, Kadolan 
noticed. She had learned about costs.
"So I can't just rely on Rasha!"
"That's obvious, dear!"
"So what do we do now, Chancellor?"
This was where Kadolan felt so inadequate. "Why not discuss this latest 
development with the Big Man, Azak?"
"I didn't tell you earlier . . ." Inosolan had dropped her voice, at last. "Kar 
told me today-yesterday. I'm not welcome on the hunts anymore, he said. I never 
did get to talk with the Big Man alone, Aunt. Anytime we stopped, to eat or 
anything, he was always surrounded by princes. So I never did get to talk with 
him." She wandered back to the bed in a rustle of fabric. "You did better with 
Rasha than I did with him. He never gave me a chance to speak with him. And now 
he certainly never will!"
Kadolan held her breath. In a moment Inosolan continued.
"Rasha kept me there, talking. We were downstairs by then, in her bedchamber. 
She'd healed my twisted ankle. She just kept talking, saying nothing and 
repeating it over and over."
"Yes, dear?"
"I could hardly bear to look at her. I would have minded less if she'd been 
naked, I think. What she was wearing was worse! Gems in ... well, never mind. 
And then, suddenly, she put a finger to her lips ... It's a funny room, that. 
Only two windows. It looks like it ought to have another, over by the bed, 
doesn't it? Well, what it has there is a hidden door. Behind the hangings."
Kadolan guessed what was coming and knew that Inosolan had seen her twitch of 
shock. 
"The hinges creaked. He pushed aside the tapestry and stepped in. And saw me 
there!"
"The Big Man?" Not that Kadohm doubted it.
"Azak, yes. She'd done it dehberately, of course. She must have summoned him and 
been waiting for him. She told him to come in and make himself comfortable-can 
you imagine the tone?-and then she told me I could go now. Oh, the look in her 
eyes! " Inosolan shivered.
Tremors of distaste ran down Kadolan's arms. "Well, we did sort of learn when we 
arrived, didn't we? I mean, she did drop broad hints-that she summoned him, and 
so on."
"Oh, yes! But why?"
"Because she hates men, dear. Gods know, I suppose she's had reason enough." -
"And he's everything she hates in men-young and handsome and royal! Big and 
strong, and unbeatable at everything!"
The sudden enthusiasm in her niece's voice made Kadolan uneasy. "And a 
murderer!"
"Is he? " Inosolan's voice rose higher. "Think of this, Aunt Rasha the adept was 
living in the palace. Uninvited. Freeloading. Then she met the sultan, and he 
was another adept! He saw through her disguise. She hinted to me that they 
became friends, m even lovers perhaps, two adepts together-and I suppose it must 
be hard for the sorcerous to be friends with mere mundanes. How sweet! But 
really she was in terrible danger, Aunt, because although they were both adepts, 
he had temporal power, also. He could have tortured her to learn her words of 
powerbut instead he died! Azak got the throne, but she got the words."
Kadolan gasped. "You think it was Rasha who killed him?"
"Or helped. How do mundanes kill an adept? Maybe Azak made promises he hasn't 
carried out? She can force him to do anything, but he'd promised ... Oh, I don't 
know!" Inosolan rose and began to pace again. "It doesn't matter much does it? 
If I can't rely on Rasha, then he's my logical ally, because he hates her. My 
enemy's enemy is my friend, but-"
"Who ever said that?"
"What? The thing about enemies? Oh, it's just an expression I heard from ... 
from an old friend. A friend I never really appreciated. But Azak wouldn't talk 
to me before, and he certainly won't now, because I've witnessed his shame. 
Because I know Rasha summons him to her bed so she can torment him and humiliate 
him as men humiliated her. He'll never set eyes on me again!"
Kadolan took a deep breath. Inosolan was grasping at straws, but straws were all 
she had, and perhaps her incompetent, inadequate chancellor and chamberlain 
could help out a little; and even if it did no good in the end, it might give 
her something to hope for while her spirits were so horribly crushed.
"You want a private talk with the Big Man? That's all?"
"It would be a start. "
"Well, we can certainly arrange that, dear," Kadolan said cheerfully. "You go 
and try to get some sleep now. First thing in the morning, I'll ask Mistress 
Zana to take him a message. I promise you, he'll come running!"

2
Inos spent a miserable day. For the last two weeks and more, she had been rising 
before dawn; now she managed to sleep until almost noon and left herself feeling 
frowsy and off key. By the time she was bathed and dressed, both Kade and Zana 
had already departed for a tea party with the sorceress, and that was a 
terrifying development-how could anyone keep secrets from a sorceress? Surely 
Rasha would learn at once of the note that had been sent to intercept Azak as he 
left on his hunt at daybreak.
Kade had designed a cryptic message, in the best traditions of conspiracy, but 
she could not have made it cryptic enough to deceive Rasha without making it 
unintelligible to Azak. And if Rasha did learn of it, she might well resent Inos 
seeking an alliance with Azak, whatever he was to her.
Inos worried and fretted and tried to seem calm and relaxed. The habitation felt 
more like a prison than ever. She spent a couple of hours exploring it, just for 
something to do. In need of an excuse to keep moving, she worked her way 
systematically from dingy, stuffy wine cellars up to the divine glory of the 
master bedroom. Then she went down and played a few games of thali with Vinisha 
and some of the other women. They all wanted to hear about Inos's visit to 
Rasha's chamber of puissance, and that was the very thing she did not want even 
to think about. They must be wondering why she had abandoned hunting so 
suddenly, and that was a humiliation she preferred not to discuss. The 
conversation was stilted and pointless.
Why could a person's memory not forget things to order?
Every now and then, just when Inos was least expecting itadmiring the late 
Prince Harakaz's collection of hunting boots, or in the middle of a coup at 
thali-she would be struck by a spasm of mental agony. It was like having a 
broken bone somewhere, or a torn muscle, and accidentally putting weight on it. 
It was remembering the one most awful thing that had come out of the previous 
night's horrors, the one she had tried to store away deepest in her closet of 
Things Not to Think About. And it kept falling out and hitting her: Marry a 
goblin!
It was unthinkable.
She was of royal blood. Queens or princesses were rarely fortunate enough to 
marry for love. Dynastic marriage was their lot. A year ago, facing exile in 
Kinvale, Inos had refused to admit that obvious truth. Now she could see that 
the best she could ever hope for was a husband who was relatively decent, 
agreeable, and not too absurdly old. But a goblin, any goblinthat was carrying 
duty altogether too far.
The trouble was, it made so much sense from everyone else's point of view. It 
would placate the witch of the north, who was a goblin herself. It would favor 
neither the imps of the Impire nor the jotnar of Nordland, so no one need lose 
face. The citizens of Krasnegar might resent the idea at first, but now that 
tempers had been roused, the jotnar among them might even prefer to see a goblin 
on the throne than an imp; the imps might rather have a goblin than a jotunn. 
Winning was less important than not losing. And the old men of the council would 
be happy, because a goblin king would have no interest in actually running the 
kingdom. From what little Inos knew of goblins' social habits, he would 
certainly not allow his wife to do any real reigning either. He would leave that 
to the council, while he concentrated on ... On what? What in the names of all 
the Gods did goblins do all the time?
They bred ugly little green babies, that's what they did. And tortured people.
The afternoon dragged on, hot and desolate. The sorceress's tea party seemed to 
be lasting a very long time.
Inos was having her third stroll around one of the many shadowed gardens when 
Thralia came hurrying through the magnolias and honeysuckles in search of her. 
Apologizing abjectly for having forgotten earlier, she offered Inos a book. The 
princess had left that for her, she said, when she went out.
Well! Inos kept her temper, smiled icily, and retreated to a shady bench to see 
what Kade might have in mind. The volume was huge and very tattered, and 
obviously ancient. Its faded ink must have been hard on Kade's old eyes, but 
Prince Hakaraz had certainly been no patron of literature, so perhaps this was 
the best she had been able to find to read. The cover was torn and the title 
unreadable. What remained appeared to be a collection of quotations and extracts 
from other volumes. On her first, fast flick-through, Inos saw how the writing 
changed, from labored and straggly at the beginning to a heavy, arrogant scrawl 
near the end. The final few pages were blank.
Clearly this tome had been some long-ago prince's commonplace book. He might 
have chosen the passages himself, or they might have been selected by his tutor. 
Perhaps he had been expected to memorize them afterward, as many seemed to be 
concerned with princely decorum. There were lists; there was history, and 
religion, and philosophy. Some pages held very sickly sentimental poetry that 
might have been original; a few extracts near the end were so erotic that Inos 
discovered she was not as unshockable as she had thought. She wondered what Kade 
had thought of those!
On a second, more careful leafing-through, she found a fresh flower petal. It 
lay near the middle, among a group of passages on history, but the vellums were 
only inscribed on one side, so there was no ambiguity-Kade was directing Inos to 
an extract from a drama, and specifically to a long and very turgid speech 
attributed to a man named Draqu ak'Dranu. Alongside the petal she read:
He who smites mine foe is my friend, and he who turns a blow from me I shall 
embrace. To aid my enemy is to offend me; to stay him, nay yet to hamper him, 
shall win my praises and rich gifts. Know then that the white and the blue 
befriend us when they harry the gold, for the claws of the gold rake hard upon 
our flesh; our women are made to weep, our children starve and cry out. And 
though the white and blue may not stay the claws lest a greater-evil befall, yet 
will they suffer not that doors be opened, nor the ways smoothed.
There was more, much more. But that was enough to explain why Kade had been so 
certain that she could win Inos an audience with Azak. It even explained how she 
had dreamed up the cryptic message she had been planning to use: I have met a 
man with a golden helmet. That would mean a lot to Azak, she had insisted, but 
would likely make little sense to any commoner who might intercept the note. The 
palace of Arakkaran would not have changed its princes' upbringing much in the 
last few centuries, and the Big Man would have been reared on the sort of fare 
represented by this book.
"Gold" meant the warlock of the east, of course, and the four claws would be the 
legions; the imperor's symbol was always a four-pointed star. White and blue 
were the wardens of north and south respectively. The Protocol forbade any 
sorcerer but East from using magic on the legions; Kade had said so, and Rasha 
had confirmed it. That prohibition included the other wardens. If they wanted to 
help the imperor's opponents, which in the example quoted had evidently been 
some Zarkian confederacy led by the verbose Draqu, their help would have to be 
very limited and indirect.
What Inos had not realized was that there was a subtle exception to those rules. 
The extracts that preceded Kade's marker made the point more clearly: The other 
wardens were within their rights in stopping East from aiding the legions with 
magic. Obviously the best that the imperor's enemies could ever hope for was 
that their battles would stay mundane, but obviously they often did, else the 
Impire would have conquered all Pandemia ages ago. Of course most lands had 
fallen to the legions many times, only to win back their independence in due 
course. The tide flowed and the tide ebbed. Guwush was part of the Impire now, 
but the old map on Inos's schoolroom wall had shown it as a collection of 
independent gnomish commonwealths. Zark had been conquered and liberated 
repeatedlyshe'd learned that much since she arrived.
She went back to Kade's curious digest, and a few pages later found an account 
of a battle in some other century. The Imperial forces had been driven back 
against a ravine. A bridge had appeared by magic to save them. A few minutes 
later it had vanished again, and stayed away. The resulting carnage was 
described in loving detail.
How typical of Kade to have discovered something like this! My enemy's enemy is 
my friend, as Rap had said. And Kar had spoken of a scent of war in the wind. 
The Impire had a new marshal of the armies.
The warlock of the east would never be a popular figure in Zark. My enemy's 
enemy! If Rasha was now Inos's enemy, then Azak must be her friend. And Olybino 
was another common foe. Kade had seen it.
What could Azak do about it, though?
Kade and Zana returned at last, looking weary, but the tea party had to be 
described for everyone, so it was an hour or more before Inos managed to get her 
aunt to herself. Once again, they drifted out on the balcony to watch the city 
and the bay darken into night. Inos leaned on the balustrade; Kade sank into the 
soft divan, sighing like a contented puppy.
No, Rasha had not seemed suspicious, Kade reported. No, she had not mentioned 
the previous evening's meeting. There had been many palace ladies there, of 
course.
"So when will we get an answer from the Big Man, do you suppose?" Inos asked.
Her aunt blinked up at her. "Oh ... of course you didn't hear! He answered at 
once. You are invited to go sightseeing with him tomorrow. "
Aha! Inos laughed gaily. "You are a sorceress, Aunt!"
"Oh, no, dear!"
So Inos would get that private chat she had been seeking for so long. And now 
she had even more reason to talk with the sultan. Surely together they could 
find some way to frustrate the evil Rasha?
Then Inos saw that her aunt was staring at her with an oddly concerned 
expression. "Something wrong?"
"Oh, no, dear, nothing. Nothing at all. But ... have you ever met Prince 
Quarazak?"
"I don't think so," Inos said suspiciously. Kade was being devious. "Describe 
him."
"About this high. Handsome young lad, sprightly, reddish coloring. The sultana 
presented him to me a few days ago. And a couple of his brothers, also."
"Oh?" Oh! "Tall, like his father?"
"Yes, dear."
It took Inos several seconds to work out the connection. Then she burst out 
laughing. "Really, Aunt! Surely you do not imagine I am seriously interested in 
... I mean, my interest in Azak is purely political."
"Of course, dear."
"Anything else would be absurd!"
"Of course. I didn't mean to suggest ... Of course."
But Kade had been thinking it. Azak? Admittedly a djinn was more appealing than 
a goblin, but that was certainly not what Inos had in mind. No, just politics!
"Oh, you needn't worry about that, Aunt. Barbarians are not my type at all. I'm 
not attracted to that one!"
"But how does he feel about you?"
"Really, Aunt! If he has that on his mind, then he has a very strange way of 
showing it! This young prince . . . "
"Quarazak. Quarazak ak'Azak ak'Azakar."
"Yes. How tall did you say. "
Kade gestured vaguely. "About so. He says he's eight, but he looks older because 
of his height. "
Azak was twenty-two.
For a moment Inos's mind refused to believe the necessary calculations. 
"Fourteen? Or maybe thirteen?"
"I suppose so."
"Gods!" Inos muttered. "That's disgusting!"
"Yes, dear," Kade said quietly.

3
The air was cool and clammy, color still undefined. Even the skylarks must still 
be snoozing in their nests.
In the pearly light of predawn, Inos sat and shivered on Sesame in a stable 
yard. At her side, Kar was still as a statue on his favorite gray, watching his 
brother inspect the honor guard of family men.
Inos had expected a confidential chat during a ride in a coach, not a state 
procession.
She had burned her mouth on her coffee and six coarse Zarkian biscuits lay like 
lead in her belly, but now she was ready for whatever surprise the sultan was 
prepared to spring next. At least, she hoped she was. There were no other 
princes in sight, only wary grooms on the sidelines, and the twenty-five guards 
with their mounts. Azak was examining them like a trader planning an offer.
"Family men are royalty from other cities?" she asked. Kar smile without turning 
his head. "Mostly."
"Is this what happens to unwanted princes?"
"Some sink even lower."
"How much lower?"
"They sell their skills for silver and serve commoners!" Kar said with infinite 
contempt.
"But when a throne changes hands somewhere-"
"Thrones change buttocks. In Zark, monarchy is denoted by a sash. Sashes change 
men."
"Very well. If a new sultan succeeds, might some of these guards then be 
summoned back to their homes?"
Kar started to nod, then suddenly frowned. It was gone in an instant, but that 
was the first frown she had ever seen on him. One of the family men had been 
dismissed and was leading his horse away. Friend Kar had missed something, 
perhaps? "Explain, please," Inos said meanly.
He beamed. "A poorly fitted shoe. I thought it would pass, but the Big Man's 
standards are higher than mine. "
"The man will be punished? How?"
Kar turned his smile full on her for the first time. "One of his sons will be 
beaten."
"That's wicked! "
"They all knew what their oath meant when they swore. "
"How much of a beating?" she asked queasily. "Probably just one lash for each 
year of his age. "
"I suppose the man himself has to choose which son?" She was beginning to 
understand the sadistic thinking.
"Yes. "
"And he must watch, I suppose?"
"He must do it."
That ended the conversation.
Azak completed his inspection. He swung up into the saddle of one of his black 
stallions, which put up a small show of resistance and then calmed. He had at 
least a dozen of those beauties, and Inos recognized this one as Dread, one of 
the least cantankerous and therefore something of a disappointment to him. He 
walked it over to her as Kar rode off to line up the guard.
The last time Inos had seen the sultan he had been summoned to an old crone's 
bed like a gigolo, and yet his gaze was steady and unashamed as their eyes met. 
It was Inos who blushed. She felt her face grow hot-where was her Kinvale poise 
when she needed it?
The jeweled belt he always wore was missing. Instead he bore a gleaming baldric 
across his chest, a narrower strip of the same silver mesh studded with 
emeralds. Then she realized that it was the identical piece, that normally he 
must keep it wrapped four or five times around his waist, out of the way. This 
was probably how it was supposed to be worn, the symbol of kingship. His clothes 
were the finest she had ever seen on him, so embroidered and emblazoned with 
precious stones that they might hold half the wealth of the kingdom.
The mutual scrutiny ended. Inos had brought a riding crop expressly so she could 
salute him with it, and she now did so, wondering if the curse would interpret 
that as an admission of his status. All that happened was that Azak arched one 
shapely auburn brow almost into his turban-an annoying trick she had seen him 
use before.
"You will have to cover your face in public. "
"Of course. I am sorry you find my appearance distasteful!" She should have 
known she would never embarrass him. As she moved to adjust her headcloth, he 
said, "Not just at the moment, but later. We princes have heard of Imperial ways 
and enjoy admiring feminine beauty as much as imps do."
Princes also enjoyed seeing how much blush they could provoke.
"But the common folk would be shocked," he added imperturbably.
"Then you should educate them, Cousin."
"But in what ways? Imperial ladies uncover their faces, but merwomen expose 
their breasts, and Arakkaran is much closer to the Kerith Islands than to Hub."
Following the vanguard of family men, Azak rode out from his palace. Sesame 
paced smoothly on his right, and Kar's gray on the left. The route ran 
southward, through olive groves and shady hollows, still shiny with dew.
"I am glad to be spared another day in the desert, your Majesty," Inos said, 
able to give him his title beyond the palace grounds.
Azak glanced down-he was very high above her. "You haven't seen true desert yet. 
It is hard and cruel, but it brings out the strength of a man. It does not 
tolerate weaklings. Farmland feels soft and decadent to me. Please call me by my 
name, Inosolan."
His ability to take her by surprise was infuriating. "Of course, Azak. "
"No one else in the kingdom may."
Again taken by surprise, she looked up, and he was regarding her with amusement.
"I want to talk about Rasha."
He scowled and shook his head. "Not now. You wanted to see my kingdom. This is a 
good chance. I thought you might also care for a brief lesson in kingship. You 
may find it useful when you come into your inheritance. "
Before she could find a reply to express her annoyance, he laughed. "Our ways 
seem strange to you."
"They seem unnecessarily cruel."
"Anyone who tried to change them would be regarded as a weakling. Not that I 
want to change them, of course. "
He was baiting her, and she was not going to be browbeaten like one of his 
princelings. "You killed your grandfather?"
"Kar did, on my orders. The old rogue knew his time was coming. He'd tried to 
kill me several times."
"Rasha said he was an adept."
"Then he was a mighty ineffective one."
Or else Azak had been aided by another adept. "This shocks you, Inos."
"It is not the custom of my people."
"It is old here. You think like an imp. Many imperors have died by violence."
"But never a king of Krasnegar. "
"Truly?" Azak said skeptically. "You cannot be certain. Kar can slide a bodkin 
under a sleeping man's eyelid. That leaves no mark."
Inos felt sick. "How many men have you killed?"
"Personally, you mean? In fights or in execution? Fair fights or cheats? Or do 
you also count those I sent Kar after-Kar or others? I suppose a couple of 
dozen. I don't keep count."
"I'm sorry! I should not have asked. It is none of my business, and I should not 
judge Arakkarn by the standards of other lands. " She turned her attention to 
the arid and dusty countryside-the goats roaming the dry hills, the greener 
valleys falling seaward. Now the haphazard little road ran between dry stone 
walls and thorn hedges, landscape new to her.
But Azak had not done. "I had no choice."
"What?"
"Even as a child," he said softly, his voice almost lost in the clatter of 
hooves, "I was obviously superior. I had to try for the top or be killed myself. 
The first attempt on my life was made when I was six years old. There have been 
two attempts on Quarazak already and he is rubbish, barely above average. His 
brother Krandaraz has survived three tries so far, and even he does not compare 
to what I was at his age."
She was horrified. "Kill children? What good would that do?"
"It would belittle me, of course."
"It is a barbarous custom!"
"It is very efficient. We measure a man by many things, but his virility and the 
number of his sons count high. So ... always many princes. Princes cannot work 
in the fields. It costs money to support the royal family. This is one way we 
reduce the burden on the country, and we make sure that the ruler is a strong 
man. "
"Strong?" she said with her heaviest scorn.
"Strong. He must be able to win loyalty, and that requires excellence. He must 
have iron nerves. He must be cunning and treacherous and totally ruthless. I am 
all these things. I may kill or banish Krandaraz eventually, if I think one of 
my younger sons is better. It is an efficient system, good for the land."
Before Inos could find an answer to this outrageous rationalization, they 
rounded a bend and there was a village ahead. "Cover your face," Azak said, "and 
do not speak."
The mud-brick houses had low doors and no windows. Possibly the massive walls 
kept them cool in this blistering climate, but Inos had seen pigsties with more 
grandeur. The hamlet merged in all directions into olive trees, and there was a 
scent of oil in the air, barely detectable under the other stenches. The drone 
of insects was a constant low undertone.
The royal visit had been expected. The single street was blocked by people, 
obviously the whole population-every man, woman, and child crouching with face 
in the dirt as the sultan arrived. He reined in Dread, and Inos halted Sesame a 
few paces back on his right. Prince Kar's gray drew level on Azak's left, and 
the family men spread out on either hand. Then there was a pregnant pause, while 
everyone listened to the flies and the muffled coughing of the sick.
"Azak ak'Azakar ak'Zorazak!" Kar proclaimed in an astonishing roar, "Sultan of 
Arakkaran, Increaser of the Good, Beloved of the Gods, Protector of the Poor. 
You may greet your lord. "
The village surged to its feet and cheered until it was hoarse. Kar raised a 
hand for silence. An ancient headman came limping forward and held out a tray to 
offer Kar a selection of fruits, pastries, and insects. The prince selected a 
fig, bit half of it, chewed for a moment, and then passed the rest to Azak, who 
raised it to his lips. Inos thought he palmed it.
"His Majesty has graciously accepted your hospitality," Kar announced.
The headman scrambled out of the way as Dread moved forward, Kar's gray 
following. Uncertain what to do, Inos stayed where she was, sweating behind her 
veil but very grateful for its concealment. Apparently she had made the right 
choice, for the family men did not move either. Azak and his brother rode slowly 
around-Azak inspecting the village, Kar guarding Azak. The sultan took his time, 
scrutinizing everything out as far as the trees on either side of the road, 
although he did not dismount and enter buildings. The inhabitants shuffled their 
feet in apprehensive silence.
Insects buzzed. In the distance a donkey brayed.
A sudden eruption of barking from inside one of hovels cut off in terrified 
yelps. Inos realized that there were no dogs in sight.
At last the royal inspectors came back to the same place as before, and the 
headman returned warily to Kar's stirrup. "His Majesty congratulates you on the 
condition of the aces."
"His Magnificence is most gracious."
"His Majesty inquires when the pits were dug?"
"Pray inform his Beneficence ... about three months ago. " Kar's riding crop 
slashed across the old man's face. He did not flinch or raise his hands. He 
bowed. "I was in error. "
"They will be filled before sundown, and new pits dug. 'Iivice as many of them, 
with the male and female areas farther apart. "
"As his Majesty commands, so it is."
Azak was staring straight ahead, over the crowd's heads. He had not spoken, or 
moved a muscle. The old man's tongue sneaked out to lick a trickle of blood.
Again Kar produced his astonishing roar. "His Majesty will now receive 
petitions, on any subject except taxes. All may speak freely, without fear. None 
but his Majesty will hear the words that are spoken."
With trembling hands, the headman pulled a dirty scrap of paper from his gown 
and held it up. The baby-faced prince took it. After a glance he let it fall, 
and a second slash turned the scarlet stripe into a cross. "I said no taxes!"
The old man bowed again and backed away.
"Any may speak!" Kar repeated, looking at the crowd.
A younger man took one step and then halted, losing his nerve.
"Approach!"
Then he came-legs stiff, head held high, and fists clenched.
His rags were barely decent cowering. He sank down and touched his turban to the 
ground beside the hooves.
"Speak," Kar said softly.
The petitioner raised his head to address the horses' knees. "I am Zartha. "
"You may speak without hear, Zartha. "
Zartha licked his lips. "TWo months ago an ox we-my brothers and me ... our ox 
was struck by an arrow. The wound sickened and it died."
Kar stiffened. "Have you the arrow?"
The man scrambled to his feet. Head still down, he held up an arrowhead. The 
prince beat to take it, looked it over, and glanced to the sultan. There was an 
exchange of nods. Kar slipped the evidence into a pocket and produced a leather 
bag. "Did you see who shot this arrow?"
The man nodded dumbly at the shadows on the dust. "Would you know him?"
Another nod.
"He wore green?"
A pause, then another nod.
"You may be called to the palace to identify him. If a summons comes, do not be 
afraid. It is his Majesty's wish to punish the guilty, whoever they may be, as 
well as to recompense the victims. None is above his Majesty's justice, and none 
below. He gives you back your ox." Kar began tossing gold pieces down in the 
dust, five in all. The crowd oooed apreciatively, and the peasant fell on his 
knees to gather them up, crying blessings on the sultan.
"Any may speak!" Kar proclaimed again. A long pause ... The crowd rippled. A 
couple emerged, with a child walking between then, wrapped in a sheet. She could 
be no more than ten, too young to wear a veil, but the sheet concealed her hair 
and shadowed her face. Nevertheless, Inos decided she was terrified. The young 
father obviously was. The mother's face was invisible.
For a moment nothing happened, while Inos wondered if she would be able to 
contain her fury. She feared her veil might burst into flames if she looked at 
Azak. Then the parents opened the blanket, holding it out to the sides so the 
sultan could view the girl. They made her raise her arms and turn around.
Kar glanced inquiringly at Azak, who nodded. As the mother hastily wrapped up 
the 0 again, Kar gestured. One of the family men slipped from his horse and came 
across. He made the surprised peasant bend over and then used his back as a 
writing desk, asking questions and making entries on a piece of parchment with a 
silverpoint. Then he handed the man the parchment.
"Bring her to the palace and show that letter," Kar commanded. "His Majesty will 
be munificent." Nodding steadily, the man put a hand on his wife's shoulder and 
began to pull her away, the child going with them. He was still nodding as he 
backed into the crowd.
"Next?"
Azak refused the next girl, and the next. But in all he bought four in that 
first village.
A couple of bowshots along the road, where olive trees were already giving way 
to pasture, Azak said, "Drop your veil." Inos complied. "Why?"
He flashed white teeth in a contemptuous grimace. "Because you're beautiful when 
you're angry. "
Angry? She was seething. "You bought those girls!"
"I agreed to take them into my household."
"You buy them like piglets!"
"I compensate the parents for the loss of their services."
"Slavery! You sell your own people into slavery? What sort of ruler. . . "
High on his giant stallion, he was smiling down at her, although there was a 
hint of something else on that arrogant mahogany face. Perhaps she had hurt his 
feelings. She hoped so.
"Inosolan, the parents have too many mouths to feed. My gold will benefit the 
whole village. The girls will be cleaned, clothed, and fed better than they have 
ever been. Trained, educated, and looked after, for three or four years-"
"Until they are ripe?"
He blinked, and his voice dropped half an octave. "Until they are ripe. Then 
they are free to go home."
"I don't-"
"They are escorted back to their parents and given the choice. Never, ever, has 
one preferred to return to her village. They always choose life in the palace."
"Well..." Those huts had been pigpens. Inos tried to imagine being faced with 
that decision. "So they return to the palace and the joys of your bed?"
A spasm like pain crossed his face. "I keep the prettiest, of course. That is 
what being sultan is all about. But most I give to princes I currently favor, or 
family men. As royal favors, they must be treated well. "
"Concubines! Toys!"
"Mothers of sultans!"
"Oh." Inos forgot what she had been about to say.
"Did your father have no mistresses? No kept women? No loyal subjects' wives?"
"None." She believed she was speaking the truth, but of course she would not 
have known, would she? She was glad she need not meet Azak's eyes when she did 
not choose to.
"None, never? Strange! But if he had made bastards, they would not have been 
eligible to inherit his throne, now would they?" Azak chuckled mockingly. "At 
least, that is how the Impire does things. But all my sons are equal, and all my 
future sons, also. Their age does not matter, nor their mother's fatherprince or 
peasant. That is fairer, is it not? My mother was so brought. I will show you 
the village. My relatives lived there until quite recently. "
For a while there was only the thud of hooves. Inos was thinking of Vinisha and 
the others-witless, because they had no need for wits, but not unhappy. And she 
thought of that village.
A lady is never afraid to admit to a mistake, Kade always said. Inos assumed her 
most regal air. "I should watch my tongue. I admit I would prefer raising babies 
in a palace to raising them in a hovel. "
"You might not raise them there. You might bear them and watch them die. Many 
more of them. And field work is hard on the fingernails. "
She glanced up ruefully, seeing the scorn. So much for a private chat! She 
almost preferred being ignored. "Once again I must say that I am sorry. "
"You're not beautiful when you're sorry. You must learn that monarchs never 
apologize." He nudged Dread into a canter.
They visited seven villages that day, seven that had obviously been selected 
with care, for the royal procession took a winding route along the byways of 
Arakkaran. Yet this was not merely a pretense staged to impress Inos-Azak had 
done this before. In one village he inspected fencing he had ordered, and in 
another a new well. Kar tasted the water.
Olives, dates, citrus fruits, rice, horses, goats, shellfish . . . Inos saw a 
wide range of Arakkaran's agriculture, all of which was strange to her. Mostly 
it was a poor land, every crop scratched from the rocks by the fingernails of 
its people. The valleys were lush, but even there the peasants were thin and 
often diseased. The children ... she did not like to look at the children. 
Almost every headman risked royal displeasure by mentioning taxes and then 
suffered for his temerity. One village had failed to obey an earlier royal 
command to repair the road. The family men executed the headman on the spot, 
while Inos fought nausea and horror behind her veil. Azak accepted twelve 
petitions and bought twenty-three girls.
After the fourth hamlet, the royal progress halted in an orange grove to dine on 
fresh oysters, jellied lamb in pastry, and many other treats. Inos sat on shaded 
grass with prince and sultan, while the family men stood guard at a distance. In 
the limp heat of noon the leaves hung drooped motionless on the trees. She 
thought that no place in all Pandemia could be less like her homeland of 
Krasnegar. And surely no ruler could be less like her father than Azak was. She 
had no appetite. Azak noted her distaste with evident amusement, then ignored 
her.
"The arrow," he said with his mouth full. Kar smiled and produced the arrowhead. 
Azak inspected it. "Hak?"
"Almost certainly. "
Azak nodded and tossed the evidence over his shoulder. That was too much for 
Inos. "What happened to the punishing-the-guilty procedure?" Honest as a djinn.
The red-brown eyes moved to study her. He stroked a finger along the fringe on 
his jaw-another petty habit that irked her. "Too late. Hakaraz ak'Azakar died 
last month."
She glanced at Kar and his inevitable boyish smile. "Snakebite," he said 
happily. She shivered at the ice in his eyes. They were discussing one of their 
brothers. Yesterday she had admired his collection of riding boots.
"A premature end to a most interesting career." Now Azak was taunting her. "But 
his archery was erratic. So were his loyalties."
After a few minutes of silent and desultory nibbling, Inos stoked up her courage 
and asked, "And what about the petitions you accepted?"
He shrugged. "I'll throw them in the tinder basket with the others. We monarchs 
are beset with petitions, are we not? I must get a dozen a day delivered to the 
palace. My women line shelves with them."
He spent his days in hunting and feasting. She tried raising one eyebrow, 
although she lacked his skill at the move. It amused him, but he quaffed wine 
from a drinking horn and did not comment.
It was the softly smiling Kar who spoke. "Queen Inosolan, he deals with every 
one of them. Every petition is answered within two days. He works half the 
night, exhausting whole teams of scribes. He never seems to-" The contents of 
the horn splashed in his face, silencing him.
Azak was scarlet with fury, menacing as a naked blade. "You are calling me a 
liar, your Highness?"
Kar made no attempt to wipe his dripping face. He continued to smile. "Of course 
not, Majesty. That would be a capital offense. "
"Once more and you're pig feed! " Azak sprang bodily to his feet and yelled at 
the retainers to saddle up again. He went striding off. The food had been hardly 
touched, yet obviously the picnic was over. Kar gazed at Azak's retreating back, 
but Inos could not tell whether his continuing inscrutable smile implied 
brotherly affection or incipient murder.
If that episode had been staged for her benefit, it had been very well done.

4
The sun that beat so savagely on Zark had not yet begun to shift the morning 
mists in far-off Faerie. As first light gloomed in the east, Rap finished 
shaving and nudged Thinal.
"Now you," he said.
"You think I'm crazy?" The thief snorted. "In the dark? I'd cut myself to 
ribbons. " But he sat up and stretched, growling. The settled farmlands around 
Milflor had been much harder going for fugitives than the empty beaches farther 
north. Without Rap's farsight they would surely have blundered into guards or 
dogs, but he had persuaded the others that they must rest by day and trust him 
by night. The moon had helped, of course, but he had led the way along narrow 
trails, staying as much as possible within patches of woodland and scrub. Now 
there was no more good cover; they had reached a land of larger houses and dairy 
farms, signs that the city was close.
They had stolen a few hours' rest in a hayloft. Dawn was near and they must make 
themselves respectable, or relatively so. Somewhere Thinal had acquired a razor. 
With that he and Rap had already trimmed each other's hair. Little Chicken 
flatly refused to do anything about the straggly bristles round his mouth and 
Rap knew better than to suggest a haircut for him. No goblin would submit to 
that, and probably nothing less than an Imperial cohort could now impose it on 
this one. He had agreed to hide his face under a wide-brimmed straw hat. That 
would have to do, although he would be a conspicuous rarity in Faerie. 
Fortunately his beloved silk pants had failed to survive another day in 
shrubbery, and now he wore peasants' hessian like the others.
Their shabby assortment of clothes would attract no comment, having been 
acquired locally by the greatest burglary team in all Pandemia-Thinal the 
scrounger and Rap, the dog's best friend. There had been no further work for the 
third member of the group, the troll-killing strong-arm man.
Rap rose and went down the ladder to visit the bushes. He wondered where in his 
travels he had lost his conscience. At Raven totem, perhaps, when he had been 
driven by starvation to the larder? Or maybe it was still present and merely too 
illused to speak up; he hated this vagabond existence. He would have felt 
happier had Thinal confined his attentions to the rich in their grand plantation 
houses, but mostly he had preyed upon the humble. Those scrawny, overworked folk 
must be hard-put to feed even their own children without having to provide 
involuntary charity to a gang of robbers.
By the time he returned, Thinal had scraped some of the stubble from his face 
and seemed content to keep the rest. Shaving made his acne bleed.
"Ready?" he said, glancing around. "We can leave all this stuff. We'll buy 
better at the market."
"Not ready," Rap said. "I think we ought to have a word with Sagorn first."
Thinal considered that, his rodent eyes narrowing. "Not much point yet. Wait 
till we've got some money and decent clothesthat's what he'd tell us to do. Then 
we can see what he suggests." He leered. "Me, I'll go for a comfortable bed and 
a couple of girls, I think. Haven't had any of that since before you were born, 
laddie. You do realize I'm old enough to be your great-grandfather, don't you? 
No, Sagorn can wait. Let's go."
He sprang up and headed for the ladder. Rap followed uneasily. Trekking through 
woods and jungle was over. Ahead lay Milflor-and ships-but he distrusted this 
new cockiness in the imp as much as he distrusted the goblin's amused disdain. 
No matter what his birthdate had been, Thinal was physically no older than Rap 
and now he was taking a juvenile pride in his new accomplishments as a woodsman, 
and also relishing a return to his accustomed city environment. If 
overconfidence led him into making an error in the town like the one he had made 
with the troll, then even Little Chicken would not be able to produce a miracle 
rescue.
No, Rap's conscience was still there. It hadn't forgotten the troll.

5
As the sun was cowering low over the distant ranges, Azak led his troop 
northward along the coast from the dilapidated fishing village that had been its 
last stop. Inos was becoming worried, very worried. She had learned enough of 
the geography to know that the palace lay a long way from the sea. Obviously she 
was not going to be returned to the palace that evening. Azak never explained 
his plans and she would not inquire, but today's unusual interest in her company 
was beginning to seem very ominous. He had been paying her compliments, even if 
he had insulted her a few times, also. If he thought her beautiful when angry, 
then how angry-or frightened-did he plan to make her?
Kade would be alarmed when Inos failed to return, and also scandalized. Kade 
worried about appearances. Inos cared more about realities, and the realities of 
this situation were becoming disturbing.
The road had almost vanished, as the horses plodded wearily between sand dunes 
matted with coarse grass. The air was humid and salty. Nearby, but out of sight, 
waves fell on a beach with regular roars that were hypnotic after a long day's 
exertion. She ached from a long day in the saddle, her face burned from wind and 
sun.
He broke the long silence. "So I have shown you the sights, Queen Inosolan. What 
do you think of them?"
"I ... I was thinking more of great buildings and scenery."
"Buildings? Scenery? A kingdom is not made of those. A kingdom is people! Now 
answer. And be honest."
Honest? "They are wretched-sick and overworked. Half starved, some of them. " 
She waited for the earthquake. "Exactly-"
She blinked with astonishment. He was staring bleakly ahead, not looking at her.
"Are the taxes really so high?" she asked, marveling at her own courage.
"Obscenely high."
"Why don't you reduce them?"
"The taxes are needed to support the palace." She had guessed that. "All those 
princes?"
"Parasites?" He sneered down at her. "Yes, princes are expensive and produce 
nothing. I should cut costs, you think?" Heart in mouth, Inos said, 
"Drastically. "
"Then I should be fortunate if the last thing I felt was merely Kar's fingers on 
my eyelid. " He laughed at her expression. "I can't fight them all. I would not 
survive a week. "
"Is there nothing you can do? They are your people."
"I know that, wench! Do you think I don't care? Yes, there is something I could 
do-if I can ever get the bitch sorceress out of my palace and be a free man 
again. "
For a moment conversation became impossible as they urged their mounts up a 
steep dune. Inos caught a glimpse of water to the west, also, and her fear grew 
markedly.
"What would you do?" she asked, when she was able to reach his side again. "If 
you were rid of Rasha, what would you do?" Her neck was stiff with looking up at 
him so much. "Make war."
Inos was both shocked and disappointed. She had thought better of him, somehow. 
"War? War never helps the people! Death and destruction and rape and . . . "
"War on Shuggaran-the next kingdom north. They can endure the death and so on. 
It is a bigger land, although less fair. "
"Then they will smash you."
He shrugged. "It is possible, but my people would still be better off, I think. 
The two kingdoms could be ruled as one, easily. Shuggaran's royal family is even 
more bloated than mine. I would extirpate them. Then twice as many peasants 
support half as many princes. Taxes could be cut. "
"They might extirpate you."
"If I lost, that would be their right. The peasants gain either way. Besides, 
the bazaars hum with talk of an Imperial campaign in Zark. That would mean my 
war would have to wait. Buildings, you said?"
He halted and sprang from his horse. Inos dismounted more circumspectly.
They had come to the end of a headland, with water spread out in three 
directions. To the north, dhows were slipping in through the harbor mouth, 
wafted by the evening breeze. Eastward, with perfect timing, a full moon was 
rising huge from the sea. To the west lay the sparkling waters of the bay, and 
beyond that the city of Arakkaran clambered up the hillside on steps and ledges, 
shadowed already. At the high edge of the plateau, the domes and spiky towers of 
the palace stood dark against the sunset and the jagged outline of the desert 
range.
For a moment sheer beauty left Inos speechless. Then she said, "Oh, Azak! It's 
gorgeous!"
"Wait until dawn. Then you will see the glory of my city."
"Where do we. . ."
Azak pointed down to an encampment of silken tents on the beach facing the 
harbor. A small boat was unloading people at a decrepit old jetty, but already a 
fire crackled and smoked on the sand and she could identify a goat on the spit. 
This had all been very carefully arranged. Even to the moon, perhaps.
"The small tent is yours, Inos." His eyes flickered in mockery and amusement. 
"Zana will take care of your needs."
"Zana is here?"
He chuckled then, a low and very masculine noise that she had not heard from him 
before. "You needn't worry about being royally raped."
"I wasn't-"
"You've been turning greener and greener for the last hour."
"We must make a striking couple, Red Face!"
He bellowed with laughter, and she felt herself blush, even as the knot of her 
anxiety fell loose. She ached, she was grubby and weary, and she felt wonderful.
"Azak, it's been a marvelous day!"
"And you hated most of it. Don't argue. I promised you a lesson in ruling, the 
seamier side of the business."
He was not so very many years older than she, but in experience she was a child 
compared to him. She was a ruler in name but not in fact, and he in fact and not 
in name.
One of the family men bowed and took the reins. As the horses were led off down 
to the camp, Inos was left standing at Azak's side on the little hill. He turned 
to face the sea.
"I love this place. A pity it has no water."
His changes of mood baffled her, but overall he seemed to have mellowed since 
leaving the palace that morning. Was that a result of her civilizing 
conversation, or was it release from the constant peril of brothers and uncles? 
She stretched, aware that she also felt oddly content, despite her weariness. "I 
shall never forget this day. I am very grateful to you, Azak." She reached out a 
hand to him, but he began strolling seaward through the rough grass. She 
followed.
"I love the sea, " he remarked pensively. "It never gives up. " He stopped and 
stared down at the patient, mindless waves following one another to destruction. 
"The bathing is good here. Go ahead. I will send Zana with towels."
"Did you ever slide down sand dunes when you were a child? "
He peered at her oddly. "No, never."
"Then try it now! Come on!" She ran to the edge and launched herself down the 
shadowed slope on her seat, starting an avalanche of sand. There had been dunes 
near Krasnegar, but this sand was still so hot it almost burned through her 
jodhpurs. Stilt-legged birds on the beach ran and then took flight, low over the 
water.
She came to a halt when the angle lessened, her feet buried. In a moment Azak 
went sliding past. He stopped a little way lower and turned to grin at her, 
suddenly looking almost boyish.
"Yes, that's fun! I shall declare it a royal prerogative, and behead any 
commoner who tries it!"
She laughed-this was a much pleasanter Azak than the tyrant of the hunt. If the 
water was as hot as she suspected, a dip would be heavenly. He was right, this 
was a glorious spot. It was a great relief just to be out of the sun.
Azak had risen to his knees. Although he was lower than she, their eyes were 
level-the size of the lad! His face was curiously solemn, but Inos was not 
feeling solemn. She felt weary, but also glad the long day was over at last, and 
happy to be away from the eternal crowding of dozens of men; especially glad to 
be away from the confines of the palace. He must be feeling the same, of course, 
and more so. Here he need not fear the hidden archer or the poisoned flask.
She pulled off her headcloth and unfastened her hair, shaking it loose to fall 
heavy on her shoulders. She stretched and lay back against the slope, gazing up 
at pink wisps of cloud, running sand through her fingers, listening to the surf 
pounding on the beach below. "How many wives do you have, anyway?" she asked 
dreamily.
"None," Azak said, very softly. "I have many women in my household, and many 
men, also. I don't know how many. Not all the women are designated for the sort 
of personal service that bothers you so much. Cleaners, cooks, seamstresses ... 
Dancers, singers, glovemakers."
Inos snorted to indicate disbelief. "And when did you start ... collecting?"
"At my coming of age, my thirteenth birthday. A boy's education is completed by 
a woman. She was much older than I, of course, but not too old, as I 
demonstrated. "
Maybe! That could have been faked, whether he knew about it or not. "But you 
never have queens regnant. What is a sultana?"
"The wife of a sultan. One day, when I am free of the odious sorceress, I shall 
marry-one of my women, or a royal daughter from elsewhere, to seal a treaty. She 
will be sultana and have charge of the palace. At the moment I have sisters to 
look after those things."
"Only one wife?"
"Only one. And she may be spawn of prince or peasant, as I choose."
"But you still keep all the others, just for fun."
"And for sons."
She sighed and dribbled mote sand through her fingers. "Inosolan!" His voice was 
suddenly harsh. "You honor me greatly-but I can't!"
Can't what? Inos lifted her head to look at him. He had not moved. Then she read 
in his eyes what he was thinking. Horrified, she sat up and hugged her knees 
tightly, stammering as she sought words. Of course he had assumed ...
They were completely alone on this warm sand, with nothing but distant fishing 
boats to overlook them, and certainly none of the palace staff would interrupt. 
She felt her face blaze hotter than the desert sands. Blatant provocation! "Come 
on!" she had said-her idea, her invitation! She had led him here and then 
started babbling about wives and concubines. He was the ultimate arrogant male, 
so of course he would think she had meant--
Inos, what have you started?
The last ruddy blush of the sunset showed his face, yet the expression on it 
looked more like fury than passion.
"I thought women gossiped more," Azak said. "There is another curse on me. 
Everyone must know of it. Has no one told you?"
Inos swallowed and could find no words. She shook her head in frightened 
silence. No more games! she had vowed, and here she was, playing in the sand 
with a barbarian killer. She had forgotten politics, put them aside to relax, 
but Azak would never relax. Even procreation was politics to a royal stallion.
"I cannot touch a woman."
"What? But-"
"It is one of Rasha's torments. I would burn you like hot iron. A mare, a 
falcon, a bitch, any female animal, but not a woman."
The humiliation on his face was an agony, but he was keeping his eyes on hers, 
steady as nailheads. "I tried to have one of my women comb my hair. It scorched 
her fingers. From the oldest crone in the kingdom to my tiniest daughter, if her 
flesh touches mine, she will be blistered and burned."
With one exception, of course?
"Your Majesty! That's-I have never heard of anything so cruel. "
"Nor I. But she will never break me!"
Aghast, Inos hugged her knees tighter, then hid her face on them. She was 
appalled at the sorceress' vindictiveness, but even more appalled at her own 
sense of relief, and at the narrowness of her escape. This was not the Impire, 
and she no longer had Kade hiding behind every bush. Idiot! Her heart was still 
pounding as she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. "I assure you, that 
was not what I had in mind, your Majesty. But I deplore such evil sorcery. It is 
foul and wicked, and I despise the sorceress for it."
He frowned at her, as if puzzled.
The swift desert twilight was fading into night. She had finally achieved what 
she had been seeking for weeks, a private chat with Azak. She tried to collect 
her wits.
"Let us talk about Rasha now."
He shrugged. "Why not? Of course, she may be spying on us. Or she may wait until 
we return tomorrow and then just ask, but at least no one else can hear. Speak, 
Queen Inosolan!" He turned around and made himself comfortable, sitting slightly 
downhill from her and leaning back to face the sea, elbows against the slope.
She began to talk and he kept cutting her off, saying he knew that, as if every 
word she or Kade had spoken in the palace had been repeated to him, the whole 
Krasnegar story. But when she came to the meeting with Olybmo, Azak fell silent, 
staring out at the waves, motionless as a tree until she had finished.
Even then, he seemed to speak to the sea and the huge bright moon. "I have never 
seen a goblin. Are they as bad as gnomes?"
"I don't know gnomes. "
He stretched out and rolled over to lie on his belly and look up at her. "You 
seek another choice, but if you are forced to that one, will you marry a goblin 
to win back your kingdom?"
That question had haunted her for two nights now. "If it came to that, the 
choice would not likely be mine to make. "
He grunted. "Good! Never answer hypothetical questions. What do you want me to 
do?"
"Help me!"
"Why?"
He had not asked How! Inos felt an upsurge of hope. This big, deadly young man 
might have a trick or two she had not thought of.
"Because: My enemy's enemy is my friend. "
"Not necessarily! Who are your enemies? Both Rasha and the warlock were willing 
to put you on your throne. It's not their objective you dislike, it's their 
price."
"No! They were not going to put me on my throne. They were willing to send me 
home, but not as a queen, not a real queen."
Azak bought troops of young girls and ordered them shipped to the palace like 
livestock. He would not view her problem as she did.
"True. " He stirred sand with his finger, seemingly thinking. "And my enemies? 
Rasha, certainly. Should the warlock of the east enslave her and make her a-what 
was the word, votary?then that might rid me of her. But the warden of the east 
can never be my friend, because he is occult preserver of the legions, and the 
Impire must be about due to invade us again. They are a generation behind their 
usual schedule. War growls in the long grass. I told you. "
After a moment he added, "We do not share the same enemies, you and I."
She fought the tightening tentacles of his logic. "They are certainly not my 
friends, those two! They want to use me as a token, a coin!"
Azak leaned his chin on one hand and gazed up at her, studying her face in the 
moon's light, his own face shadowed. "In any market, the coins outnumber the 
traders. You object?"
"Of course I object! Rasha promised to help me, and now seeks to use me for her 
own ends." She would not add any remarks about helpless women, but she had never 
felt more helpless.
"Help usually has a price."
"I was hoping for advice, not aphorisms."
"They are more dependable. You want to escape? And go where? Back to your 
kingdom? Assuming you can elude the sorceress, it will take you at least a year 
to cross Pandemia, being realistic. And you will have to hire an army-and ships, 
also, as you say the land route is closed. Have you any money?"
Inos had already thought about this, the brute-force solution. "I have rich 
relatives within the Impire, but I know the Impire doesn't allow private armies. 
And who could I ever hire to fight an army of jotnar?"
Azak grunted thoughtfully. "Other jotnar? So you would head north to Nordland, 
to hire your mercenaries?"
And ten to one she would at once be raped, robbed, and find herself cooking fish 
in some thrall's hovel for the rest of her days. Jotnar would not follow a 
female leader anyway, and how would she get rid of them afterward?
"Nordland doesn't seem a very practical solution," she said. "Fighting cholera 
with typhoid? No. So where do you go?" She had expected answers, not questions, 
but she could see that he was clearing out the undergrowth. There might be 
nothing left when he had finished, of course.
"Hub?" she suggested.
Azak grunted again. "All roads lead to Hub! But the journey will take months. It 
will be very dangerous, a hard, long journey. You may finish up somewhere else, 
in much worse straits than you are now. You might yet wish you had settled for a 
green husband. They are green, aren't they?"
"Sort of. I know it would be long and hard. Is it possible?"
"The imperor will certainly marry you off to an imp in short order. " He hadn't 
answered the question.
"Any imp would be better than a goblin! Well, almost any imp." or a moment she 
thought a smile rippled Azak's ribbon of beard. He bent his head and began 
sifting the hot, sand through his fingers. Seabirds cried; waves broke and 
tumbled. He seemed to have run out of questions.
"I thought I would appeal to the wardens," she said. "Rasha used magic against 
the Imperial troops in Krasnegar, and that's a violation of the Protocol."
"But East is the offended party, and East already knows about it. He doesn't 
need you to remind him of it. Or mention it to the others. He may prefer to keep 
them uninformed. "
When she was about to speak, Azak added, "And she did it to rescue you. You will 
seem very ungrateful. "
Manners were unimportant in politics-he was taunting her. "She's cast spells on 
you! That's more meddling in politics. " She saw his eyes flash in the shadow as 
he glanced briefly up at her. "But not your business. "
"If the Four are as split as Rasha says-"
"You can trust nothing the bitch said, nor the warlock either. Historically the 
wardens squabble like cats in a sack, but there is no way we can know what the 
current rivalries and alliances are. "
The conversation was not proving very helpful. "So advise me! Is it possible for 
me to escape from Rasha?"
"It is always possible to try. Even sorceresses must sleep. At least this one 
does. " He did not look at Inos as he said that, just trailed sand through 
fingers twice the size of hers. She felt a stir of hope.
"And you will aid me?"
"Why should I? It would annoy the harlot, and I suffer enough at her hands 
already. "
"Because I am the enemy of your enemy. "
"You can't harm her. It's a pretty problem, but immaterial to me. Why should I 
risk further hostility from the slut? I see no advantage in aiding you. "
In that case, Inos saw no advantage in further polite conversation. What would 
move Azak? Not conscience. Honor? This was politics, not a parlor game, so nerve 
was what was needed. She didn't feel very brave, but she had begun to feel 
angry.
"Further hostility?" she snapped. "How much hostility will you endure before you 
try to fight back? She's already gelded you, you say. What else do you want?"
His teeth flashed like daggers at that, but she rushed ahead regardless.
"So the Sultan of Arakkaran is gigolo for a dockside harlot? You called her 
that. She denies you your title-what new outrage will she think up next? You 
come when she whistles. You reward your women with smiles. How many sons are 
they bearing now, your Majesty? What will the other princes say when they stop 
bearing altogether, your Majesty? Or is that already obvious? You prance around 
on your fancy horses all day and whore for the sorceress all night. What sort of 
a sultan are you? What sort of a man, to endure such treatment without even 
trying to put an end to it? How can you-"
Azak rose to his knees. She stopped then, aghast at what she had said, wondering 
if he'd have her flogged.
Silence.
No one in the kingdom could speak to him like that. She felt her palms wet. 
Every nerve screamed at her to say "Sorry!" She didn't.
He looked down at her, his face in shadow; but when he spoke, his voice was 
unchanged. "If you can have your kingdom only by marrying a goblin, will you?"
The same hypothetical question again-and obviously this time she must not seek 
to escape it.
Answer no and she didn't care enough. Answer yes and she was a whore like him. 
She would never outwit this man. Her face was visible to him, awash in 
moonlight. She must speak the truth-what was the truth?
"You told me a kingdom is not buildings or scenery. If I can help my people by 
marrying a goblin, then I will do it."
"And if it helps your people for you to stay away forever?" The words froze in 
her mouth, but she spoke them. "Then I stay away forever. "
Azak reached down and hooked his fingers like claws in the silver sand. He 
stared at the backs of his hands. A wave fell. Another. Inos discovered she was 
holding her breath and couldn't any longer. Two more waves ...
"In very old treaties," Azak said, without looking up, "there was always an item 
called the `Appeal Clause.' It shows up in any treaty the Impire ever made with 
anyone, including Arakkaran or its allies of the day. Until about the Twelfth 
Dynasty. After that it seems to have been dropped. Forgotten, or just found 
inconvenient. Or unnecessary, maybe. But it's never been revoked that I know of. 
In that clause, the Impire promises to maintain the Right of Appeal."
He paused, but she did not ask, knowing it would come. This was the sort of 
expert advice she had been hoping for. "Appeal by any state or ruler against 
illicit use of magic. You see, Emine's Protocol was supposedly designed to 
defend all peoples, all Pandemia. Not just the Impire. In theory, the Impire was 
going to do everyone a favor by suppressing the political use of magic. Even 
then, the Impire was the largest mundane power, so that was a very convenient 
altruism. But it did raise the question of whether the Four serve the Impire, or 
the Impire serves the Four. That's why for centuries the imperors have 
maintained that any ruler with a sorcery problem may appeal to the wardens. 
There isn't anyone else to appeal to, of course, since they've driven all lesser 
sorcerers into the bushes. Nowadays it may be nothing but a handy fiction; but 
if it still works, then you have an open-and-shut case. "
"I do?"
"Rasha kidnapped a queen. That's meddling in politics. " Of course! Brilliant! 
Inos clapped her hands and almost wished she could spot a very warn kiss on this 
big djinn. Quite the best-educated barbarian she had ever met!
Except . . . "But of course we don't know what verdict they will come to," she 
said.
"No. You have no guarantee at all. But it is a little like Zartha's ox, this 
morning. " He sensed her incomprehension. "I don't give a turd for a peasant's 
ox. My gold bought respect. "
"You mean the Four don't care for Krasnegar . . . "
"Arbitrary rule frightens people. Power tempered with justice is well loved. " 
He shrugged. "It is a gamble, but I would much sooner trust the Four together, 
and in public, than any one of them alone, in private. "
Oh, he was a clever one, this sultan! Now that he had spelled it out, she 
understood the thinking. "Yes! Will you help me?"
"I shall do better." He held out an arm. The green cotton was silver in the 
moonlight. "Touch me. "
"What?"
"Gently, touch my sleeve. And be careful! Think of me as a hot stove. "
She tapped his arm cautiously with a fingertip.
"A little harder, " he said, and pulled the cloth taut.
She tapped harder. Still nothing. She poked, and it was like poking a rock in 
there, and-ouch!
She tucked her finger in her mouth and stared at him. There was a faint scorch 
mark on his sleeve, although he seemed to have felt nothing. She would have a 
blister. Gods! It hurt.
"I was telling the truth. "
"I never said-"
"There is an old saying about the honesty of djinns. But you see you can trust 
me, at least in that way. You want to go to Hub. You have convinced me that I 
should go, also. I shall escort you, and we shall appeal to the Four together. 
We shall both demand justice. "
"You! What of your kingdom?"
"My kingdom?" he repeated harshly. "You said it yourselfthe slut has gelded me. 
How long can a eunuch hold a kingdom in Zark? "
She had won! "You are joking!"
"I do not joke."
Won! Won! Won! "And what did I say to persuade you?" He scrambled to his feet, a 
huge black shape among the windstroked dunes, dark against the moonlight. "That 
you would stay away if your duty required it. That hurt. Duties can usually be 
recognized by pain."
"And your duty? "
He laughed harshly. "To rescue my people from the rule of a woman, of course. 
Enjoy your swim now. I will send Zana."
Slave and sultan:
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown That just divides the desert from the 
sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known, And pity Sultan Mahmud on his 
throne.
Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§10, 1859)


SIX
Beset the road

1
A bath in warm surf was a new experience for Inos, but it soon impressed her as 
a facility much needed back home in Krasnegar, where the Winter Ocean stayed 
homicidal all year long. She had partied on beaches often enough in her youth, 
with friends-with Rap, especially-but the sea had been no more than something to 
look at. Just this once, she would admit that Zark held the advantage.
Occupied with learning how not to drown or be skinned against the sand, she 
could not dwell on the prospect of the coming escape, or what Kade would say, or 
how Azak thought he could arrange that miracle. Under the pumpkin moon, she 
romped and rolled like a kitten, barely conscious of time passing. Suddenly 
Zana's tall blackness stood on the beach, waiting for her, and she was exhausted 
and almost numb with the pounding-"That was marvelous!" Inos said, toweling her 
tingling skin. "I wish I could carry the Spring Sea around in a bag, for use 
when needed."
Zana chuckled. "A large bag."
"Yes. But sea is much more fun to be in than on. I'm a rotten sailor. " There 
were two ways from Arakkaran to the Impirewest to Qoble, or north to the Morning 
Sea and the Winnipango River. Which way would Azak choose? And Inos had let slip 
a careless remark in front of Zana-she must guard her tongue.
"I am sure your Majesty is a very capable traveler, well able to withstand the 
rigors of a long journey. "
Inos had just wriggled into a clean robe. She sat down to wipe sand off her 
feet, and then Zana's odd comment registered. "Oh?"
The tall woman knelt to fumble in the bag she had brought. "I have some paper 
here, ma'am. You need to write to your aunt-that is, if you wish her to 
accompany you."
Drying ceased at the third toe. When in doubt, be stupidthat was one of Kade's 
rules, although she would never have admitted it.
"What?" Inos wished faces were easier to read in moonlight; Zana was smiling, 
but no more was visible; the dusky, wrinkled complexion was an enigma under the 
smile.
"You do wish your aunt to go with you to Hub? That was what I told the Big Man. 
He argued against it, but I said you would insist. Was I wrong?"
"No ... No, of course not. I couldn't abandon her. " Kade was a good sailor, and 
she had always yearned to visit Hub. "But ... tonight?"
"Very soon. Cubslayer never wastes time. "
Cubslayer? Inos tried to imagine a much younger Zana with a little brother, a 
very much younger little brother-precocious, ferocious, ungovernable. She had 
never heard the name before, but it sounded so genuine and so obviously 
appropriate that it somehow banished the small suspicions starting to sprout in 
her mind.
"I am the only man he trusts," Kar had boasted. He hadn't mentioned women. Zana 
was loyal. That was why she had been put in charge of the suspect royal visitors 
in the first place.
And Inos knew Azak was a man of instant decisions; his deadly archery alone 
proved that. Escape from the palace might be tricky, and here they were leagues 
from it already, a chance not to be missed. He might just haul her onto a 
passing ship with him and be gone before the sorceress could find out what was 
happening. And Kade was still back home in the palace ... it was astonishing 
that Azak would ever agree to include Kade.
"What do I write?"
"Just that she must trust the bearer. "
It was an added risk, obviously. Rasha might well be holding Kade as hostage for 
Inos's return and be keeping close watch on her, or might perhaps have cast some 
sort of spell to raise an alarm if she tried to leave, or ... but how could one 
outwit a sorceress at all? Kade would be horrified, but she was much less 
inclined to put her trust in the sorceress since she had heard about the meeting 
with Olybino.
Inos leaned the paper on a knee and wrote, hoping the words would be legible.
"What now?" she asked, giving both feet a quick dust and then stuffing them into 
sandals.
"We carry on as if nothing had changed," Zana said, gathering up clothes and 
towels.
Hunch suddenly became certainty. "He was planning this all the time! That was 
why he wouldn't talk to me sooner'?" Zana straightened, jiggling her bundle into 
a comfortable position under her arm. She turned an unreadable gaze on Inos. "A 
wise sultan always has a variety of plans in store, and rarely tells anyone what 
they are. I suggest we go to the meal now, ma'am, and talk of other things."
Full moon hung over the Spring Sea, so bright that even the distant snowy peaks 
of the Agonistes glimmered. From the bustling encampment drifted smoke and 
mouth-watering scents and much laughter. Half of the people there were women, 
many of them sounding very young, all paired off with the brown-clad family men.
Neither Kar nor Azak was in sight. Inos, as befitted her rank, was served her 
meal in solitary magnificence on a rug under a canopy, although everyone else 
was sprawled on the sand at the edge of the firelight. Undoubtedly there were 
guards posted, but she could detect no activity more sinister than merrymaking 
and good humor.
Gradually eating gave way to singing and the uncanny twanging of cithems. Palace 
women would rarely have the chance for an outing such as this and they were 
making the most of it. Inos could not help wondering how many of them had been 
gifts from the sultan, girls snatched from poverty in childhood to stock the 
royal seraglio. It was, of course, none of her business.
Nor was it her business if the sultan chose to provide a holiday for his guards, 
and his disappearance was probably a tactful way of letting the company relax. 
He had unpredictable corners, did Azak. She was confident now that an escape 
from Arakkaran had been in his mind even before she spoke to him. Her arguments 
might have convinced him to put his plans into effect, or perhaps just to 
include her in them ... or she might have had no influence on him at all. He 
might be already gone, and she was merely part of the camouflage. Time would 
tell.
She decided to follow his example and disappear. She withdrew into her tent, 
dismissing Zana and the other women who expected to attend her. Anything that 
she could possibly require had been brought and was already set up, including a 
soft and commodious bed.
She was exhausted by a wearying day, yet for a long while sleep evaded her. She 
lay and studied the centipede tracks on the tent roof, where moonlight peeked 
through needleholes. It was not the festive sounds from the shore that kept her 
awake, nor the distant boom of the surf beyond the headland. The flapping of a 
tent was a familiar lullaby.
Strangely, she did not even feel like gloating over her victory. If she had 
indeed won an ally, it was because in the end Azak had proved to be very 
vulnerable. Rasha had shattered his mystique as a sultan when she flaunted him 
before Inos as her plaything. Rasha had erred there, and she had certainly erred 
earlier in placing that fiendish second curse on him. More than anything else, 
that intolerable burden must be driving him to seek out the Four, even if he 
would not admit it. So Rasha had overreached herself, but Inos had learned of 
the second curse through sheer folly, not by any great triumph of wits. She was 
happy to believe that she had won, but she felt no need to celebrate yet.
The greater battle lay ahead. Her new ally must prove his worth by organizing 
their escape, and obviously Azak usually lost matches with the sorceress. The 
whole mad idea might vanish like a soap bubble before the hard edges of reality. 
Inos did not dwell much on that, either.
From time to time she would hear some particularly rousing chorus from the 
fireside, or an especially loud peal of laughter, but those disturbances were 
too filled with joy to be annoying, and in a way they were even reassuring. If 
what she had been told was true, then at least some of those women had come from 
the same poverty that had so shocked her that day. There could be happiness in 
Arakkaran, for some.
No, it was the faces of children that haunted her tent. She kept remembering the 
shameful poverty of the villages she had seen that day, and contrasting it with 
the luxury of the palacelike the luxury of silk sheets and soft bed she was 
enjoying at the moment.
Krasnegar was a humble place. In bad years there could be real hunger in 
Krasnegar, but then the king's household ate sparingly, also. She suspected that 
a famine in Arakkaran would fill the ditches with peasant corpses before it ever 
curtailed the princes' diet. As a native of the subarctic she had always 
believed that life would be easier in a warm climate. Obviously that was not the 
case, not for those so-forlorn children.
The fire died, the moon rose higher, the singing faded. Discourse became quieter 
and more intimate.
She had just drifted off to sleep when she jerked awake again, hearing a baby 
crying. A baby? Why would there be a baby? She had seen no children earlier, yet 
there could be absolutely no doubt that Azak himself had planned and approved 
every detail of this expedition. Why would he have ordered a baby? She had 
failed to think of even one logical reason before she was asleep again.

2
Although the sun had departed from Zark, it still beat down upon the sugarcane 
fields of Faerie, where Rap and his companions had been striding brazenly along 
a red-dirt track for what felt like a long and unmemorable lifetime. Now and 
then they passed scattered bands of peddlers, herders, and farmhands.
The view was restricted on both sides by high walls of greenery, but Rap could 
see that it contained nothing more dangerous than rats. He scanned the faces of 
the people, also, seeking some sign that the goblin had attracted attention, or 
that his own absurd tattoos had been noticed, but he detected nothing more than 
mild curiosity, soon to be forgotten in the press of the day's business. Once 
the three castaways took refuge on the verge with everyone else as a troop of 
cavalry went cantering by, and the legionaries paid them no more heed than they 
did the genuine peasants.
Most of the natives seemed to be imps, but Rap identified a few trolls and troll 
half-breeds, and once a troop of dwarvesshort men, thick and broad, with rough, 
grayish skin. They carried picks and rolled as they walked. Rap had never seen 
dwarves before, but one brief glance was enough to convince him that they 
probably deserved their reputation for meanness.
Now it was almost noon; Milflor had been much farther away than Rap had 
expected. Swaggering along the dusty track, Thinal chattered disparagingly about 
the town, drawing on memories of Sagorn's visit long ago. Even though it was the 
largest settlement on Faerie, he said, it was tiny by mainland standards-a 
quaint, rambling little place sprawled aimlessly around a fine natural harbor. 
The beach was one of the finest in all Pandemia, so the shore was lined by great 
mansions belonging to rich aristocrats, most of them retired Imperial officials 
enjoying the fruits of a lifetime's corruption.
The harbor was famous for its beauty, he said, a bay sheltered by a high and 
rocky headland. The water there was deep even close to shore, making for good 
mooring. The proconsul's palace stood on the crest of the ridge. Then he 
chuckled.
"Now, just a minute!" Rap said. "What has the proconsul's palace got to do with 
us?"
Thinal shrugged. "You don't think wed be welcome? Sagorn might be. And Andor 
certainly would. He'd be dancing with His Nibs' daughter before sundown. 
Sleeping with her by dawn, if she was worth it. "
Rap caught a frowning glance from Little Chicken, walking on Tbinal's far side. 
Obviously the goblin felt the same uneasiness. For a moment all three fell 
silent, being cautious as they overtook a shambling knot of elderly farm 
workers. A family of very small people went by in the opposite direction, 
hauling a cart: a man, two women, and about eight assorted children, all of them 
sour-faced and grubby. Thinal wrinkled his nose and said "Filthy gnomes!" with 
disgust, and quite loudly. The gnomes paid no attention, and soon the squeaking 
of their cart died away behind.
"I thought we were partners," Rap said. "Won't you tell us what exactly you're 
planning when we get to town?"
"Just a little comfort, Rap. Lift a purse or two. Get us decent clothes and a 
place to stay. That's all."
"I don't want to stay. I want a ship out of here. "
Thinal smiled rather shiftily. "Not that easy, friend. You don't have a patron, 
either of you."
"Patron?"
"Protector. In Krasnegar you belonged to the king-"
"I served the king. "
"You belonged to him, even if you didn't know it. Anyone'd tried to put fetters 
on you, Holindarn would have wanted to know why. Here-who cares?"
"So?"
"So you and the Chicken are a couple of likely-looking types, healthy and husky. 
Who's to complain if you finish up in a chaingang somewhere, planting rice or 
felling trees? That'll be the end of all your adventures."
"Then let's get out as soon as we can get a ship."
Walking eyes down, hands behind him, Thinal just smiled at the ruts.
"You're not planning to leave?" Rap demanded.
"I'll see-see what Sagorn decides. We might want to investigate Faerie a little. 
There could be valuable pickings here." The imp turned a bland gaze on Rap then, 
and Rap was at a loss. He glanced again at the goblin and saw dark wariness. 
Little Chicken would not discuss the island's secrets, either, ever since the 
fairy child had died in his arms, that topic had been off limits for all of 
them.
"Will you help me get back to the mainland, then?" Rap said, hating his need to 
beg. "Either buy a passage for me, or help me find a job as crewman. I don't 
mind working."
Thinal did. He scowled at the thought. "It's not quite that simple. The winds 
are shifty around here. And then there are the Nogids."
Rap wondered why he hadn't heard all this before, although he remembered Thinal 
had dropped some hints. "What's a nogid?"
"Islands. The Nogid Archipelago, between Faerie and the mainland. Sailing ships 
get becalmed in the Nogds."
"And?"
"And anthropophagi. Canoes. Fricassee of sailor. Cabin boy au gratin with a 
coconut in his mouth."
"They really do eat people? Why ... I mean, what has that to do with me? You 
think I might get sold to a feed lot by way of trade?"
Thinal shook his head. "I mean most ships in these waters are galleys. Whether I 
lay gold for your passage or you work it, you end up chained to an oar. Even a 
free rower is chained to his oar."
"Tradition? Or because the captain wants to decide when he's worked off his 
contract?" Thinal shrugged, and for a moment seemed to revert more to his old 
friendliness. "I guess there's no such thing as a free sailor, Rap. Not around 
here. You might shake hands on a promise that you'd be released when you reached 
the mainland, but you'd still be just trusting the captain." The oily smile 
crept back. "Of course a servant of the famous Doctor Sagorn would be quite 
safe. He has friends in high places, so he'd be a good patron! You'd best be 
patient, Rap."
They had reached civilization. The thief was the expert now.
Sugarcane had given way to open fields, then those became muddy paddies and 
finally smallholdings of shacks and vegetable patches. At last the travelers 
topped a slight ridge, and Milfor ran down to the sea before them. Its renowned 
occult defenses, supposedly proof against monsters and headhunters, were 
revealed as no more than a decrepit stockade, half buried in weeds. Its gates 
hung awry on rusted hinges. The tumbledown gatehouse looked as if it were used 
only by vagrants; nor could Rap's farsight find any trace of magic shielding 
like the barrier around the castle at Krasnegar. He concluded that the magic 
defense was as fictitious as the dangers it was alleged to keep out, just one 
more puzzle in the overall mystery of Faerie, the mystery that so intrigued 
Thinal.
Inside the palisade, he saw trees and more trees, small buildings, shrubbery-and 
people. He caught one glimpse of distant blue water and ships sheltered by the 
high headland beyond. The cape was rocky in patches, but also bright with grass 
and flowers and trees, and the scattered buildings there seemed larger and more 
substantial than anything his vision or farsight detected on the mainland. But 
soon he found himself down among the streets of the town and was lost among the 
people.
Long ago Andor had tried to describe Milflor to him, while they sat in a dismal 
attic in subarctic Krasnegar. "Shabby as a miser's nightgown," he had called it. 
In the past few weeks Thinal had tried, also, interpreting the same set of 
memories in his own snide fashion. "A woodlot with dog kennels." But neither of 
them had prepared Rap for the reality. He had never seen a city, and his efforts 
to imagine Krasnegar grown large and lush had done him no good at all.
Milflor was certainly lush. There had been rain that morning; vibrant tropical 
greenery dripped and glistened everywhere, loading the air with heavy odors of 
blossoms and decay. Narrow streets, unpaved, unfenced, went weaving through the 
woods like animal tracks, and yet their mud steamed in hot sunlight, for these 
trees were like no trees Rap had ever imagined. They were not the solid, 
saturnine spruce of the taiga, nor yet the dense tangle of the jungle he had so 
recently left. Their canopies floated high overhead, transparent as lace, more 
like clouds of dust than foliage, letting sunlight fall through unhindered. Wind 
stirred and dancing like gnats, their branches hardly darkened the sky. Palms 
Rap knew now, but Thinal babbled airily about acacias and eucalyptus and other 
strange names, although he was obviously unsure which was which.
The undergrowth, though, was a dark soup of shrubs and vines and flowers, half 
drowning the buildings. The houses were mostly small and no more substantial 
than the huts of the fairy village-timber and wicker and shingles. Rap saw 
crumbled ruins rotting away right next to new construction. If Milflor was old, 
it was also eternally being made new. And he felt as if some trick of the light, 
or a sweetness in the air, had bathed it all in pure and potent magic.
He had forgotten what crowds were. He had never been in a crowd of total 
strangers, of unfamiliar people thronging by in unfamiliar dress. They were 
imps, mostly, but draped in gowns or wraps of a brilliance that rivaled even the 
ever-present flowers. They jostled and jabbered all around him in unfamiliar 
accents, wielding mysterious burdens, driving donkey wagons or pulling carts, 
surrounded by laughing children, splattering mud.
Very likely he would have been overwhelmed by it all anyway, even had he not had 
farsight. Farsight in a crowd, in a strange town, was an overwhelming 
experience; it smothered him. He forgot to keep his head down to hide his 
tattoos; he forgot to care that the goblin might be noticed as alien. He was 
vaguely aware that there was something wrong-that his inner self was shouting 
warnings of something he should have noticed and been worrying about-but sheer 
overload mulched his mind. He saw the insides of the houses as well as the 
outsides; he saw people in the distance as clearly as he saw those close by; and 
he comprehended nothing.
He knew that Little Chicken was holding his arm and steering him through the 
milling hordes of people-thousands of them, it seemed, hurrying everywhere, in 
reds and blues and yellows, all gabbling busily. He was only vaguely aware that 
he and his companions had reached a marketplace: a muddy clearing cluttered with 
stalls and tables of wares, with people-lots of people.
Imps, and a scattering of others: dwarves and gnomes and a golden-skinned youth 
he guessed must be an elf, and a couple of barley-haired, blue-eyed 
jotnar-sailors, of course. And far away, on a street farther up the gentle 
hillside, two women stood deep in talk, holding babies on their hips, and they 
were fauns.
Like his mother. Like him. Here, for the first time in his life, he would not be 
a freak.
And the stalls held cloth and vegetables and shiny pots and painted pottery and 
straw sandals and even books and ... Farsight: people and sounds and colors and 
people and motion ...
Then Little Chicken lifted Rap by the shoulders and shook him until his teeth 
rattled.
"What-"
They were out of the crowd now, some way along a weedy path that wound through 
thick shrubbery, down toward the seafront. Rap's attention had still been on the 
people. He had not been aware of leaving the marketplace.
"You all right?" Thinal demanded.
Rap picked up his wits from somewhere. "Yes ... Huh?" He rubbed his neck and 
pouted at the goblin. "Did you have to do that?"
Little Chicken scowled back at him. "You were asleep. You wouldn't answer. "
Rap said, "Oh!" and grabbed his mind before it went slithering right back into 
the bustle at the top of the slope. He must have been entranced for a long time, 
walking unawares right into the middle of town, for the market lay on a saddle 
where the hilly cape joined the mainland, at the nub of the wishboneshaped 
harbor.
"Hold this!" Thinal tossed Rap a small leather bag that clinked. Its drawstring 
had been cut. "And this." He added a bundle of fabric.
"Wait!" Memory came flooding back, memory of inner warnings ignored, warnings of 
something badly wrong. Thinal hauled his shirt over his head. "What?"
"Danger!" Frantically Rap scanned. What was it he had noticed and pushed away, 
out of mind? The little wooded slope was deserted. At the top of the hill was 
the crowd-and he hastily withdrew his farsight in case he mesmerized himself 
again. The muddy trail he stood on was a shortcut from the market down to the 
harborfront, emerging at the back of a row of scruffy, ugly buildings set on a 
wide and busy road. The far side of the road was the seafront, with small craft 
loading or unloading at little jetties. To his left lay the mainland, its shore 
a vista of silver beach and great mansions stretching out of sight. Off to the 
right lay the harbor proper, with real ships and the hilly cape topped by the--
"God of Fools! "
Thinal had dropped his pants and was holding out a hand for the garment he had 
given to Rap. "What?" he repeated, with little more interest.
"Magic!" Rap said. "Oh, Gods, why didn't I think? We've been landed, gutted, and 
cooked! " He waved a hand at the high parkland of the proconsul's palace 
grounds. "What's that up there? At the top? "
"The Gazebo. Local landmark. You can see it from all over. "
"And it can see us! It's a sorcerer's tower!"
That was what had been scratching at his mind, wanting to be let in-the turrety 
little building on the highest crest of the headland. It was only two stories 
tall, likely no more than a single mom on each level, ringed by a balcony and 
capped by a spiky roof. But he had been able to see it from everywhere in the 
town, and probably it would be visible for leagues in all directions. What 
really mattered was that he couldn't see the rest of the hill, not with 
farsight. Long practice had increased his range greatly, and he must have sensed 
the problem subconsciously as soon as he entered the town. Now that he was 
closer it was glaringly obvious. Much of the headland was a blank to his occult 
vision-missing, wiped, not there. Only the upper half of that little wooden 
watchtower was clear to him; it floated above the fog just as Inisso's chamber 
of puissance floated above Krasnegar.
And that was not the worst of it. He stumbled over his words as he tried to 
explain.
"For God's sake give me that gown!" Thinal yelled. He was dancing around in the 
nude, while Rap was waving the bundle to and fro to emphasize his warnings. Arms 
folded, Little Chicken was leaning against a mossy tree trunk and glowering 
sullenly at the argument.
"No!" Rap said, putting the robe behind his back. "You're going to call Sagorn 
aren't you and you mustn't because it isn't safe and don't you see-"
"What do you mean, mustn't?" Thinal put puny fists on bony hips and puffed up a 
scrawny chest.
"That's magic! No, you're not a sorcerer, but that's sorcerers' magic you're 
using. Don't you see? Magic can be heard! Bright Water told me. Every time I use 
my farsight I'm using magic. Every time I calm a watchdog, or you pilfer 
something, or Little Chi- Sorcerers can feel magic, or smell it, or something. 
And that's a sorcerer's tower up there! Why didn't we think? Of course there 
would be a sorcerer here in Faerie-right?"
Thinal grabbed for the gown, and Rap whirled it away. "No! "
"Yes!" The little thief was dancing with fury now. "Evil take you! I can't run 
around like this all day. People'll come!" Automatically, unable to help 
himself, Rap scanned-and saw. "Soldiers!" he wailed. "In the market! And down 
there, as well!"
Two squads of legionaries were marching into the market from opposite 
directions. Sunlight flashed on sword and helmet, on cuirass and greave, while 
shoppers scampered out of the way. Another band approached on the dockfront 
road. The centurion's bellows came floating up over the roofs and through the 
trees.
"Give me that robe, young man!" Sagorn said sternly. Rap blinked and obeyed. 
Little Chicken went scrambling up a tree to see over the bushes. The old man 
pulled the robe on and began buttoning. It was an expensive-looking garment, 
formal wear for a gentleman.
"Gather up Thinal's clothes," he said. "We may need them later. Hand the money 
to the goblin. He looks more likely to be entrusted to defend it than you do. 
How many men?"
Rap told him-legionaries were lining up along the whole edge of the market, at 
least a full century. Seaward, the men had their swords out already and were 
pouring into the buildings, pushing through to find back doors facing the 
hillside, and where necessary. clearing a path by hurling furniture and people 
aside like weeds.
Sagorn winced as he thrust his feet into Thinal's sandals. "Is my hair all 
right? Very well, come. " He set off down the trail, moving with the slow care 
of the elderly on the slippery.
"There's no way out down there!" Rap said. He wondered what jail was going to be 
like. Theft and murder would bring the death penalty, most like, or at least a 
lifetime in irons. His legs trembled with the urge to start running.
The old man spoke without taking his attention off the path. "I doubt that they 
are looking for me, lad. And I shall vouch for my servants-both of you. I can 
talk down a centurion, I promise you. "
"Not this time," Rap said. "There's no one else on this hillside but us, no one 
at all."
Sagorn stopped, carefully turned himself around, and glared.
"Will you stop using your farsight! You said yourself that it may attract 
attention!"
"Then stop using your brain!" Rap yelled. "You're occultly smart, aren't you? So 
every time you think, even-"
"Dolt! You are an idiot! How can I not think? Tell me what you saw. "
"The path goes to an alley between two buildings, very narrow-single file. It's 
packed solid with legionaries. They're coming through some of the buildings, 
too, and they're lining up along the bottom of the slope."
The old man frowned, considering. "Then they have been directed to us, and your 
observation about magic was well founded. It may be necessary for us to split up 
and meet again later. There used to be a very fine inn called the Elves' 
Crystal. No, it may be gone by now. We'll meet at-"
"I'm not meeting anyone!" Rap said angrily. "I don't want to stay here one 
minute longer than I need. If I can get away, then I'm going!"
Jotunnish blue eyes flamed below the snowy brows. "Young fool! Go near a ship 
and you'll spend the rest of your life in fetters. "
"I must get back to the mainland!"
"Inos!"
"Gods preserve us! When are you going to grow up, boy? Whatever was going to 
happen to Inos has happened long since. Weeks ago!"
Why couldn't they understand? "I'm still going to find her," Rap said, "if it 
takes the rest of my life. I'll tell her I'm sorry or I'll weep on her grave. 
And if not for her, then for me. So I'll not be ashamed any more."
"You have nothing to be asham- Oh, this is crazy! You do not belong in the world 
of royalty and politics and sorcery! Face facts, boy! You are never going to see 
Inos again. With your talent for animals your destiny is to find some kindly 
master who needs a good stockman; then you can marry a plump milkmaid and raise 
lots of wide-nosed babies. "
Possibly, but Rap was nothing if not stubborn. "I am going to go to Zark and 
find Inos."
Sagorn threw up his hands. "What are the soldiers doing now?"
Rap made a quick mental scan, although he had not really ever stopped watching; 
he didn't seem able to turn off his far- sight when there was need of it. 
"Lining up, top and bottom. They're almost ready, I think. They're going to 
flatten us like mash in a press, between two lines."
"Military exercise! Mere brute force, naturally. " Sagorn's lantern jaw 
clenched, and his thin lips whitened. "Then I must leave, I think. Give me back 
those other clothes." He began unfastening his robe again.
Creak ... Little Chicken had decided he needed a club. He had begun by snapping 
a tree trunk as thick as Rap's knee. It fell with a crash, flattening bushes far 
off. Sagorn shouted, "Stop that!" but the goblin ignored him, proceeding to 
break off a convenient length: Crack!
The old man threw down his robe, then lowered himself awkwardly and sat on it 
while he pulled on Thinal's shorts, which were much too small for him. A bugle 
blared in the marketplace. "Here they come," Rap said. "And here I go."
"No!" Sagorn shouted, struggling back to his feet. "Wait! We'll meet at Emine's 
statue. Gods! A statue of Emine in plain view, and I still never realized-"
"No."
"Wait! Fool! Don't you see yet? If you really want to find your princess, 
there's only one way you'll ever do it. You know what's here in Faerie! If you 
didn't guess it before, then you must have done so when he killed the troll?"
Rap glanced at Little Chicken, who flashed him a tusky grin and twirled his 
giant's bludgeon around like a twig. Rap would have needed both hands even to 
lift it. Horrified, he looked back at the gaunt old man.
"Kill more children? Is that what you want me to do? Is that what you're 
planning to do?"
"Not necessarily children-I mean, not necessarily kill ... But I must know!"
"You know where all the fairyfolk have gone!" Rap shouted. "And why. That's 
obvious! That's awful! I won't be part of that. I don't want to be a sorcerer 
anyway. That's certain!" He sensed movement and saw the two lines of men in 
leather and metal advancing abreast, one down, one up. But he also saw a squad 
of a dozen legionaries running down the path from the market, ahead of the main 
troop. "They're coming! They may have farsight, too!"
The goblin uttered a ferocious growl and went racing off up the path.
"Little Chicken!" Rap yelled. "You come back here!"
He received no answer and he could sense the goblin still running, at a fearsome 
pace.
"Trash, come back!" But it did no good. "That's it!" Rap said, giving up. " 
'Bye, Doctor!"
Sagorn shouted, "Stop! Rap, it's your only hope of ever finding Inos!" Anything 
else he said was lost in the noise as Rap plowed away into the bushes.

3
The hillside was a tangle of shrubs and saplings, a few mature trees and some 
crumbling ruins. There were thorns and stinging things and ankle-breaking snags 
galore; the underlying loam was slick and wet. For a few moments Rap could spare 
no wits for anything more than finding a route without losing his balance on the 
steep slope or scratching his eyes out as he plunged through thickets, racing 
and leaping along the hillside in the faint hope that he could outflank the 
lines of legionaries advancing in line abreast from above and below. Then he had 
a path mapped out ahead and could spare a tendril of thought to check on the 
pursuit. If his farsight gave him away to a listening sorcerer, then so be it.
He heard distant shouts and saw that Little Chicken had gone all the way up the 
trail to meet the advance party descending. There seemed to be an almighty 
battle in progress already, with armored men hurtling bodily through the air.
For a moment Rap stopped, stricken. The goblin was being trash again, seeking to 
aid Rap's escape. How dare he! And now it was useless to go back and try to save 
him in his turn. Rap had no way of fighting armed men. Damned goblin! Whatever 
had happened to him when the fairy died, it surely had not made him sword-proof. 
How dare he be a martyr? He could be as elusive as a doe in undergrowth like 
this. If any of them had possessed even a hope of escaping, it had been Little 
Chicken. Rap continued his own noisy, hectic flight.
And who had gone the other way? Thinal? Sagorn certainly would not have stayed 
around for the patrol to catch. Darad, maybe. That would be another mighty 
battle.
Like a fox gone to earth, Rap skittered in under a dense bush, hard against an 
ancient fragment of rotting timber wall. He panted the humid air like a dog and 
wiped his streaming forehead. Little Chicken was still at it. Even with occult 
strength, how could one unarmed man hold off a dozen or so legionaries?
And he had apparently already leveled half that many, for the shrubbery was hung 
with bodies. Over the mad beating of his own heart, Rap could hear the oaths and 
screams and the crashing of branches. Who ever said that goblins did not enjoy 
fighting?
A dozen? He scanned and saw that the soldiers had broken ranks, and were going 
to their comrades' aid. Uphill and downhill, armed men raced toward the racket. 
If that had been Little Chicken's purpose, he had succeeded. The way was not 
exactly clear, but now the lines were broken, and the bushes were full of 
running men. One more would not be heard.
The goblin had given his life for his master, then, and it would be folly to 
refuse the opportunity. It would also feel like cowardice to accept it, yet Rap 
could do nothing to help now. Cursing himself for a craven ingrate, he scrambled 
to his feet and went plunging down the slope.
Still the undergrowth was transparent to his farsight. He could find the best 
route with no difficulty, and in the long run a faun had a much better chance of 
evading notice in Faerie than a goblin ever would. Coward! He angled over to a 
narrow, muddy gully, the bed of an intermittent stream, and went slithering down 
it on his seat. It steepened; he tried to stop, caught a foot in a tangle of 
roots, went hurtling forward down a high bank, bounced off rock, and plunged 
into sudden darkness.

4
Inos was never at her best in boats. She had known enough to refuse breakfast, 
and the waves in the bay were harmless spawn of the mighty surf that thundered 
beyond the headlands, but the slimy little dhow reeked of fish and wallowed like 
a drunkard-or so it seemed to her wayward stomach.
She had always assumed that the tentlike garments of Zarkian women were hot and 
stuffy. She had been surprised to discover that the black chaddar she had been 
given was a relatively cool and comfortable garment, but it had not encountered 
soap in a long time, and neither had the half-naked fishermen who swarmed around 
her. They were a rough, unsettling crew, foulmouthed, hairy, and spangled with 
fish scales. They shouted illnatured jests about her and guffawed at them. She 
dared not reply, for she could not speak in their dialect. The captain was as 
bad as any, a bow-legged, squint-eyed boor.
Fortunately she need not look at the sailors, for her hood restricted her side 
vision greatly. Her hands and face had been dyed with berry juice, but very 
little Inos showed above her veil. Her voice might betray her, and her green 
eyes-nothing else should.
A bloated meal sack rested heavily on her lap when she sat. Its ropes dug into 
her shoulders when she walked; but the worst of all her torments was Charak.
Charak in his swaddling clothes stank much worse than anything else. He yelled 
continuously, he writhed and squirmed. She cursed Azak a million times for 
Charak and an excessive quest for realism. She did not think Charak was a good 
idea at all, for he was more likely to draw attention to her by showing up her 
lack of expertise with babies than he was to provide disguise. He also seemed 
too young to be an older brother of the meal sack, although Zana must be a 
better judge of such things than Inos. The advantages of Charak were only that 
his foul stench tended to keep the sailors away and her constant dread of 
dropping the tiny monster kept her too busy to brood much.
She had no idea where Azak was. He had not been present when she had picked her 
away along the slippery boards of the ramshackle jetty to enter this unspeakable 
floating slum. She had seen no one of his height in her later views of the 
encampment, when the boat had brought her back again. The dhow had first sailed 
landward until it met with the fishing fleet, outward bound on the dawn breeze. 
It had then put about and hidden itself within the myriad of similar boats. Inos 
had assumed then that her destination was somewhere other than 
Arakkaransomewhere north or south along the coast-but once the fleet had crossed 
the bar, her own craft had separated and circled back past the headland again.
By then the family men had been striking camp and embarking their horses in the 
little ferry that plied to and fro between the capes, for the dusty track 
through the dunes was apparently a common coastal highway, much used by the 
beggars and foot pads and glib-spoken chapmen who preyed upon the honest 
laborers of the villages. To move the whole troop and their mounts would take 
many trips, and if Rasha thought to check on the sultan or his royal guest, she 
would have a long search before she could be sure they were not present. That, 
at least, must be the theory.
Now the dhow was heading in again toward the docks, tacking clumsily against the 
rising breeze and making poor way; even a landlubber's eye could see it was not 
a weatherly craft. Sternly ignoring the queasy twitchings within her, Inos kept 
her eyes on Arakkaran itself, resplendent in the dawn's light and just as 
glorious as Azak had promised. Built like Krasnegar on a slope, it was many 
times larger, its hillside more stepped and irregular, and its buildings were of 
marble and gold, not brick, timber, and red tiles. In all of Krasnegar there 
were exactly six trees, while jungle seemed to be breaking out everywhere in 
Arakkaran, in any unused corner, on any angle too steep for building. Nor could 
Inisso's spiky black castle ever compare with the shining domes and minarets of 
Azak's palace sprawling along the plateau's lip. Despite her discomfort, Inos 
had to admire the grandeur of Arakkaran.
At long last the wallowing dhow was closing in on the shipping moored and 
anchored along the harborfront. Now the squint-eyed captain bellowed at his 
rabble to lower sail and man the sweeps. Grumbling, they set to honest labor. 
Lewd banter was replaced by muttered curses and hard breathing.
With suspicious suddenness, Charak stopped yelling. Inos held him up to look at. 
"Now what're you planning, you little horror?" she whispered. His reply was a 
loud belch and a Iountain of milk. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her 
insides hunched. That was definitely the worst moment of the trip so far.
By the time Inos had restored her internal calm, Charak was asleep on her 
shoulder, snoring, and the dhow had almost reached the wharfs. She had missed 
her chance to admire the many great vessels moored in the harbor. Some 
sightseeing trip this was turning out to be!
Then the boat jostled against a high wall, whose ancient stones were greasy and 
coated with brown weed. Hands steadied it, but no lines were thrown. Clutching 
Charak so tightly that he awoke and began yelling in an echo of her own terror, 
wobbling off balance because of the meal sack, Inos was roughly disembarked, 
like baggage, onto a slippery stone staircase. Even before she had properly 
found her footing, open water was showing between her and the departing boat.
A few rusty spikes protruding from the slimy coating on the wall showed where 
once there might have been a handrail. If so, it had vanished long since and not 
been replaced. Unbalanced by the ridiculous padding she wore, clumsy in her long 
gown, she hung on tightly to one of the sharp-prickled spikes until the world 
steadied. Water surged and splashed just below her. Charak went back to sleep.
Slowly and with great care, Inos climbed to the noisy road above. She peered 
back and forth, shocked and dismayed. Now what? Zana had explained nothing, 
saying only that she would be taken care of. Despite the early hour, crowds 
bustled: porters and sailors, mules and horses, wagons and even strings of 
camels, all wound back and forth between bales and crates and racks of nets. A 
hundred voices clamored in orders and oaths and the rhythmic chant of work 
gangs.
Inos felt absurdly unsafe, teetering on the edge of the seawall and in danger of 
being knocked off, yet to go forward was to risk being trampled under a caravan 
of camels. The meal sack was an absurdity-she must look as if she were in the 
eighteenth month of pregnancy at least, although perhaps nothing smaller would 
have shown under the accursed tent she wore. The hood restricted her vision 
horribly, and if she fell back one step she would drown. For her own sake, as 
well as that of the pestilential Charak, she must move to safety, yet if she 
left this spot she might miss whomever she was supposed to meet. Then she would 
be hopelessly lost, with no option but a walk to the palace and a humiliating 
surrender. She decided to take refuge beside a high rack of smelly nets, but 
before she could move a voice spoke the password: "God of Pilgrims!"
With a gasp of relief, Inos spun around and found herself facing a pair of long, 
gray ears. Beyond them, holding a bridle, stood a short, dirty, and ragged man 
she had never seen before. His weatherbeaten face wore a coating of mahogany 
stubble and an unfriendly scowl.
Inos and the donkey regarded each other with mutual disapproval. She dislodged 
Charak's grip and held him out for the man to hold. The scowl became a glare-in 
Zark babies were strictly women's problems. Wishing that she were at liberty to 
express her opinions, Inos somehow contrived to hoist herself up, sidesaddle, 
with baby and meal sack still in place. The man hit the little beast with a 
stick and set off along the road, tugging repeatedly at the rope.
In a few minutes she had managed to adjust her seating, adapting to the sway of 
the bony little back under the blanket. She began to take stock, peering around 
under her hood, being careful not to look at nearby faces, lest the owners 
glimpse her alien green eyes.
The ships were unlike any she had ever seen in Krasnegar, the crews more varied. 
Most common were the ruddy-hued djinns, but she saw swarthy imps and some 
diminutive men with grayish coloring, whom she thought must be gnomes; dwarves 
would be thicker and wider. Here and there, tall and flaxen and inevitable in 
any large harbor in Pandemia, were undoubted jotnar. She heard much shouting, 
both humor and invective, and just to have identified all the odors could have 
kept her busy for hours: fish and spices, the livestock and the people, hot 
coffee and the strong salt tang of the sea; plus many less agreeable things. Had 
her mind not been largely occupied with the baby and with not falling off the 
wretched donkey, she would probably have been enthralled.
Her guide began edging into and through the traffic, finally reaching the 
buildings that flanked the landward side of the dock. He stopped beside a grubby 
and tattered little coffee stall, tended by a woman as anonymously garbed as 
Inos herself. "God of Pilgrims?" she said, and held out her hands for Charak. 
Apparently Charak did not know her, and had come to trust Inos, for the last she 
heard of him was a long, despairing howl. Serves the little monster right!
Now her guide reversed direction, heading back the way they had come, still 
tugging the rope and periodically whacking the imperturbably ambling donkey. At 
a mysteriously dark doorway smelling strongly of spices, he handed the tether to 
a larger, bearded man and disappeared. The newcomer did not even glance at Inos. 
He set off at a slower pace, in the same direction.
Ten minutes later, a third man took his place. Slumped impassively on the 
donkey, Inos did not look at him. She wondered what her father would have said 
about all this.
Sudden insight whispered that she had never really known her father. At their 
last meeting he had been dying; at their farewell in the spring she had been a 
mere child. They had never spoken as adult to adult. A child could not 
comprehend a parent as a real person. So she had no way of knowing what her 
father would have thought and she never would have. She might try to behave in 
ways she believed would have pleased him, but she could never be truly certain. 
That was a crushing sorrow, and she wondered why she had not seen it before.
Another five minutes, and the third man stopped the donkey at the bottom of a 
public staircase that wound off up a narrow canyon between buildings. He leaned 
close to Inos and breathed fish at her. "Climb. Turn left at the minstrel. "
With great relief, Inos slid from the saddle, wincing as the ropes bit into her 
shoulders. The meal sack had taken on a definite sag to the left. Triplets, 
maybe. Keeping her head down, she set off up the steps, staying close to the 
wall as a gang of boys came pelting down, waving their arms for balance and 
shouting noisily.
The alleyway bent; stairway became a steep slope, and then steps again, more 
gently pitched. Obviously all this deception had been planned in advance. Azak 
must not only have laid plans for his own escape, he must have been confident 
that Inos would want to accompany him. She wondered whether she should be 
flattered by that tribute to her courage or insulted that he thought so little 
of her brains, for all these precautions were merely emphasizing what a very 
long shot this escapade really was.
Hiding from a mundane was a fairly straightforward matter. Everyone knew how to 
do that, avoiding movements where they might be seen and sounds when they might 
be heard. Earshot and line of sight were easily comprehended; but no one knew 
how to avoid a sorceress, nor what the limits of her range might be. Her powers 
could well make all this subterfuge completely useless. Perhaps all she need do 
would be exclaim "Inosolan" to her looking glass and it might, perhaps, show the 
fugitive at once. All these changes of guide and appearance-baby and then no 
baby, donkey and no donkey-would make the task more difficult only if Rasha must 
somehow scan for her prey, or follow its trail. Obviously none of these 
accomplices was in on the plot; none would know any of the others, and each had 
been hired to perform one small task only. The organization was impressive. It 
might well be totally useless, and Rasha might well be screaming with laughter 
as she watched the mummery.
At first the walls of the alley held alcoves where artisans and merchants 
displayed their wares. Weavers wove and tailors stitched; goldsmiths tapped and 
potters threw; all of them at the same time chattering and arguing with the 
onlookers. Face averted, angry that she dared not linger, Inos pushed by the 
knots of haggling bystanders. One of the stalls was a bakery, and her stomach 
informed her there that it had repented and was ready for business again; she 
shuffled past with her mouth watering.
The steps grew steeper, the alley narrower. The little stores disappeared, and 
only forbiddingly massive doors broke the sweep of lime-washed masonry walls. 
All the windows were stoutly barred. Porters and veiled women, children in rags 
and laden donkeys-Inos was jostled repeatedly, and at times forced to stop and 
wait until the way had cleared. Krasnegar was steeper, but she had never carried 
a sack of meal up the hill there, and the ropes were cutting into her skin.
Even the ever-present Arakkaranian breeze could not penetrate the canyon; the 
air was stuffy and yesterday's heat still radiated from the walls. Krasnegar had 
many passageways such as this, but most of them were roofed, and none was so 
filthy or so thickly inhabited by insects. Every crevice in the walls and every 
crack between the cobbles seemed to form part of a separate subsystem of alleys 
for the use of ants and beetles.
From time to time the way divided or crossed over other ways, but always her 
instructions to climb gave her one obvious choice of route. Strange noises and 
smells drifted in from the side streets: the hammering of coppersmiths, the odor 
of boiling goat, or onions, the crowing of poultry, or the scent of the 
inevitable coffee. Dark, sinister archways led off into mysterious courtyards, 
which she had no desire to explore. And there were many little alcoves and nooks 
fitted with benches or seats where a line of men would be taking their ease and 
gossiping-never women. They sometimes exchanged loud comments on her size and 
shape.
She was going very slowly now, pufFing hard, sweating; also cursing the chaffing 
of the damnable ropes. She had not expected to climb so far. She thought she 
must be drawing nigh to the palace, but the high buildings cut off any glimpse 
of it. The harbor, also, was invisible, andmust be very far below her now. An 
absurd fear of failure was niggling at the back of her mind. She had been told 
to turn left at the minstrel, but suppose she had missed the minstrel in the 
crowd? Suppose he had taken his fee and gone elsewhere, or just grown tired of 
waiting for her?
Suppose-worse-that Rasha had detected the conspiracy and was now playing cat to 
Azak's mouse? All those mysterious, taciturn guides might have been agents of-or 
even guises ofthe sorceress herself, and she might tease and torment Inos for 
hours, making her trek to and fro, up and down, until she collapsed from sheer 
exhaustion, or until the fiendish torment of the ropes cut off her arms and they 
fell to the ground at her feet.
Where an ancient building abutted an even older one, the angle of a doorway 
provided a small refuge, and there Inos stepped aside to rest while a string of 
panier-bearing mules minced by. As the clop of their feet died away, she heard a 
cithern twanging faintly up ahead. Hoping that this signified the missing 
minstrel, she gave her sagging meal sack a surreptitious heave and stepped back 
into the throng to begin climbing again, feeling every muscle in her legs ache.
She had almost gone by another of the sinister dark archways when a familiar 
voice said, "God of Pilgrims."
The two men standing there were indistinct in the shadow and muffled in robes, 
but one was very tall. She stepped out of the crowd and smiled up at him before 
remembering that he could see little of her face.
"And may the God of Childbirth grant you safe labor," he added.
"And you also, Cubslayer. What minstrel?"
"Just another mirage to divert pursuit. " Azak flashed one of his rare smiles, 
and it seemed less tinged than usual with mockery. "Come in and relax, then. 
Here you will be secure, and safe even from the power of the sorceress."
Beset the road:
Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to 
Sin! Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Kayyam (§80, 1879)


SEVEN
Dawn of nothing

1
Morning had come at last, and Rap was still alive, or at least he thought he 
probably was. He had been conscious a few times in the night, but more often 
not, which was better. His head felt as if it had split into two unequal halves; 
there was a lot of dried blood in his hair. His left ankle was swollen even 
bigger than the larger side of his head.
He had fallen down a steep slope at the bottom of the hill. There was a very 
narrow gap there, in back of a house, where the rock had been quarried away to 
make more room. It was cluttered. with roots and branches and old rubbish. 
Overhead a patch of sky now showed through a chimney, a hole he must have made 
as he came down on his way to a pit that seemed to be part of an abandoned 
cesspool or tank of some sort, lined with rotted bricks. Whatever it might have 
held in its prime, it was now stuffed with mud and sodden leaves and Rap.
There was some stinking water, too, and around dawn he'd been desperate enough 
to drink from it. Walking was going to be the problem. He had never noticed how 
many bones there were in a man's ankle, and now he could count two more in his 
left one than he could in his right.
After throwing off the layers of debris that had followed him down and more or 
less buried him, Rap hauled himself to his feet. He whimpered aloud at the pain, 
leaned against the wall until his giddiness passed, and then fumbled in the muck 
to retrieve a missing sandal. Forcing his limbs to move against pain was much 
harder than he had expected; he cursed his own faintheartedness. With maddening 
slowness, he clambered along the narrow canyon that separated the back of the 
building on one side from crumbly rock on the other. Both of them seemed to lean 
to the left, but that was just his farsight a little mixed up, that was all.
He reached a corner and a gap between two buildings, so narrow that he had to 
turn sideways to squeeze through. The planks were rough, but he was able to 
reach overhead and find handholds in them, and thus keep most of his weight off 
his ankle. Then he came to the road, and those acrobatics wouldn't take him any 
farther.
He should have brought along a stick or a branch, to use as a cane, and he had 
been too stupid to think of it.
He stood on one foot, wiping mud off himself as he contemplated the harborfront 
of Milflor. It was already bustling, but less busy than the market had been. The 
sun was up, although still hidden by the high ground of the cape, where the 
proconsul's palace lurked behind its occult shielding. He wished he had more 
control over his farsight, for it kept trying to snoop among the fishing boats 
at the jetties, or the taverns and merchants' establishments along the landward 
side of the road. It still gave everything a marked tilt to the left.
Soon he began to realize that there was something sadly wrong with his eyes, 
also, a foggy jumpiness. Partly they were full of tears because he was in pain, 
but there was more to it than that. Everywhere he looked he saw a glare of 
sunlight, as if the whole world was made of water, and reflecting. He let his 
fingers investigate the bump on his head. They came away red, so the gash was 
still oozing. Bad! Nothing would be more conspicuous than blood.
A road with only two directions to run was not a healthy place for a fugitive, 
but he couldn't run anyway. To his right was the palace and the sorcerer's 
tower, and the headland would be a dead end for him, so he should probably head 
left. If the cape was an arm and the mainland a body, then he was in the armpit, 
alongside the small-craft jetties. He'd find it easier to hide if he went left, 
landward, but the big ships were moored off to the right, just about at the 
giant's elbow, and directly below the sorcerer's tower, which Thinal had called 
the Gazebo. The only way out of Faerie was in one of those big ships. God of 
Pity, he was hungry! His headache was getting worse, and he suspected he was 
confused.
When his good leg began to complain that it couldn't hold him up all by itself 
forever, he decided to start by getting himself cleaned up. There was a whole 
ocean of water right across the road from him, and it must be warm, because he 
could see kids playing in it. Right!
He took a deep breath and lurched forward, intending to limp across to the 
waterfront itself. He must have made it because in a little while he discovered 
he was sitting on a stone bench there. Someone was hammering red-hot nails into 
his ankle all the time, though, and he was sweating hard enough to wash the mud 
off without any water at all. He did not remember arriving. Could a man walk in 
a faint?
The sun was above the palace ridge now, and already the sea was a richer color 
than he had ever seen it at Krasnegar; but the fishing boats looked much the 
same, as did the sea gulls just as cheeky and noisy and graceful in flight. The 
smell of salt and weed and fish was not too different, but there were a lot more 
barrows and carts and wagons rattling and clanking along the road at his back.
Feeling homesick was not going to help at all.
The tide was in. The road stood about a span above the water, built of massive 
blocks of white stone. They looked old and worn, but of course the docks at 
Milflor could well be just as sorcerous in origin as Inisso's castle and 
causeway in Krasnegar. Fishing boats were tied to some slimy old wooden jetties.
Just to his right a stone staircase ran down to the sea. Five or six boys were 
playing there, jumping headfirst into the water, then running up the steps to do 
it again. It looked like good fun for rich kids; at their age Rap had been 
mucking out stables. That thought took his gaze to the white beach and big 
houses on the landward side of the bay. Children and some adults were splashing 
in the water there and playing in little sailboats.
This sea was not the Winter Ocean! Rap rose and hopped to the top of the stair. 
Leaning on the handrail, he worked his way down, step by step, to the water. The 
boys gave him startled looks, and soon afterward he realized that they had 
departed. Without removing his clothing he went down far enough to sit in water 
up to his neck, and it was marvelously refreshing, soothing his scrapes and 
scratches. He ducked his head, wincing at the sting of salt on his cut, but soon 
that stopped. Easing himself up and down on his arms while the little waves went 
by, he watched the barnacles and floating weed and wished his head would not 
throb quite so hard, and that his eyes would attend to their duties. His 
farsight still said that the sea had a tilt to the left.
He must have gone to sleep, because suddenly he was choking and thrashing, in 
danger of falling off the steps and drowning. Who would come to his rescue? 
Probably no one in Milflor would believe that a man couldn't swim.
He hauled himself up by the handrail and hopped back to the stone bench. Already 
it was hot as a griddle, so that he was glad his clothes were wet. He must rest 
his ankle for a while and wait until his eyes began behaving. His head pounded 
with every heartbeat, his vision flicked in harmony. But at least he seemed to 
have stopped bleeding; his tattoos were aimed safely seaward, away from the 
passersby.
He sat on the bench for quite a while, wondering when he would cook himself to 
death, when someone would come and investigate a solitary man being idle while 
everyone else was busy, and when he would die of starvation. Why, oh why, had he 
gone and broken his ankle?
For the first time in months he was truly alone, and the feeling was 
unexpectedly unpleasant. He had lived by himself for days on end when he was 
herding; why should solitude bother him now? Lonely lost boy had better start 
behaving like a man pretty soon!
He discovered he was mourning Little Chicken and told himself not to be crazy. 
The goblin had been dedicated to killing him in the nastiest ways possible, so 
his death should be good news, not bad. Perhaps Rap's sorrow was only guilt at 
having left him to fight alone, but that suicidal assault on armed men had been 
Little Chicken's own decision.
Or had it?
How many soldiers had the goblin dealt with before they, in turn, disposed of 
him? Why had those particular men broken ranks to come running down the path? 
Rap's scalp prickled as he considered the occult possibilities. Legionaries had 
ravaged the fairy village. The one surviving fairy had died in telling Little 
Chicken something, probably her name, and certainly a magic word-and for no 
apparent reason. The goblin's natural talent had been physical strength, which 
had been sorcerously magnified, and now a group of soldiers had rushed to their 
own destruction at his hands. Might those very men have been the perpetrators of 
the original crime? Could Faerie magic seek out its own vengeance like that?
Things on the water were very hard to see, and his farsight was growing blurry, 
also. The head coming toward him had to be a seal, he decided. Then he squinted, 
shaded his eyes, and decided that it was a man swimming.
He had never watched swimming being done. It was obviously slower than walking 
and must be hard work, for when the swimmer reached the steps and clambered out, 
he was audibly gasping. After a moment he came plodding up, still stooped and 
puffing and wringing water out of his hair-pale blond hair hanging to his 
shoulders. He was short for a jotunn, but broad.
Although Rap had accepted that this was a warm climate where men might go around 
bare-chested even in a town, he was still shocked by the newcomer's scanty rag. 
That was indecent! Nor was it very practical, and when the man moved to sit on 
the other end of his bench Rap called out a warning. "Careful! The stone's hot!"
The man stopped and turned to stare at him over a silver mustache large enough 
to sweep out a stable. The rest of him had been put together from knotted rope, 
brown leather, and wet polar bear combings. His eyes were pale as an arctic sky, 
fog gray with only a hint of blueness-but they gleamed at the sight of Rap's 
scrapes. "Too hot for me, but not for you!"
"No! Sorry, sir! No, I didn't mean that at all, sir. "
"Ah! You mean I'm being stupid?"
Rap had never expected to sweat any harder than he had been doing a few minutes 
earlier, especially not when feeling icecold, as he did now. "Not at all, sir. I 
should have seen that you have bare feet. I mean, that you know exactly what 
you're doing, sir. I meant well, sir, but I was wrong to presume to advise 
you-sir! "
The jotunn shrugged, disappointed. He sat down, deliberately leaning against the 
backrest and spreading his arms along it, carefully not flinching at the heat, 
while all the while keeping watch on Rap, as if inviting comment.
Even the homegrown jotnar at Krasnegar were dangerously touchy, even Rap's 
personal friends like Krath and Gith. He should have remembered that the nomadic 
sailor types were all homicidal maniacs, especially when fresh ashore after a 
voyage. Dockside taverns in Krasnegar spilled more blood than beer. Even to get 
up and leave now could be taken as an insult.
It would be nice to have Little Chicken handy.
Keeping his blurry eyes innocently pointed at the little boats sailing in the 
bay, Rap studied his new companion out of the corner of his mind. Jotnar turned 
pink in summer and shed skin in sheets; he had never seen one so bronzed, to 
about the same faunish shade as himself. To assume that a male jotunn was a 
sailor by trade was usually a safe bet, and quite certain in this case from the 
pictures tattooed on the man's arms and hands, all of which were either obscene 
or erotic, or both. He was regarding Rap with the open curiosity of a man who 
could choose to be nosy-hard and heavy. His knuckles were badly twisted by old 
breaks; his angular jotunnish face was ominously unmarked.
"What's that 'round your eyes, boy?"
"Goblin tattoos, sir. "
"Make you look like a half-wit raccoon."
"Oh, I agree, sir! I didn't want them. I was unconscious." The man sighed. "You 
haven't been fighting."
"No, sir. I fell. "
The sailor groaned and looked away. For a while there was peaceful silence. 
Gradually Rap began to breathe more easily. Even when he was feeling his usual 
self, he had no interest in brawling as a sport.
Then the jotunn began studying him again. "You're not pure faun. That's a 
jotunn's jaw if I ever saw one."
Tbll him it was none of his business? "My father was a jotunn, sir, my mother a 
faun. "
"Rape, of course?"
"Probably. But he married her later, sir. "
"Lucky girl." Resignedly the sailor clasped his hands behind his neck and turned 
his gaze on the harbor. Rap would have enjoyed being furious, but anger would be 
a dangerous luxury at the moment. Besides, this man might be of some help if he 
would ever accept that Rap did not want to fight.
So this time it was Rap who resumed the conversation. The jotunn had dried 
already and he glinted all over as if he were swathed in gossamer.
"My name's Rap, sir."
Elbows and arms pivoted like the wings of a banking gull. Faded eyes regarded 
him with bored contempt. "Who cares, halfrnan?"
"Sorry, sir. "
A grunt. "But I'm Gathmor, first mate on Stormdancer. "
"Sir ... I'm seeking passage back to the mainland."
"Where on the mainland?"
"Zark, if possible, but anywhere will do. "
The weatherbeaten skin around the sailor's eyes crinkled in amusement. "Then 
you'll walk to Zark?"
"Yes, sir."
"I hope they're not keeping your dinner warm?"
"Sir, I don't mind working. I'll row, if I have to."
"I bet you would! Nice try, though."
"I don't understand! "
"Excisemen can count, lad." He lowered his hands, as if about to rise.
"Sir? I still don't understand! I can't sign on as a sailor?" Gathmor regarded 
him curiously. "You banged your head harder than I thought. Or else you haven't 
been here very long. There's a big-no, a huge-tax on exporting slaves from 
Faerie. Or importing them, for that matter. I use the word `tax' loosely."
"I'hi not a slave! "
"Of course not! Slavery's illegal within the Impire, we all know dual Terrible 
thing, slavery. Which is why you ran away, and why the excisemen know exactly 
how many we had in irons when we arrived and how many officers, and why they'll 
make sure we leave with no more and no less." He paused, as if asking if Rap was 
now satisfied.
"I was shipwrecked here!"
"What vessel?"
"Er ... Icedragon."
"From?"
"Krasnegar."
"Master?"
"Krauderbad."
"Cargo?"
Gathmor laughed. "Nice try, halfman. You don't know a bight from a bowsprit. Go 
back to the taro patch, boy. It's safer." He rose and stretched like a sunwarmed 
cat.
"Sir? Exchange me? Throw out an older man and take me? Then the count would 
still be all right!"
Gathmor's smile faded into something blood-curdling. "And what do we say to his 
wife when we get home? You think she'd accept a mule in a man's place? Or what 
do we do when you manage to escape? You hinting we keep slaves, too? "
"No, sir! Not at all, sir! "
Gathmor looked disbelieving and stepped closer as if he had decided to crack a 
few bones on principle. Then he seemed to--
He frowned. "You ever done any rowing?"
"Not much, sir. "
The sailor nodded. "It needs legs as well as arms. You'll get beaten for that, 
you know, damaging your master's property?" Chuckling, he strutted to the edge 
of the dock and raised his arms. Then he lowered them and looked back. "I don't 
say I don't break laws, mongrel. I'm a jotunn and I've got standards to keep up. 
But I'm not such an idiot as to break them here. Not for a damaged half-breed. " 
He hurled himself into the air, rolled up in a ball, and dropped out of sight. 
Rap heard no splash, but in a moment he saw the white head in the water, and 
brown arms thrusting against the sea as the sailor returned to his ship.
So that was that. Rap took a deep breath and tried to relax. And yet ... and yet 
that sailor had seemed oddly familiar. Just at the end there ... the way he 
walked? Rap wished he'd asked the man if he'd ever been to Krasnegar.
No, that was pure fancy. He was imagining it. His brains were all jangled by the 
bang on his head. Gathmor was just a very typical jotunn. Rap couldn't possibly 
have ever seen him before.

2
Zarkian etiquette frowned on women eating in the presence of men, so Inos sat 
facing the shrubbery, cross-legged on cushions on the grass. Free of her 
meal-sack burden, she wore a much cleaner and better quality chaddar, but she 
had defiantly left her hair uncovered and streaming loose. Honey cakes and 
sugared fruits, sweet coffee strong as horses, and pastries with heavenly 
centers ... She was famished.
Behind her, Azak and the sheik sipped coffee and conversed in measured tones, 
loud enough for her to listen. Bees and hummingbirds flitted to and fro below a 
canopy of branches that the wind was moving purposefully around, making light 
and shadow dance. A fountain played in a corner below a tree laden with 
rose-pink blossom, and the scent of flowers was heady.
On one side the garden faded back to become a courtyard and then the interior of 
the house itself; the opposite side was bounded by a colonnade bearing flowered 
vines. Beyond that lay rooftops and a silver vista of the bay, shining in the 
sun. This haven of peace hidden amid the bustle of the city was one of the 
loveliest nooks Inos had ever seen. Even within the grandeur of the palace she 
had found nothing finer.
Azak had been recounting everything he knew about Krasnegar and Rasha's 
interference in its affairs. Evidently he and the sheik had talked before, but 
not at such length. Once or twice the old man interposed a gentle question, but 
mostly he listened in silence.
Then the story came to an end, and so did Inos's hunger. She gulped down a final 
glass of coffee and turned around to join the conversation, feeling equipped now 
to face the day.
"Have I left out anything?" Azak demanded, with a dark look that dared her to 
belittle his efforts.
"I don't think so," she said.
Both men sat cross-legged, as she did, on cushions. They were dressed for the 
desert. In place of royal finery, Azak wore a loose kibr of rather dirty, rough 
material, tied at the waist with a length of rope and large enough to giftwrap a 
camel. Inos noted with astonishment how far apart his knees were.
The old man was Sheik Elkarath ak'something ak'someone. He was short for a djinn 
but comfortably bulky in a robe of many colors, like clotted rainbows. His 
round, ruddy face was half hidden by a voluminous snowy beard and even bushier 
white mustache; he had the thickest, whitest eyebrows she had ever seen. Despite 
the presence of his sultan fleeing from a dangerous sorceress, Sheik Elkarath 
remained remarkably unperturbed. He was obviously a man of wealth and untroubled 
success, with fine gems glinting on his plump fingers and the hilt of a curved 
dagger turked in his sash. His home was furnished with taste and riches, and 
Inos had been aware of many people busily employed there-she had been attended 
by two laughing granddaughters of remarkable beauty, and there had been 
efficientlooking young guards aplenty.
The old man acknowledged Inos with a faint indirect smile and then returned to 
studying his hands, fingering his rings. The morning sun was behind him, and his 
face was further shaded by a kaffiyeh so embroidered with gold and silver thread 
that it shone; the agal holding it in place bore four huge rubies. Azak's 
headdress, in contrast, resembled an old sack tied around by a strip of rag.
"The aunt is a complication," Elkarath remarked gently. "A necessary one," Azak 
replied, with a reproachful glance at Inos.
Pause-the sheik was a slow-spoken man. "Of course. But she provides another 
possible trail, and we did not have time to plan her escape as thoroughly." He 
moved a soft hand in a gesture of resignation.
"And the delay is dangerous," Azak agreed. "If the harlot has noticed our 
absence already, then she may follow. But the addition was unavoidable, as I 
said. "
The old man nodded without looking up. "We may yet turn events to our advantage, 
I think. "
Inos knew she ought to be suspicious of this unexpectedand so far 
unexplained-ally, but there was something very grandfatherly about him. His 
solid calmness was reassuring, and obviously Azak trusted him-Azak, who trusted 
nobody!
"On your side," the old man asked his hands, "those who helped are safely 
departed?"
"There is only one who could tell anything of substance," Azak said. "She has 
relatives in Thrugg. Since her mother's death she has continued to send support. 
She will be made welcome. "
Elkarath nodded gently again.
So Zana was only a half-sister, as Inos should have guessed from the great 
difference in age.
"What about Kar?" she asked. "Does he know?"
A frown flashed across Azak's face and was gone. "He knows nothing. I told him I 
was following Atharaz."
Inos waited to let the sheik ask, but he merely smiled understandingly. "Is that 
difficult?" she inquired.
"It may be dangerous for Kar," Azak said, "but it is our main hope. My brothers 
will likely believe, and mayhap even the slut herself will. Sultan Atharaz was a 
mighty ruler of yesteryear, conqueror of half of Zark, great even among my 
predecessors. Early in his reign he vanished, inexplicably."
After a moment's thought and irritation, Inos said, "He returned equally 
unexpectedly just after a successor had come forward and gained support?"
Azak's smile was as deadly as Kar's, even when it registered amusement. 
"Exactly. Since then the ploy has been used several times, frequently with 
success. Obviously it can turn against its user, but the ambitious will hesitate 
some time before volunteering to replace me."
Silence fell. The two men stared at the grass, apparently lost in thought, 
neither seeming ready to inform Inos of all the things she wanted to know-where 
was Kade, why was this place safe, and whither the fugitives were bound.
"1 trust, " she said, "that my aunt's journey will be less strenuous than my 
own? "
"She will not be brought here," Azak said calmly. "Do not worry. "
If he thought snubs would stop Inosolan asking questions, he had much to learn.
The sheik himself seemed as patient as a rock cultivating barnacles, but even 
Azak seemed unusually relaxed. She wondered which Azak was present now-the 
madcap horseman who rode over the roughest terrain at full suicidal gallop, or 
the cautious ruler who palmed a single fig rather than trust his subjects not to 
poison him. She wondered, also, if he ever visited his city without disguise, 
and she could not help but compare his style of kingship with her father's. Had 
anyone suggested to Holindarn that he needed guards-or even a sword-when he 
wandered about his realm, he would have hurled a bolt of royal scorn. She knew 
she did not understand Azak and might have involved herself in something worse 
than what she expected. Whatever that was, exactly.
"You had this expedition all planned before we had our talk last night?" she 
asked.
Azak frowned. "Not in detail. Sheik Elkarath made himself known to me some time 
ago and offered his services. I had toyed with the thought of going, but I was 
leaning toward sending Kar." An ironic smile twisted his face, and she noticed 
that he had not shaved. "The prospect of your company proved an irresistible 
persuasion."
Inos bowed her head in mocking acknowledgment of the compliment, thinking that 
she would not have dared entrust herself to Kar as protector-nor probably to 
Azak either, were he not defanged by the sorceress's curse.
"You told me outside," she asked him, "that here I should be secure from the 
sorceress?"
The big man scowled mightily. "I let my tongue run away like a woman's."
"Too late to call it back," she said. "What did you mean?" Azak merely glanced 
at the sheik, who fingered his rings for a moment.
"Sorcery is a great evil," the old man said at last. "But it is merely the 
strongest form of occult power. There is also magic, which is a lesser form, 
and-"
"I know of the words of power. Four make a sorcerer, and three make a mage, and 
. . . " Inos caught a fiery glare from Azak, telling her that she was not 
supposed to interrupt a sheik. "I beg your pardon, er ... your Honor. " What was 
the correct honorific for a sheik? There had been no sheiks around Kinvale. "Do 
please forgive my presumption and continue."
He frowned at his hands for a while, snowy brows hooding his eyes, but then he 
went on in a very soft voice. "If you already know of the words, then my task is 
simpler. You may not know that occult power is all about us. In my house in 
Ullacarn I have an actuary who is a genius with numbers. He can total a page of 
them at a single glance. His father served my father and was the finest doctor 
of sick camels in all Zark. Obviously their family cherishes a word of power."
As hers did! Inos had not told Azak of that and she did not think it had been 
mentioned during her shouting match with Rasha when she first arrived.
"In fact, I am certain of this," Elkarath said. He stretched out a hand, 
glittering in the sunlight. "This ring?" He pointed with a plump finger that 
shone just as bright.
Inos peered at the treasures. "Opal, is it not?" The stone was large, but it had 
a milky sheen, with little of the variegated fire for which opal was valued. The 
setting was of plain silver, and worn smooth. In a double handful of rubies and 
diamonds and sapphires, that seemed the least interesting gem by far. "It is 
magic?"
"Sorcerous!" the old man said dramatically. "It belonged to my 
great-grandfather. Where or how he acquired it I do not know."
"It detects sorcery?"
She was probably not supposed to have guessed that-Elkarath sighed crossly. 
"Yes, it does. When the actuary of whom I told you performs his wonders of 
ciphering, this stone will shine with green fire-and on the side closest to him. 
"
"I thought the words of power could not be detected by magic?" Inos felt 
suddenly very uneasy. She wondered whenor how-she would provoke a green flame 
from this occult device, or whether she already had done so. Since she had yet 
to gain as much as one copper groat of benefit from the word her father had told 
her, it seemed unfair that it should constantly be throwing her into danger.
"Words can not be detected even by sorcery," Elkarath agreed, "so 'tis said. But 
their use can certainly be detected."
"Tell her of my grandfather, Greatness?" Azak suggested.
"My grandfather of blessed memory." He turned a blandly hypocritical gaze on 
Inos, as if daring her to comment. "Blessed indeed." The sheik sighed. "An 
increaser of the Good, deeply mourned ... I speak with all due respect, your 
Majesty. "
"No offense. But should we not practice the relationships we agreed upon? "
"True, Lionslayer, then. He was a man of great powers. Your familiarity with the 
occult extends to comprehending the abilities of an adept? " The question 
appeared to be directed at Inos's knees, which was as close as the sheik had yet 
come to meeting her eye.
"An expert at anything?" Inos recalled Rasha saying that. "So it seems. The late 
Sultan Zorazak was an adept. Oftentimes have I strolled past the palace of an 
evening and seen my ring flame yellow. "
Azak chuckled coarsely. "Late in the evening, I presume?" The sheik seemed to 
smile in his general direction. "Sometimes. His strengths were legendary. But 
even when he rode by on a horse, I could see the evidence of his adepthood."
"A flawless horseman," Azak agreed sadly. "And Rasha?" Inos demanded.
Another exasperating pause told her that she was again misbehaving. The fountain 
tinkled, the leaves overhead rustled busily. Somewhere in the distance a child 
was crying. Inos persisted. "What color does Rasha turn your ring, Greatness?"
"Red," the old man said grumpily. "And very bright. Even here, so far from the 
palace, I can oftentimes tell when she is enchanting. You can understand my 
alarm when I first learned that there was sorcery loose in Arakkaran!"
"You said it was all around us. "
"No!" the sheik snapped. "I said the occult was all around us, not sorcery. I 
had never detected a sorcerer before, although my father claimed to have done 
so. In Ullacarn my ring flashes often-there must be several mages there, and I 
know of an adept or two in the interior, as well as geniuses. Even here in 
Arakkaran, I estimate at least three geniuses."
Was this devious old rogue threatening her or wasn't he? Inos wasn't sure. He 
still hadn't looked at her, so he could not have noticed her uneasiness. She 
said, "Then why do you not start collecting them and become a sorcerer?"
"Why do you not become a whore and grow rich?"
She stammered out her apology, annoyed by the twinkle of joy in Azak's red eyes. 
Apparently her words mollified Elkarath, or else he was content with having 
bested her, for he chuckled. Sunlight danced in the rubies on his headband.
"The theft would be not only immoral, but also difficult. A brief flash is not 
enough to locate a man exactly. When I said I knew of adepts in the interior, 
for example, I meant only that in certain villages I often see my ring shine 
yellow. Who the geniuses are in Arakkaran, I do not know. There! Did you see?"
"No, I didn't, your Greatness."
Azak frowned and shook his head, also.
"It was subtle," Elkarath said, "and likely distant, therefore, but a definite 
green flash. Downhill, toward the harbor." He poured himself another glass of 
coffee in celebration.
Downhill was not toward Inos, so she had not caused the signal, if there had 
been one. She decided she did not like this fusty old man and his stupid magic 
detector. It might endanger her, if her word of power ever started to do its 
job. It might alienate her from Azak, who would be happier not knowing about her 
supposed word. She had begun to have serious doubts about the sultan and his 
overly complex intriguing.
"So when you told me that here I would be safe from the sorceress, then all you 
meant was his Greatness's ring?" Azak scowled and nodded. "I may have overstated 
the situation in my overweening joy at seeing you safely arrived, your Majesty. 
"
Well! "But that's all?" Inos repeated. "A magic detector!" What sort of idiocy 
had she got herself into? She wondered if Kade had successfully fled the palace. 
She might have already boarded some foul-smelling tub in the harbor. Had Rasha 
yet thought to inspect the spurious royal procession jogging northward from the 
bay?
Or was the sorceress even now rolling on the floor in merriment at the antics of 
these half-witted mundane conspirators? "You don't also have a magic umbrella, 
do you, your Greatness?" Inos said. "Because I think that's what we need. I can 
see how your ring would help in a bazaar, or bargaining in the horse market. If 
it flashes for you every time your opponent opens his mouth, then you will be 
well advised to deal elsewhere. But that's not my-our-problem at the moment!" 
She caught herself starting to shout and forced some queenly dignity back into 
her voice. "At the moment we're attempting to escape, to hide from the 
sorceress. I fail to see how your ring can help at all. Suppose we get to the 
ship and set sail, and then your ring flashes red? That'll mean she's found us, 
won't it, and all the good it'll have done us will-"
"No ship," Azak said, pouring coffee from silver pot to crystal glass.
"No ship?"
"Too obvious. Too easy to search."
"Then how?" Inos could think of only one alternative, and she immediately didn't 
want to think about it.
"Camels, of course. " Mockery tugged at the corners of Azak's mouth. "Not a 
dozen ships a day leave the harbor, half going north, half south. On the other 
hand, there are scores of camel trains and mule trains and wagons trekking 
around Arakkaran in a hundred different directions. We shall vanish into this 
web. "
He was assuming that Rasha would need to inspect every traveler individually, 
but of course the alternative was to credit her with such power that nothing the 
fugitives could do would be any use at all. Doing nothing achieves nothing. That 
had been another of Rap's little mottoes.
Elkarath laughed softly. "I am a merchant. My caravan is even now being 
prepared. Every spring since long before you were born, child, I have made my 
annual journey to Ullacarn."
Spring? Summer was unpleasantly close. "Why not go in the winter?"
A sigh of patience. "Bulls come into season in winter. They become dangerous and 
unmanageable." If the sheik was smiling, she could not tell. The lack of eye 
contact was annoying her intensely. It wasn't just her-the old man never seemed 
to look directly at Azak, either.
"This was the opportunity his Greatness revealed to me," Azak said, as if 
explaining to a small, none-too-bright child. Inos tried to imagine Kade 
balanced precariously high on the vertiginous hump of a camel. She groaned. "How 
long?"
The old man shrugged his pillowed shoulders. "If we effect our escape, well, 
three months, usually. "
"Three months?" Bewildered, Inos stared at Azak. "You are willing to be gone for 
three months?"
"That should get us to Ullacarn. " Azak was certainly amused. "The fastest road 
between two good ports is never by camel. "
"I usually cross the Agonistes by Gaunt Pass, " Elkarath said, "head north 
through the Central Desert to visit the emerald mines, and then south along the 
Progiste foothills. Sometimes it takes less time, sometimes more. "
"Hub is much farther, of course," Azak added.
They were mocking her, but she was thinking only of three months on a camel. Oh, 
poor Kade! Still, the desert on a camel could be no worse than the taiga on a 
horse-could it? And Rasha would never look for them in the desert unless she 
realized just how crazy they all were.
"As I said," the sheik added, having the same thought, "your aunt's presence may 
aid us. Knowing she is with us, the sorceress may look less keenly at camels."
Inos knew exactly how Kade would look at them. She would beam bravely and insist 
that she had always wanted to cross a continent on a camel. "Where is Ullacarn, 
exactly?" she asked in a small voice and saw Azak registering satisfaction, as 
if her ignorance were just what he had expected. The sheik was fingering his 
rings again.
"Almost due west, on the Sea of Sorrows. "
The other side of Zark, then. "So what is at Ullacarn?"
"Nothing. From there we can sail."
"'Ib where?"
"To Qoble," Azak said irritably. "That is in the Impire. Then by land to Hub, 
and the Four. "
This was crazy! Three months on a camel, and then more months to Hub? The 
Krasnegar problem would be long solved by then. The wardens would dismiss her 
appeal as nothing but a historical curiosity. Maybe Kade's instincts had been 
right, and Rasha, whatever her failings, had been Inos's best hope. Three 
months!
It was too late to back out. Inos herself might just slink back to the dace and 
hope to escape punishment by pleading ignorqnce and the folly of youth, but 
Rasha would certainly find some spiteful torment to inflict on Azak for trying 
to deceive her, and the sheik might suffer even worse penalty for aiding him.
God of Madness!
Kade was always accusing her of being headstrong. What had she gotten herself 
into this time?
And then Inos caught a tiny flicker of a wink from Azak. It was so out of 
character that for a moment she thought she had been mistaken. But of course! He 
was doubling his tracks again. Elkarath was yet another blind alley, like the 
donkey. "It will be an interesting experience," she said graciously.
A ruddy-skinned boy of about six came running in across the grass. He flashed a 
wide-eyed glance at Azak, ignored Inos, and fell on his knees before the sheik, 
bowing a head haloed in curls that flamed as if new-wrought in copper. Elkarath 
reached out and tousled them affectionately.
"Well, Hope of My House?"
The reply was so breathless as to be almost one long word. 
"Greatness-my-father-bids-me-tell-you-that-all-is-prepared! "
"Good! " Elkarath raised an elbow, and Azak moved to help the old man rise. "We 
shall be on our way."
The boy had sprung to his feet and was staring up at the tall sultan with awe. 
"You a real lionslayer?"
Azak put fists on hips and looked down sternly. "I am."
"Where's your sword, then?"
With a movement almost too fast to see, the big man snatched the front of the 
lad's robe and raised him at arm's length, so that their eyes were level. "Who 
dares question me?"
"Let me down!" The boy stopped squirming when he realized that he was going to 
wriggle himself out of his clothes; already his legs were visibly longer. He 
clutched at the big hand supporting him and grinned. "How long can you hold me 
up like this? "
"I can stand it as long as you can. Hours and hours."
"I'm going to be a lionslayer when I grow up! And kill brigands! "
"Grow up? Tall and strong like me?"
"Taller! Stronger! " But his breathing was becoming labored, and his face 
growing redder by the minute.
"This tall, maybe?" Azak effortlessly swung him overhead and hung him on a tree 
branch. He squealed, and his grandfather-or more likely 
great-grandfather-bellowed with laughter and asked him what he would do now.
Inos rose, marveling at this new, strangely playful Azak. How could anyone trust 
a man who changed roles so easily? How could she trust this Sheik Elkarath, a 
total stranger who never looked anyone in the eye? That curious shiftiness made 
him seem like an invisible man, as if she could not see him at all.
Months on a camel? Or not? She must just hope that Azak had indeed winked at 
her, that he did have another coil on his rope, a better plan than three months 
on a camel. She looked up to find him glowering at her, his arms folded, his 
face shadowed again by his kaffiyeh. The wind playing in the boughs overhead 
sent bright coins of sunlight dancing over him like a glory, and for a moment he 
seemed larger than human. Deadly. Cruel. Ruthless. And honest as a djinn. How 
could she have dreamed of trusting him? He could abandon her if she became 
inconvenient, or sell her off to a slaver.
She had no hold over him at all.
"Having second thoughts, your Majesty?" a soft voice asked. Inos turned to look 
at the old sheik. He was plump, but it was only the contrast with Azak that had 
made him seem small. He was actually quite large, although stooped. For the 
first time she saw his eyes, red like a rooster's comb, shrouded in wrinkles, 
but as clear as the eyes of a child. Penetrating.
Inos raised her chin. "Of course not! " She had vowed to play politics from now 
on, and politics required taking risks.
And surely the risks were worthwhile in this case? This was the opportunity of a 
lifetime! She would experience the sort of wild escapade found only in the 
poets' romances-caravan to Ullacarn!
A woman of royal birth had no right ever to expect such an opportunity. A shiver 
of excitement ran through her, all the way to her toes and fingers. Adventure! 
Never since Yggingi's cohorts closed in around her had she felt truly free, and 
suddenly that oppressive aura of captivity fell away like breaking shell. 
Sensing escape at last, her heart began to pound with joy.
She grinned mightily at Azak. His scowl melted into a menacing smile. The big 
man smiled as he did everything elsedeliberately, fearlessly, and very well. He 
must be feeling the same sense of release, even more strongly than she.
"I will show you the desert, lady!" he said. "And teach you to love it. "
"You can try!"
They laughed simultaneously. How strange!
"Come then," the sheik said with a contented smile. "Let us depart. " He 
gestured for Azak to precede him, and the sun flashed a dazzling rainbow of 
flames from his jeweled hand.

3
Like a wreck on a reef, Rap was still slumped on the bench overlooking Milflor 
harbor. He hoped that his ankle would start feeling better soon, or that he 
would find the manliness just to walk on it anyway. Or that he might think of 
something else to do. The sun was really cooking him now, and it wasn't near 
noon yet.
He had an infuriating hunch that he was overlooking some means of escape.
The bench would easily hold seven or eight people, and from time to time others 
had approached as if intending to sit. After a glance at the tattered and 
battered young man sitting there, they had all just wandered on by.
Gathmor's lack of interest in him as either labor or merchandise had been 
alarming and unexpected. To have been thought worthy of a punch party was quite 
a compliment, though-he must have grown. If he had been in a fit state to accept 
the invitation and had endured the ensuing battering well enough, he might 
perhaps have been considered worth hiring.
Or enslaving. Everyone knew that jotnar traded in slaves. Why should that not be 
true in Faerie?
Father, where are you now that I need you ?
He must find a way off the island soon. He could not survive in the town without 
Thinal, nor in the jungle without Little Chicken. He wondered if the Thinal gang 
had survived, and which of them was presently in being, but he had no intention 
of going in search of Emine's statue. He was going in search of Inos.
Except he didn't know how to swim, and now he couldn't even walk. Failure! He 
was a failure.
He was very hungry and very thirsty and the sun was cooking him. He stared 
glumly at the line of ships moored along the dock. None resembled in the 
slightest the fat little cogs that plied to and fro between Krasnegar and the 
Impire. He wanted to study all the various craft in detail, but his farsight 
wasn't working as wall as usual. It made his head hurt more.
Gathmor's Storrndancer he should avoid. He would have to try all the others and 
hope to find one that needed an extra hand. He might be selling himself into 
slavery, but it seemed to be the only way he would ever reach the mainland. 
Staying here was going to result in slavery at best, with death a likely 
alternative.
What would a ship's captain say to a man who crawled up the gangplank on his 
hands and knees and asked to be hired? How was he ever going to get to Zark to 
help Inos?
There had to be a way!

4
The courtyard was small and dusty. Camels were much bigger than Kadolan had 
realized, and she pressed back in a corner, half resigned to being knocked over 
and trampled before she left this place. High stone walls and a blazing sun made 
it very hot and bright; it was extremely full of camels. Their smell was 
overpowering, their continual bellowing intolerable.
Fiercely whiskered men in swishing robes were leading camels, loading camels, 
cursing and beating camels. The camels bellowed back at the men and displayed 
mouthfuls of large yellow teeth. When she had arrived, an hour or more ago, 
great heaps of merchandise had been scattered over the ground; now they had been 
attached somehow to the camels, making the beasts wider and even more 
threatening. Kadolan had been happy at first to sit in a shady nook and watch 
all this fascinating activity, for it was a most unusual experience, but now 
there was no shade left, and almost nothing to sit on or hide behind.
Except, of course, camels. Madness! Inosolan, dear Inosolan!
Midnight messages, disguises, secret underground passages! Still, although she 
would not admit it except to herself, Kade was rather enjoying all the nonsense. 
Undoubtedly Queen Rasha must be behind it all, but if it amused her and amused 
Inos, there could be no harm in playing along with whatever they thought they 
were doing.
Having had a day to think the matter over, Kadolan had now decided that the idea 
of forcing Inosolan to marry a goblin was quite absurd. The imperor would never 
agree to such an abomination. The wardens, surely, were cultivated, civilized 
people who must know that goblins were vicious savages. They would never condemn 
an innocent girl to such a fate. Rasha herself had suffered at the hands of 
uncaring men. No, it had all been some sort of a bargaining ploy, obviously, not 
intended to be taken seriously.
Hrunnh!
Kadolan shied at the roar and looked up into the thick lashed eyes of a very 
tall camel and into a mouth full of amber tusks. Feeling like a rowboat being 
molested by a galleon, she eased away along the wall. If the brute wanted the 
corner position, she would not argue.
The black bedsheet in which she had been wrapped was quite a comfortable 
garment. Although it made her feel conspicuous, in fact it must be having 
exactly the opposite effect, for all the women she could see were similarly 
garbed. But her ankles ached with all the standing, and the smell was making her 
nauseous. Moreover, her face and hands had been dyed with some sort of berry 
juice. It had left her with a nasty, sticky feeling, and it seemed to be 
attracting more than her share of the flies. There was no shortage of those.
"Aunt!"
Kadolan swung around and was surprised to see that the young woman beside her 
had green eyes, very unusual in ... "Inos!" The green eyes twinkled. "I fear you 
have made an error, ma'am. I am Mistress Hathark, the wife of Seventh 
Lionslayer. "
"Oh? Well, if you say so, dear."
The newcomer peered around at the swirling mob of people and camels, having 
trouble because of the cloth hooding her face. Then, apparently reassured that 
no one was listening, she said quietly, "You are still my aunt, of course, but 
they are planning some other name for you. Did you have a pleasant journey?"
Nothing of Inosolan was visible except her eyes, but her voice gave her away. 
She was feeling guilty and wanted reassurance. "A most interesting experience, 
dear."
"You always did want to visit Hub, didn't you?"
Hub? That seemed very unlikely. "Certainly. Is that our destination?"
Inosolan bent close. "We are going to appeal to the Four!" she whispered 
dramatically. The words were barely audible over the roaring of the camels.
"That will be nice, dear."
Green eyes registered relief. "I am sure a ride on a camel will be highly 
educational. You always did want a ride on a camel, didn't you?"
"An appetite easily sated, I am sure."
"Er, yes."
"Inos," Kadolan said gently, "you do not seriously believe that her Majesty is 
unaware of this escapade, do you?"
Her niece flinched. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that she is a sorceress, that's all. "
"Oh!" Inosolan sighed with relief. "You didn't discuss it with her, or see her 
as you left, or ... or anything?"
"No, dear. I followed instructions, and had a most curious journey through 
several very evil-smelling tunnels with some very unlikely-looking guides ... 
But, no. I was just wondering how you could possibly expect to outwit anyone 
with Sultana Rasha's abilities. That's all."
"Well, we have help. I think we've escaped-will escape. I'm tired of being a 
prisoner! I am going to go and do something. Going to recover my kingdom! Aha!"
A very tall man had emerged from behind a camel at Inosolan's side. He was 
almost as anonymous as she was, in dirty-looking robes. An enormous sword hung 
at his side.
"Aunt, may I present my husband? He is a lionslayer. I understand lionslayers 
have no names, only numbers. He is Seventh Lionslayer."
"Fifth, now," Azak growled. "I am looking for Fourth. He has a slight squint, I 
believe." He stared all around, peering between the camels and over everyone 
else's head.
"What will you do with him when you find him?" Kadolan inquired uneasily.
The big man's red eyes fastened on her menacingly. "I shall persuade the 
poltroon to hasten at once to Sheik Elkarath and grovel before him, confessing 
the defects and shortcomings he has hitherto concealed. "
Nonplussed by that, Kadolan turned back to her niece. "Did you say `husband', 
dear?"
A flush appeared around Inosolan's green eyes, under the berry juice stain. "We 
shall be sharing a tent, of course, but I can explain-"
"No one," the sultan said loudly, "has ever complained that I snore! "
Inosolan glanced nervously at her aunt and sniggered. Kadolan sighed. Whatever 
nonsense they were planning, these youngsters were certainly convinced that they 
were outwitting the sorceress.
Then Azak said, "Ah!" triumphantly, and stalked off into the melee, shouldering 
smaller men aside.
"It's all right, Aunt," Inos said hastily. "Really, it is. I am quite safe with 
Azak! I'll explain as soon as we get a moment alone. He really did slay a lion, 
too-on his thirteenth birthday! So he tells me. "
"I'm sure he did."
"You can trust me."
"I'm sure I can, dear. "
"I haven't forgotten your eight-year-old Prince Whoever-heis. I'm not making 
eyes at Azak, honestly I'm not! "
"No, dear, I'm sure you're not."
Obviously Inos had not yet noticed the way Azak looked at her.
Dawn of Nothing:
One Moment in Annihilation's Waste, One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste, 
The stars are setting and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn of Nothing-Oh, make 
haste! Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§38, 1859)


EIGHT
Magic shadow shapes

1
Rap had sunk into a stupor. The sound of hooves on the flags roused him enough 
to glance behind him with farsight. Instantly he twisted around for a proper 
look at the procession advancing along the harbor road. The man in front was 
obviously a groom or a guide of some sort, and the four persons behind him were 
just as obviously rich visitors-a fat, balding man in front, an even fatter 
overdressed matron behind him, and then two overweight daughters.
They were riding hippogriffs.
A rush of memory sent his mind skittering back to a gloomy garret on icy winter 
nights in Krasnegar, with the debonair Andor suavely describing the great world 
to his wide-eyed young friend. In telling of Sagom's visit to Faerie, claiming 
it as his own, he had mentioned his ride on a hippogriff. Of all the tall tales 
he had told in those yarn-spinning sessions, that had been the only one that Rap 
had wanted to disbelieve. He loved horses so much that he had been revolted by 
the idea of a half-horse monster. But obviously hippogriffs were real, and now 
he was seeing them with his own eyes.
And they were splendid. The one in front was black as midnight, its head and 
neck shaped like an eagle's, but as large as a horse's. Its beak was a fearsome 
scimitar, its golden gaze ferocious. The taloned forelegs could have torn a man 
in half, and they paced in strange silence, while the hooved rear feet clopped 
loudly on the cobbles. The great wings were folded back, shrouding the riders' 
legs, and the feathers shone like jet. The second mount was a snowy gray; the 
other three were bays of various shades.
Entranced, Rap squinted, striving to squeeze the blurring out of his vision. As 
horses, these would have been beautiful creatures, and the daunting raptor heads 
made them magnificent. Unconsciously he reached out with his farsight and 
stroked the sable plumage of the lead mount. The hippogriff would feel nothing, 
but Rap could sense the texture of the feathers-hard, yet silken soft.
But ... something was wrong.
He closed his eyes, and still his farsight said that there were wings there, and 
eagle beaks. The troop had drawn level with him in their stately progress, 
floating above their own inky shadows. The locals were going about their 
business unperturbed, accustomed to seeing these handsome wonders, but some 
visitors were conspicuously pointing and making appreciative noises. Some had 
pulled out sketchbooks.
Rap opened his eyes again and still he felt confused. These lovelies looked like 
hippogriffs. Obviously they rode like horses, placid, well-trained horses. All 
mares, he saw. They were not the ugly hybrids he had imagined. Sunlight rippled 
on their plumage and their coats. They had beauty and grace. Why, then, was he 
so upset?
The troop had gone by him before understanding came. He could not see inside a 
horse's mind exactly, but he had enough empathy to sense its emotions and 
understand its concerns. He could summon most horses, or send them away, or calm 
them. He could do the same with dogs and cattle-with almost anything on four 
legs. And they all felt different. Mules and jackasses did not think like 
horses, although more like them than sheep did. These hippogriffs had minds like 
horses. They thought like horses.
They thought they were horses.
And a drayman's ancient hack standing between its shafts thought they were 
horses, too. It was watching them quite placidly. It would not have reacted so 
calmly to a donkey.
Again Rap reached out, and this time not with farsight. He stroked the lead 
mount's horsey mind, as he might have patted its neck, or it might have nuzzled 
his hand. He said a silent hello.
The hippogriff swung its great raven head up to look for him. Hello, Rap said 
again. I'm over here.
Claws scratching, rear feet clattering, the hippogriff turned toward him, 
wanting to be friendly, just as a horse would. The groom on its back swore and 
tugged at the reins and kicked.
Rap said hello to all the hippogriffs.
The rich visitors were not as skilled as the groom. Their mounts veered toward 
Rap. The daughters screamed, and the hippogriffs flinched at the noise as horses 
would, rolling their eyes and twisting their ears ... What ears?
They twisted their heads, too, as if the bits were hurting. How could bits hurt 
beaks like those?
But Rap was making trouble. The three bays were coming to visit him, ignoring 
their frantic riders. The man on the gray was disciplining it so crudely that it 
was fretting, rolling yellow eyes in its milk-white head, and starting to fight 
against his kicking and rein jerking. Why did hippogriffs not flap their wings 
when they were upset like that? The spectators were starting to notice.
This was folly! Hastily Rap sent soothing farewells, adding his efforts to those 
of the furious guide. The hippogriffs calmed at once and set off along the road. 
Rap turned around and faced the harbor again. Peace returned to the waterfront. 
A fugitive was crazy to create such disturbances in his own vicinity, right 
under the eye of the Gazebo.
So the hippogriffs were another deception? Undoubtedly all the other monsters in 
the zoo would be false, too, a fake threat to keep visitors from straying too 
far from town, perhaps. How long had this been going on, for God's sake? More 
than just centuries, obviously-thousands of years! Emine and his Protocol had 
just regulated it, that was all, and perhaps one reason even then had been to 
save the fairy folk from being exterminated completely.
Idiot! There was his answer! He had been forgetting his mastery over animals, 
and there were horses going by all the time. All he needed to do was find an 
unattended horse and call it over to him. Then he could unharness it, if it came 
with a wagon, and ride off to hide in the jungle until his ankle healed. Easy! 
And he could steal a dog from somewhere, just as he had once taken Fleabag from 
the goblins. The dog could catch food for him! Why hadn't he seen that sooner?
"You're the one called Rap," said the woman. It was more a statement than a 
question.
"Yes, ma'am." Rap had not noticed her before, sitting where Gathmor had, on the 
far end of the bench, but she was much more welcome company. Even if her gown 
was a simple white thing, sleeveless and plain, it was obviously well made, and 
she wore silver sandals. Clearly she was a lady of wealth, as well as no small 
beauty. She was shading herself with a parasol decorated in white, red, green, 
and blue, but otherwise she bore no color at all, no gems or flowers or 
embroidery. Just red lips, black eyes, brown skin, white damask, and silver 
sandals.
It was a long, long time since a pretty girl had smiled at him. His vision had 
cleared. The world was back in hard-edged focus. His head had stopped pounding, 
and the swelling on his ankle ...
May the Good preserve me!
"You are feeling better?" Again, barely a question. Neat white teeth.
"Yes, ma'am, thank you."
She frowned very slightly. Her face was a lovely thing, slender and delicate. 
She had a glorious complexion, far better than most imps'. Her dark hair was 
tied up in a tight bun. Quite obviously, she was a sorceress.
"You had a bad concussion, you know. And your ankle was broken. How on earth did 
you manage to walk this far?"
"I don't know, ma'am."
She shook her head reprovingly, but then she smiled again, a smile like a joyous 
carillon of bells. "Well, I want to hear the whole story."
"Starting where, ma'am?" She had the same sort of calm, inoffensive authority 
he'd seen in King Holindarn or his sister; it assumed a right to command so 
natural and unarguable that somehow the person being ordered around was not 
diminished by it. Inos had been starting to show some of the same manner when he 
had last met her. The sorceress must do her duty, which included giving orders; 
Rap's duty required him to obey them. They were equals, both just doing their 
duty.
"Start at the beginning, of course," she said. "No, you'll take that too 
literally-I'll try a few more questions first. You comfortable?"
He nodded sadly. He thought he had been happier before she cleared his head for 
him. Oh, what a mess he was in now! But he did feel good physically. He would 
sing and dance if that was what she wanted.
"I need to know about the imp," she said. "We've lost him, now he's stopped his 
pilfering. He's been using some other sort of power; very strong, but so brief 
that I can't locate it. Little Chicken I've met. He was badly shocked, but he'll 
be all right."
"Shocked, ma'am?"
"Would you like to be run through with a sword?"
"No, my lady. Please not!" And Rap was astonished at his own reaction. "I'm 
glad! I am really glad! I thought the soldiers had killed him. "
She shrugged. "I arrived just before he ran out of blood. I was too late to save 
three of the legionaries, though. "
Tragic, maybe, but there was something almost funny about one young goblin 
killing three armed Imperial soldiers and maiming however many others the 
sorceress had healed. "I'm glad to hear he survived, ma'am. I shouldn't be, 
because he hates me, but I'll be happy to see his big ugly face again."
"You will. Tell me about the imp. "
"Thinal, my lady? That's a long story!" Rap leaned his elbows on his knees and 
scowled fiercely at the harbor as he tried to recall everything he knew about 
Thinal's gang. He'd begin with Sagorn coming to visit the king, which meant 
explaining about Krasnegar, and then Jalon ... and Andor ... and Darad ...
Once he was started, he spoke very fast, faster than he ever had before, 
gabbling the words but never hesitating, pulling the story out of his memory in 
a smooth string, event after event in logical order, hardly having to think. He 
was vaguely grateful for the sunshade he was holding. It was similar to the 
lady's, but he had no idea where it had come from or when she had given it to 
him. He was even more grateful for the beaker of cold lemon cordial, although he 
did not remember getting that, either. Every few minutes he would pause and gulp 
some of it, and the beaker never seemed to run dry. He wondered in spare moments 
how it felt to do magic like that.
But he had little time for thinking of anything but his story. Almost before he 
stopped swallowing, his tongue would be racing off in full spate again, so fast 
that he wondered how she could comprehend a single word. She interrupted only 
once, though, asking for more details about the events in the fairy village.
Finished! He took a long draft and waited hopefully to hear if he had pleased 
her. The shadows had moved. His jaw ached. And the lady did not look pleased. 
She was staring at her hands and biting her lip, her eyes shielded by long 
lashes. "You're a good man, Master Rap."
Astonished, Rap took another drink.
She blinked. "I would apologize, if it meant anything. I would make recompense 
if I could. I can only assure you that I would never have done this to you had I 
... had it not been necessary."
"Done what, ma'am?"
"Put you in truth trance. I'll let it wear off slowly, so I don't give you a 
seizure."
Rap chuckled. "I should be worried, shouldn't I? You're a sorceress!"
She sighed. "Yes, I confess it. And you have occult powers yourself, don't you?"
You don't have to answer that, said a voice in his head. Deny it. She can't tell 
if you lie about that.
She had cured his ankle and the bump on his head. And he didn't like lying. 
Especially not to pretty ladies.
"Yes, ma'am."
Her eyes widened. "How many words?"
"just one."
"One word and you have mastery over animals? And people?"
"No, just animals. And I have farsight."
"An occult genius, and in two manifestations?" She was surprised by something. 
"But words can't be detected with magic. The truth trance wouldn't have worked 
for that. Why did you tell me?"
"I'd already given myself away, hadn't I? You could hear it, or feel it, or 
something?"
"The mastery, not the farsight. Even the most powerful sorcerers have difficulty 
detecting the sights being used. As soon as you started meddling with the 
hippogriffs, though, we had you." She smiled quizzically, inviting comment.
"That's what they're for? Sorcerer traps?"
She nodded, amused. "I doubt if they ever caught a mere genius before, but mages 
and sorcerers can never resist the monsters. Even adepts give themselves away 
sometimes. I've never heard of one just admitting to it, though. Your honesty 
may get you into trouble."
"I'm not in trouble now?"
"Well, yes you are. By the way, I am Oothiana, his Imperial Majesty's trusty and 
faithful proconsul of Faerie. "
Rap jumped up and bowed. Then he felt very foolish, standing there holding a 
parasol, so he sat down again. A proconsul was a very important person, a deputy 
of the imperor. She seemed much too young to hold such a post. Of course she was 
several years older than Inos, who was a queen, but that was different.
She raised her head and looked sadly at him with black eyes that took his breath 
away.
"Your story is fascinating, Master Rap. The trouble is, it doesn't make sense. 
You and Thinal followed the goblin through the magic casement-but magic 
casements don't do that. It might have been combined with a magic portal, I 
suppose, but a magic portal has to be specific, I think." A small frown marred 
her perfect brow. She was amazingly flawless. Rap could not find a single 
freckle or mole to spoil her perfection. "I suppose it may be possible. I'll 
ask. But you have certainly told me the truth as you know it, so I must assume 
that someone has planted a falsehood in your mind. " She bit her lip again. "And 
I'm afraid I know someone who will try to get it out. "
Rap was horrorstruck. "I haven't lied to you, my lady! I told you everything I 
know about Thinal and the sequentials. "
Her sudden smile was a fair dawn after a stormy night. "I didn't ask you the 
right question, did I? Well, do you know how you came to Faerie?"
"Yes, ma'am. Bright Water sent me."
Color drained from Oothiana's face as from a flower struck by killer frost. 
After a minute she said, "Tell me what you know of Bright Water! "
"She's witch of the north, one of the wardens of the Four ..."
Rap's tongue started to gallop again. This tale was shorter because she now knew 
much that he could leave out. He finished and took another swallow from that 
inexhaustible, ever-cool beaker.
The second story pleased the lady not at all. It seemed to worry her greatly. 
She laid the handle of her parasol across her lap and twirled it idly to and 
fro, using it as a toy instead of a sunshade, clearly not thinking of it at all.
"I have not handled this well," she muttered. "My lady?"
"I never guessed one of the three would have the impertinence-the sheer, brazen 
audacity ... How could I have known? "
She stopped and turned to look landward. Rap became aware that legionaries were 
coming, running along the harbor road, and the crowd was scattering to give them 
passage. He ought to be alarmed, he knew, but he stayed calm, either because of 
the lady's bewitchment, or just because he was with her and she was the 
imperor's deputy-so she said, anyway.
The soldiers ran in columns of two, all laden with full armor and bulky packs 
topped by mattocks and axes; with three javelins apiece, and swords and shields. 
That must be a terrible load for a man and a terrible pace, too, in this heat, 
and Rap could almost hear the sweat splashing off them as they pounded by on the 
far side of the broad street. One or two were staggering, eyes bulging in 
scarlet faces.
He turned to the lady, who was watching the procession with an expression of 
disgust.
"Punishment?"
"Partly. Is it fair? No, of course not. But two hundred men failing to arrest 
three juvenile vagrants must naturally be punished." She grimaced even more 
strongly and looked away. Gradually the sound of boots and clanking armor faded 
into the distance. Rap felt uneasy and puzzled.
"You arrived before dawn," Oothiana said, smiling again as if nothing had 
interrupted their talk. "That explains why none of us felt the ripples." She 
paused, and Rap had a strange feeling that she was not really speaking to him, 
that she was rehearsing excuses. What could possible frighten a sorceress who 
was also proconsul of an Imperial province?
Oothiana might be a very nice person when she wasn't governing or ensorceling. 
Maybe she wasn't as young or graceful as she seemed, in her simple white robe 
and silver sandals, but somehow he felt that much of her was genuine. Her 
manners certainly were. The Rasha sorceress had appeared far more beautiful, and 
carnal. She had almost driven him out of his mind. Consumed by love for her-all 
right, lust-he would have done anything to please her, but he'd never for a 
moment thought he'd like her.
"The first we knew of you," the lady said, "was the fairy death cry. Then there 
were a couple of those fast clicks. Those would have been the sequential spell 
in use, I see now, but they were too brief to track down. That must be how your 
group friend has stayed independent for so long. The spell must be a beautiful 
piece of work. When I finally did locate you, you looked fairly harmless. Three 
young smugglers been shipwrecked, I thought, but he was suspicious-he always 
is-and said just to watch and see what you did. You just came here, to Milflor. 
"
"Who . . ." A young dwarf, of course! Rap failed to finish the question, not 
wanting to have his guess confirmed. O Gods! Oothiana sighed. "We didn't know 
which one of you had been blessed by the fairy, but we picked up the thievery 
when you got close to town. That really was very funny to watch."
Rap held his breath, expecting to hear about trolls next. But apparently not.
"We never guessed that all three of you would turn out to have power! But we got 
the goblin, and now I have you. That only leaves the group, and he-they-can't 
evade us for long. An elderly scholar, or a handsome, apparently rich young 
playboy?"
"Or a minstrel, ma'am, but I don't think he's very likely, because the others 
don't trust his judgment. Or a giant jotunn warrior, but he'll need a doctor, 
because-"
"Rap," she said sadly, "do stop! You'll hate yourself terribly when you sober 
up. Let's go now. " She rose and laid her parasol on the bench.
Sober? Rap had never felt more clear-headed in his life. And he had been trying 
to help! Feeling a little hurt, he stood up, also, laying his parasol beside 
hers, near the beaker of lemonade. After a moment he glanced back and saw that 
the bench was empty.

2
She was tall for an imp, but he was taller. He walked on her right, staying a 
handsbreadth back because that felt respectful, and all the time wondering if he 
was doing this because he wanted to or because she had made him want to, and 
what the difference was. What did the expression "changed his mind" ever really 
mean, anyway?
Oothiana seemed miraculously cool and fresh as she walked along the waterfront, 
where everyone else was slouching under the whip of the tropic sun. No one 
seemed to notice her go by, yet she was never crowded or jostled. Rap wondered 
if she wore a sort of low-grade sorcerous aura. Or something.
The column of loaded legionaries came running back, still in double time, but 
with a new centurion in command now. There did not seem to be as many of them as 
before, and more had the unsteady gait of men about to drop. The bystanders 
stared after them with expressions of contempt and bewilderment.
"What happens to the ones who fall down?" Rap asked brashly.
Oothiana kept her eyes on the cobbles. "That is the punishment. The first twenty 
to fall will be executed. "
"What! That's barbaric! Weren't they just ordinary, mundane soldiers trying to 
do their best? Against magic?" What then would be the penalty for thieves, 
vagabonds, and murderers? "Dwarves enjoy cruelty, like goblins?" He was being 
foolish, but he couldn't have very much to lose.
She shook her head without looking up. "No. The punishment is incidental. What 
counts is the example."
Example? Somehow that coldblooded logic seemed to make the cruelty even more 
horrible, but obviously the proconsul did not approve either.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Not your idea, was it?"
She glanced sideways at him. "No. Now, I can tell you're bursting with 
questions. Go ahead and ask. I'll answer what I can. "
"Thank you very much, ma'am. I just wondered ... the men the goblin killed? Was 
that revenge? Magic justice?" Oothiana looked puzzled. "How do you mean?"
"Were they the ones who killed the fairies in the village? Did Little Chicken's 
... er ... power seek them out?"
"Oh, no! The words don't work that way. And the man who did that ... He has been 
punished."
There was a strange intensity in that remark, and she quickly changed the 
subject. "You haven't asked what's in store for you."
"I think I can guess. It isn't the weather, is it?"
"What isn't?"
"Mother Unonini told me about the Four. Jotunn raiders, Imperial legions, 
dragons ... but she said that West's prerogative was the weather. It isn't, is 
it?"
"No, it isn't weather. It's here, in Faerie. You know what it is. It's-"
The proconsul's attention was diverted by a wall exploding just ahead. Milflor 
taverns were flimsy, airy structures like the houses, and one of them now 
collapsed, emitting a rolling ball of four or five imps and two or three jotnar. 
The noise increased considerably as more revelers emerged from the ruins in 
search of room to brawl, waving furniture and leaping into the fray. The 
proconsul shrugged her lovely shoulders and detoured around them.
She walked in silence until Rap wondered if he had offended her, but then she 
said, "It's very evil, and completely unstoppable. West is always the most 
powerful of the Four, Master Rap. The Protocol says that when a warden dies, 
then the other three shall elect a successor, witch or warlock. Of course a very 
strong candidate may elect himself, as Zinixo did, but normally the vacant 
throne is filled by election. The exception is West. When the red throne becomes 
vacant, then the strongest of the three takes that one and leaves his former 
throne to a newcomer. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am. That wasn't what happened this time?"
"No. Suddenly Ag-An was dead and Zinixo was warlock. Assassination's not rare 
for the other three, but it's only been done to West maybe six or seven times 
since Emine's day. West's strength comes from his prerogative, of course, 
although in this case he's also immensely powerful in his own right. "
They were going by the ships now. As Thinal had said, most were galleys, but 
there were also a few barks and argosies, and larger, awkward lateen-rigged 
vessels-none of them types that ever came to Krasnegar. Rap would have enjoyed 
looking at them had he not been more concerned by his own approaching death. "In 
his own right, ma'am?"
Oothiana still did not look around. "Zinixo may well be the most powerful 
sorcerer since Is-an-ok, or even Thraine. Ag-An was no mean witch, yet he 
destroyed her and two guardian votaries single-handed. South and East didn't 
want Faerie to fall into the hands of an unknown, so they tried to take him out 
at once. He knocked them aside like puffballs."
Again conversation was interrupted. A dozen drunken, halfnaked jotnar were 
staggering along the road in line abreast, bellowing out a bawdy song, waving 
clubs that looked like table legs, and forcing everyone else to back up. Rap 
expected Oothiana to summon troops, but she barely seemed to notice the 
disturbance. Just before the mob reached her, all the rioters suddenly turned 
hard left. Roaring happily, the line went lurching into a tavern. The crowd 
dispersed, grumbling, and the road was clear. She had not missed a step.
"By now, of course," the sorceress said, "the dwarf's unassailable. He'll hold 
the red throne for centuries. Only all the others acting together could kill 
him, and that would mean a pitched battle. He might even win it. "
"West's prerogative is the supply of magic," Rap said, "so now he knows hundreds 
of words?"
"No. That isn't the way it works; four's the limit. But any sorcerer can be put 
under a loyalty spell by a stronger sorcerer. Then he's a votary, an aide. All 
warlocks and witches do it, but the others must hunt for people who already know 
words. West has a dependable supply. This is where they come from."
"One fairy, one word?" She nodded.
"Oh, then you ... Beg pardon, my lady. "
She raised those glorious eyes to his, and he was astonished to see them 
glistening. "Yes, me. I want you to know, even if you can never understand 
completely. I can't help myself, Master Rap. I'm telling you all this because it 
doesn't matter and you deserve to know why you will suffer, but if talking might 
hurt my master's interests in any way, then I couldn't do it. I can't be 
disloyal in the slightest and I must obey any order he gives me; if he told me 
to kill myself, I would do it. I can't betray him. "
"You don't like him, though?" Rap said.
"Dwarves," she said cautiously, "tend to be mean and suspicious and rapacious. "
"Could he not make you like him?"
Oothiana walked a dozen paces in silence, and then her answer was very quiet. 
"Easily. Would that be kinder? You're going to hate me tomorrow, Rap. But he 
leaves my thoughts free because he values my advice, I think, or maybe just to 
see if I'm plotting something. He doesn't trust loyalty, whether it's occult or 
real. Your word is valuable, and my master told me to get it for him. So I must 
do as he says, even though I hate doing so."
"And Thinal's, when you catch them, and Little Chicken's."
"Especially Little Chicken's."
Three words? The warlock could force them to share, and have three mages, then 
perhaps kill two of them to have one stronger mage. Add one more word to have a 
slave sorcerer ... "So I become a slave?"
She bit her lip with pearly teeth. "It's worse than that! He's more likely to 
force your word out of you for somebody else. Even if he had use for a faun ... 
Pardon my saying this, but you're not a very typical faun. You're too big. "
Rap shivered, despite the heat. "But he could make me look like anything he 
wanted, couldn't he? An imp, a dwarf, an elf, even? "
"Yes, he could. But another sorcerer would see the spell on you. That would be 
two spells, you see, and a glamour spell like that, an appearance spell, happens 
to be a conspicuous thing. A loyalty spell is much harder to detect. 
Unfortunately." Unfortunately! "So I tell my word and then I die?"
She spoke without looking at him. "It may not happen right away. Perhaps not for 
some time. But I have to take you to jail now, and I expect that's where you'll 
stay."
Again they walked for a while in silence, the lady watching the ground, ignoring 
the watercarts and hucksters plying their wares to the ships. Now that his 
farsight had been restored, Rap had trouble ignoring the ships. The jotunn in 
him had always been interested in ships. One of the galleys must be Gathmor's 
Stormdancer. But he was going to die soon, here in Faerie, so ships did not 
matter now. Magic just possibly might.
"So a faun-jotunn cross won't be much use to him. How does he choose who gets 
elevated?"
She glanced at him oddly. "You think clearly, Master Rap. Yes, he has trouble, 
because there is always a faint chance he will create a sorcerer more powerful 
than himself. That's why I said you might live quite a while yet; while he makes 
up his mind."
In a cell! "Little Chicken ... Why did the fairy do that? I mean, why did she 
die?"
Oothiana hesitated. "I'm going to have to put a forbiddance on you, telling you 
all this. These are well-kept secrets you're learning! "
"That's all right, ma'am. I don't know why you're telling me all these things 
anyway. But I do appreciate it! " he added hastily. She flashed another of her 
sad little smiles. "Perhaps because I enjoy speaking to an honest man for a 
change."
Rap turned his face away quickly. She did not seem to be joking, either.
"This way." She pointed, and headed across the road, which now branched, the 
left side going on along the waterfront and the moorings, the right angling up 
the hill. He could sense the shielding around the palace quite close by. On the 
skyline, still distinct, the roof and the upper level of the Gazebo formed a 
sinister all-seeing eye, bright in the rays of the sun setting over the mainland 
town.
"What the fairy told the goblin was her name. Alone of all the peoples of 
Pandemia, fairies seem to have no magic, but they are born knowing their names 
and die if they ever speak them."
"But why?" Rap blurted. Then he felt very stupid. Ask her why the sky is blue, 
dummy! That was how the Gods had made the world.
Yet Oothiana did not seem to find the question stupid, "No one is certain. My 
master says-and he is a very powerful sorcerer, remember, so his wisdom is 
great-he suspects that a word is not truly a fairy's own name. What use is a 
name you can never use? He thinks they must be the names of elementals, a sort 
of guardian spirit . . . "
Ah! Now Rap sensed something intelligible in the insanity of magic.
"But he admits that even he is guessing," she concluded. Straight ahead the road 
reached a high wall of pointed timbers and an imposing gateway topped by the 
imperor's four-pointed star. This palisade was in much better shape than the 
feeble ruin around the town and it was an occult barrier, also, blocking 
farsight completely. Beyond the archway were trees, flowers, and parkland that 
showed only to his eyes.
His chance to question might be coming to an end. He began planning his next 
query, but the proconsul forestalled him. "Why would a fairy ever tell his 
secret name to anyone? TWo reasons, Master Rap. One is that life can sometimes 
become the less pleasant alternative. Intense pain applied long enough will 
persuade anyone to do anything, and may move a man faster when applied to his 
dear ones. Apart from their names, fairies are as human as imps, or fauns, or 
jotnar-and they dislike watching their children suffer. "
Rap remembered the bloodstains Little Chicken had found in the fairy hut. 
Whoever had done that had been punished-how? Why? He shivered. "And the second 
reason, my lady?"
"That is a great mystery. Rarely, a fairy will volunteer his name, or her name, 
to certain persons, like your goblin friend. What exactly did she ask him?"
"She asked all of us the same question-what our dream was. "
At the gate guards were lining up, snapping to attention, drawing swords to 
greet the proconsul. Blades flashed bright enough to hurt the eye of the 
beholder.
"Most people don't know what they really want from life, Master Rap. We all 
think we know, but we often deceive ourselves in one way or another. We think we 
want to help a cause and secretly desire only power. We think we love, when what 
we feel is lust. We crave revenge and call it justice. Our self deceptions are 
endless. Apparently the fairyfolk can always tell, and this is a curse upon 
them, for if a fairy meets someone who has a clear, driving, unswerving aim, 
then the fairy is driven, also-driven to tell his secret, occult name. You and 
the imp evidently do not have such an aim. You do not know what you are truly 
seeking. The goblin obviously does."
"He told her he wanted to kill me!"
"Then that is everything he wants from life. He would willingly die to achieve 
that one satisfaction, and the fairy recognized that. Whether she approved or 
disapproved would not matter; she could not escape her compulsion. She told him 
her name and so gave him a word of power to help him achieve his goal."
"But," Rap protested, "I told her my-"
"Then you lied. Unwittingly, I am sure, but either you do not want it enough, or 
you really want something else. The fairy would know your heart better than you. 
It is their only power, and their curse. Be silent a moment."
She stopped before she reached the honor guard now flanking the gateway. The 
commander advanced a step and saluted an empty patch of air several paces in 
front of her. He waited, then made a ritual reply, and waited again. Puzzled, 
Rap glanced at Oothiana. She was smiling mischievously as she watched the 
farcical performance. Apparently the legionaries saw the governor as being 
accompanied by a large escort. The one-sided ceremony continued for a few 
moments, but finally the imaginary force was given formal permission to proceed, 
and Oothiana began walking again. Her humble prisoner trailed alongside, being 
equally honored by the stiffly saluting soldiers. He wondered if he was riding 
in an invisible coach drawn by imaginary horses.
As he passed below the Imperial star, Rap lost his occult view of the town and 
harbor, and the palace grounds were revealed to his farsight. They surprised 
him-trees and folds in the hillside had been cleverly used to conceal many more 
buildings than he had suspected. Most were low wooden structures, largely open 
to the friendly climate. He identified stables and barracks nearby and grander 
mansions at higher levels. This was a garden palace, much more pleasant than 
Holinarn's bleak castle in Krasnegar, or the forbidding impish stronghold at 
Pondague, which he had glimpsed from afar while tracking Inos.
As they rounded a bend and drew out of sight of the bewitched guards, Oothiana 
began to laugh. He turned to her in surprise.
"I love doing that!" she said.
He smiled. Suddenly she was no great lady, but a pretty girl, not so very much 
older than himself, sharing her mirth at the juvenile prank she had just played. 
Not as beautiful as Inos, of course, but fair enough, and human under the 
grandeur.
"After hiding my powers so long," she said, "I enjoy being free to use them."
"Doing sorcery, you mean?"
"Yes, although that was only magic, and a small, illusionmagic at that. "
"I didn't know there was a difference. "
"Oh, yes. Magic is what a mage does. It's temporary. A sorcerer can also do 
sorcery, which is permanent, quite different. For instance-"
Rap's farsight picked up the newcomer at the same moment as hers did. He wheeled 
around. The road was flanked here by a grassy bank smothered in pale-blue 
flowers. On the top of it stood a dwarf, who had certainly not been there a 
second earlier.
He had chosen a vantage point where he could look down on them. On level ground 
he would not have reached to Rap's shoulder, but he was thick and broad, with 
the oversize head and hands of his race. His hair and beard were a metallic gray 
shade, curled like turnings from a lathe, and his face had the color and texture 
of rock.
But if dwarves aged like the races Rap knew, then this one was in his sixties 
and therefore could not be Zinixo himself; moreover a warlock would not wear 
such obviously shabby work clothes and heavy boots.
"Raspnex?" Oothiana said coldly. "I thought you were keeping watch. "
"Change of orders." He gestured over his shoulder with an oversize thumb. "He 
wants you. Now. "
Oothiana stiffened and drew a nervous breath. "In the Gazebo?"
"In Hub. You have some explaining to do. "
Instantly all expression left the lady's face. That had to be magic, Rap 
thought.
"I--yes," she said calmly. "All right. This is one of the intrud-"
"Not wanted. I'll take care of him."
Oothiana nodded, glanced at Rap as if about to say some thing, and just 
vanished. Rap jumped, then looked warily up at Raspnex, who was regarding him 
contemptuously.
"Never liked fauns. Stubborn lot. Roisterers and spendthrifts. "
Rap could not see how humility would improve his situation much. "Will you let 
me go if I promise to be boorish and niggardly, like a dwarf?"
Raspnex growled, an unpleasant grinding sound. "You told the lady your green 
friend wants to kill you, so I'd assume that-"
"You were spying?"
The older man scowled. "I was. Mind your manners, faun. You want to share a cell 
with him, or would you rather not?"
"Share," Rap said. "He wants to kill me in public. He won't hurt me without an 
audience."
"You pick odd buddies! Jail is along-"
"I'm hungry," Rap said.
The dwarf rubbed his beard, staring at Rap as if puzzled. Then he growled, "Come 
here, lad."
Rap walked over and climbed the bank. He stopped as soon as his eyes were level 
with the dwarf's-two beads of gray flint staring out from a face of pitted, 
weathered sandstone. Even the wrinkles around those eyes looked more like 
cracks.
"You know what's going to happen!" His voice was a subterranean rumble. "How 
come you're not more scared?"
Silly question. Rap would feel plenty scared if he let himself think about the 
matter. Fortunately, he hadn't had time yet to brood and screw himself up into a 
funk. "You're not dead till your heart stops," he said; one of his mother's 
little homilies. His heart was thumping pretty firmly right now.
Raspnex pouted. "Kinda fancy the proconsul?"
"Fine lady."
A faint nod. "Not just faun. What else are you?"
"Jotunn."
"Gods, what a horrible mixture! Explains that flash of temper we saw, though, 
doesn't it? Still, might work. A jotunn would've tried something brainless, and 
a faun would've just sulked. How are you for stubbornness, with those 
bloodlines?"
Rap had no trouble keeping his temper reined in when he knew he was being bated. 
The man had called him over to put him within punch-swinging range. Only idiots 
fell into traps that obvious.
The dwarf grinned suddenly, showing teeth like quartz pebbles. "Here," he said. 
He held out a sandwich of black bread and hot, greasy meat.
"Thank you, sir!" Rap grabbed the offering. As he bit into it, he noticed that 
some of it was already missing.
"Don't thank me; thank the skinny recruit with the buck teeth. What're you 
smirking about?"
Rap spoke with his mouth full. "Never thought I'd ever meet a better thief than 
Thinal. "
Raspnex chuckled. "Jail's that way, faun. Be off with you! "
The jail was a long way north, at the end of the cape. Rap's feet knew the way 
and took him there, pacing unswervingly along the middle of the road, making 
confident choices at every branch or intersection. He remembered how Inos had 
been abducted by Rasha in the same manner.
Three times carriages veered around him in clouds of dust and oaths. Other 
pedestrians were rare, but once he came face to face with a full maniple 
marching toward him. Apparently his ensorceled behavior was not unknown in those 
parts, for where a free man would have been mindlessly trampled into the dirt, 
the centurion bellowed for the lines to open, and Rap proceeded along a corridor 
of oak-faced legionaries heading in the opposite direction. Not one of them met 
his eye.
His way led across grassy meadow, through groves of trees, and alongside formal 
gardens. Many of the buildings were shielded from his gaze, smaller shields 
within the greater shield around the whole complex. He identified the recruits' 
barracks, but not the particular buck-toothed lad who had lost his lunch. He saw 
workshops and a library and private houses. He admired flower beds and herb 
gardens.
He also saw a great many statues, some of them so ancient that they had 
weathered into shapeless pillars. They flanked the paths, being especially 
common at crossroads. He assumed that they represented former proconsuls or 
imperors or both, for almost all were male. Most were depicted in either uniform 
or antique costume, but many of the newer ones wore nothing at all, or only a 
helmet. He could think of few things sillier than a man brandishing a sword when 
he had no clothes on, but he saw some of those, also.
And at last he arrived at a patch of forest, an unkempt stretch of trees and 
undergrowth. His feet continued without hesitation along a winding dirt track 
through the middle of this. His eyes caught glimpses of many little huts hidden 
away in the bushes, but each one was enclosed in its own fence of occult 
shielding, so he could not tell who inhabited this strange settlement. He 
thought he could guess, though. The flimsy wickerwork structures were identical 
to the houses in the fairy village, and on the same miniature scale.
Finally his feet turned off along a narrow side path. He headed into a wall of 
shielding and broke through, and a few more steps released the compulsion on 
him. He stumbled to a halt a few paces from a cabin door. Lounging on a log in 
the shade, idly fanning away flies with a handful of fern fronds, sat Little 
Chicken.
His angular eyes widened, then he grinned. "Welcome to prison, Flat Nose," he 
said.

3
She had escaped from jail-Inos clutched that thought as she would have clutched 
a rope while dangling over a precipice. The caravan had departed before noon and 
struck out at once into unfamiliar terrain, skirting the hills she knew from 
Azak's hunting trips. She had thought she already knew, what true desert was, 
but she had been mistaken.
The sun's light was a naked blade, its heat a bludgeon. The drab land lay dead 
and wrinkled as if it had been moist at the creation of the world and ever since 
been steadily shriveling and crumbling in that sadistic glare. A few goatherds 
and a scattering of miners were all who lived there; except of course for ants 
and millipedes and scorpions and poisonous snakes. And lots of flies. Lots and 
lots of flies.
Camels were noisy and smelly and untrustworthy. Their gait was better than the 
motion of a boat, perhaps, but similar enough to make her queasy. With no reins 
to hold, she felt like a useless passenger in a very uncomfortable chair 
floating high above the arid dirt. In a few days, when she had become more 
familiar with camels, and when there was no doubt that the fugitives had safely 
escaped from Rasha-then, Azak said, he would happily give his supposed wife a 
few lessons in the finer points of camel riding. Meanwhile, the nose rope of her 
mount would remain attached to the baggage animal in front, and if she needed 
anything she should just ask Fooni, and excuse-him-he-was-busynow.
But they had escaped from Arakkaran. That one thought was a lake of cool water 
in the barren mental landscape, a jewel without equal, rain in a drought.
As the sun dipped to the dark sharp edges of the Agonistes, the caravan came to 
an oasis. It was disappointing, not at all the soothing romantic setting Inos 
had expected. There were no buildings. The palms were few and scraggy, and the 
grass had been grazed to the roots over the years by thousands of caravans 
converging on the capital. There was a well for people and a couple of muddy 
ponds for the livestock, but no shade or shelter from a scorching wind that 
sprang up unexpectedly to blow dust into eyes and teeth. The camels expressed 
their opinions very loudly and unmistakably, and Inos agreed wholeheartedly.
Having been returned to ground level, with legs unexpectedly wobbly, she learned 
that her first duty was to erect the tent in which Azak and his supposed family 
would spend the night. Azak, she discovered, was now Third Lionslayer and 
hunting for Second, who had so far managed to avoid him.
The tent was erected, but Fooni did most of the work, while mocking and berating 
Inos for her incompetence with invective as shrill as a knife on glass.
Fooni was one of the sheik's great-granddaughters. She had been attached to Inos 
as tutor and guide. Fooni was worse than the flies. Having seen only her eyes 
and hands, Inos had no clear idea of Fooni's age, but she could be no more that 
twelve. She was tiny, shrill, impudent, and infuriatingly knowledgeable about 
the nomadic life of a camel train. She treated Inos as a moronic, benighted 
foreigner; nagged her, rode rings around her on one of the baggage camels, and 
wasted no chance to humiliate her. Inos spent the next half hour trying to 
locate Fooni accurately on her list of Those Who Deserve to Die, and eventually 
put her in fourth place, right after the dowager duchess of Kinvale.
But the tent was erected at last. It was emphatically not the neatest of the 
many black tents that had sprouted among the palms and it was the last to be 
completed. Inos was on the point of heading off to fetch water when she noticed 
that the other women were carrying their jars on their heads; she sent Fooni 
instead.
Then she busied herself with laying out the bedding mats. There was little room 
to spare, especially when she arranged a safety zone around Azak's sleeping 
place. If any of the three women accidentally touched him in the night-his hand 
or even his hair-she would be burned.
Having done what she could in the stuffy, flapping dimness, Inos emerged into 
the twilight. Kade sat on the entrance mat amid a swirl of white feathers.
"By the sacred balance, Aunt, what are you doing? "
"Plucking the fowl, dear. "
Inos knelt down beside her on the rug, horrified and guilty. A royal princess 
plucking a miserable scrawny chicken? How could she have been so cruel as to 
subject the old woman to this? And her feelings were not helped by the twinkle 
of amusement in Kade's blue eyes. She was apparently smiling under her yashmak.
Inos gulped. "I didn't know ... Where did you learn to do that? "
"In the palace kitchens, when I was small."
"Let me. "
"No, it's quite a restful occupation. You can gut it for me, if you know how. "
"I don't!"
"Doesn't matter," Kade said contentedly. "I do. It is great fun to try something 
one has not done for so long. It all comes back!"
Inos said. "Oh. " And then words failed her. Dear Kade! She had obviously 
accepted this expedition and was making the best of it. Had Inos lost such an 
argument, she would have sulked for days.
Kade never sulked. "To be honest, dear, I was finding that opulent palace life a 
little dull. Travel is always very stimulating, is it not?"
"Yes. Very." Inos decided she would peel the onions and enjoy a good weep. She 
glanced around the bustling campground and there was no sign of the despicable 
Fooni. She was probably deep in gossip with other children, or women.
"I never realized," Kade said, "how beautiful the desert would be-in its own 
way, of course."
Beautiful? Inos looked again, more carefully. The sky was blood-red behind the 
peaks, the first stars were twinkling in the east, and all around the campground 
the little braziers were glowing in the dusk. The wind had dwindled until now it 
seemed almost cool on her face.
"I suppose it has a certain ... unusual charm," she admitted. "But the best part 
is that I think we have escaped from the sorceress!"
"Too early to tell, dear. " Kade held the runtish fowl at arm's length and 
squinted at it. "If she knows where we are, she can come and get us any time, 
I'm sure. "
"You don't seem too worried by that prospect."
Kade sighed and picked at a few stray quills. "I am still inclined to trust 
Sultana Rasha, my dear. As for Hub-"
"What color pajamas," Inos snarled, "does a goblin wear? Sugar pink, to set off 
his green skin? Or arterial red in case he spills something on them?"
Kade tut-tutted dismissively, although she kept her attention on the scraggy 
little carcass. "I've told you, dear, I can't believe that they were serious 
about that. Certainly the imperor . . ."
Inos told her ears to stop listening. Kade had an unlimited ability to believe 
what she wanted to believe and she was determined not to admit that warlocks and 
imperors might ever do anything ungentlemanly, or a witch anything unladylike. 
Easy for her! She wasn't going to be bearing ugly little green babies.
Before Inos could find a logical argument to rebut Kade's impractical instincts, 
Azak came striding up with a swish of his long kibr. He sank down on his heels 
and stared at Inos.
"You survive, your Majesty?"
She thought he was being humorous, but she wasn't sure; his moods were too hard 
to read. "Certainly I survive. I wouldn't ache all over like this if I were 
dead."
He nodded in satisfaction and glanced at Kade, who was raptly holding the 
chicken over the brazier, singeing pinfeathers. "We northern women are tough," 
Inos said.
"I knew that, or I would not have planned this."
Inos detected an odd note in his voice and wondered if she had at last managed 
to light a spark of admiration in the giant. Could tent erecting have succeeded 
where hawking and riding had failed? The idea brought a twinge of uneasiness, 
almost guilt. If anyone deserved admiration in this situation, it was Kade.
"Are you First Lionslayer yet?"
Azak grunted. "Second, still. First wishes to put the matter to the test. I do 
not anticipate any problems, but if he should be lucky enough to kill me, I am 
confident the sheik will see you safely to Ullacarn. "
Kade looked around sharply, Inos dropped the onion and knife. "Kill you? ..."
"Unlikely, as I said. I am undoubtedly the better man, and a minor flesh wound 
is normally adequate in these cases."
He was serious!
This was not the Impire.
And even in the Impire men fought duels.
Inos was so aghast that she could hardly find words. "What does it matter 
whether you are First or Second Lionslayer? Why--"
"It matters, " he said flatly.
It mattered to him. Whether or not it mattered to anyone else was immaterial. 
Azak's life was his own to risk; Inos and her aunt were mere passengers on his 
expedition. He was not their paid guide or guard. He owed them nothing; they had 
no hold upon him.
Somehow this new outrage seemed to throw the whole insane situation into a 
different focus. Camels ... desert ... hiding from a sorceress ...
"Azak! That's crazy! The whole thing is crazyl Surely everyone here knows who 
you really are, and--"
"Of course they know!" he snapped, his voice harsh enough to stop her protests 
dead in their tracks. "It will be the locals we must conceal you from."
"What locals?" She looked around at the empty land beyond the tents.
"Most nights we shall stop at more settled places than thisat mines, and goat 
farms. Elkarath is a trader, remember, not a tourist. As a djinn, I shall not be 
noticed, except for my stature and remarkable physical presence, and I can do 
nothing to diminish those. You have green eyes; your aunt's are blue. We do not 
want word of such freaks drifting back along the trade routes to Rasha. But the 
sheik's people are almost all his relatives, and reliable. "
"Not the lionslayers, though. They're not his relatives!"
"Of course not. Most of them are mine. First is a nephew I banished only a few 
months ago. That is why he feels the call of honor, that one of us must bleed. 
Quite understandable. In his place I should feel the same, and I shall let him 
off as lightly as I can. But the lionslayers will not betray me. You can always 
trust the code of the lionslayers."
"I thought you despised lionslayers?"
Azak shook his head. In the fading light she could not make out his expression. 
"What leads you to think that?"
"Just something Kar said as we were leaving the palace." That seemed like a long 
time ago.
"Kar may despise them. I neither know nor especially care what Kar thinks about 
lionslayers, I pity them. Their fathers ruled kingdoms; their sons will herd 
camels. "
"Talking of kingdoms, how can you possibly risk being absent from yours for 
three months?"
"It will be longer," Azak said, but Inos thought she detected an odd note in his 
voice, and she remembered his subtle wink in Elkarath's garden. She also sensed 
a warning that made her bristle. The only person within earshot was Kade.
What devious intrigue was boiling inside that deceitful djinn mind? Surely he 
could not suspect Kade of being unfaithful? He rose suddenly, looming against 
the stars. "I must go, while there is still light enough for fighting."
"By the way," he added, "I don't like onions."
He stalked away before Inos could think of a suitable reply. After a few 
minutes, she decided that there wasn't one.

4
Night came at last to Faerie.
Moonlight shone in through the wicker walls of the hut, and Rap could not sleep.
He was not accustomed to a hammock, for one thing. Little Chicken was snoring, 
for another.
There were bugs, for a million more. He ought to be used to bugs by now.
He was going to die. The word his mother had told him was worth more than his 
life; not that any man's life would be worth very much to a warlock, probably.
He had always thought of jails as being cramped, dark places, built of stone; 
smelly and cold, like the dungeons in Krasnegar. In Holindarn's day those had 
been mainly used as storerooms, and the palace children had played in them 
sometimes. At eleven or so, Inos had enjoyed ordering people locked up, 
tortured, and beheaded. As she would never let anyone else order such things 
done to her, the rest of the gang had tired of that game long before she did.
Proconsul Oothiana's jail was not like those nasty stone boxes at all. The but 
was airy and pleasant, and even reasonably clean. Clear water flowed up 
magically in a stone bowl and trickled away down a magical drain that served for 
a toilet.
There were many of these huts in the woods, and probably they were all much the 
same, all set in the same sort of grassy clearing. Quite probably these were the 
most pleasant dungeons in all Pandemia, with fresh air, room to exercise, and no 
ugly stone walls. Birdsong and sunlight.
The but was enclosed in an invisible occult barrier. Merely by closing his eyes, 
Rap had been able to establish that the shielding cut off the tops of trees, so 
it was a dome like the dome that enclosed the whole palace compound, or the 
smaller shield over the castle at Krasnegar. Only someone with farsight would 
know that it was there.
But the magical cowl did more than block his farsight; it was also an aversion 
spell. Inisso's chamber of puissance had been protected by such a spell, but 
that one had been old and worn out. This one was irresistible. If he tried to 
walk away down the path, he felt a strong desire to turn back. If he persisted, 
he became giddy and nauseous. Inos had often accused him of being stubborn, but 
he wasn't stubborn enough to resist what that sorcery did to his mind. He just 
could not make his feet obey.
Simple!
A pleasant jail. At mealtimes imp slaves brought around baskets of food. 
Legionaries guarded them, and they were not affected by the spell.
Simple, but very effective. He was going to die.
Unless the mosquitoes ate him first, he would be tortured until he told someone 
his word of power and then he would die, just like the fairies who had been 
abducted from the village.
And Inos would never know that he had even tried.
Buzzing of insects, and sea noises. Then the wind shifted in the treetops, and 
he heard a distant beat.
He sat up suddenly, tipping himself sprawling from the hammock to the dirt 
floor. He yelped. The goblin grunted, twisted, and went back to sleep.
Rap fumbled around to find his boots, then walked out into the moonlight. The 
night was warm and soft and restless.
Now that he was trying to hear it, it was quite audible, a rhythmic tattoo 
somewhere to the north of him, nearer the end of the headland. The fairy child 
had said, "I will clap for you to dance."
So at least some of the fairy captives were still alive, somewhere in this jail. 
The moon was shining, and they were danc- ing. The beat was complex, and 
stirring, and joyous, and it brought a hard knot to his throat. The fairies 
faced the same fate as he did, but they were much more innocent. He was a thief, 
an accessory to murder, and any respectable court of justice would condemn him 
to death anyway. Their crime was to have been born fairies.
In the faint, hopeless hope that the aversion spell did not work at night, he 
headed for the path through the trees. In a flew minutes he felt strongly 
disinclined to go any farther. He stopped, balked, a few paces from the occult 
shield that blocked his farsight.
He was going to die.
So was the goblin, although he might not have realized that yet. Possibly the 
forbiddance that Proconsul Oothiana had put upon Rap would prevent him from 
warning Little Chicken of his fate. He hadn't tried. There was no hurry. Warlock 
Zinixo might take weeks or months to make up his mind, but eventually he would 
come for all his captives, each in turn.
A pleasant jail. Night-flowering plants were putting out heavy, drowsy scents. 
Bugs whined nearby, and the sea rumbled far away. Somewhere in middle distance 
the beat of the fairy dance rose and fell as the warm wind toyed with it. If he 
were Zinixo, Rap decided, then he would definitely harvest the faun and the 
goblin before slaughtering any of the fairies.
With a sudden chilling insight, he realized that this was not a prison at all, 
it was a farm. The fairy inmates were livestock, and this jungle jail had been 
designed to give them familiar surroundings. There might be hundreds of them 
living here, generation after generation, bred to die. Oothiana had hintedvery 
evil, she had said. Completely unstoppable.
He'd tried to escape, of course, but the aversion spell was implacable. The 
twists in the path had prevented him from working up any real speed, and no 
matter how hard he had tried, he had always flailed to a stop before he reached 
the barricade, then come scrambling back from it in panic and revulsion.
He'd persuaded Little Chicken to make the attempt, too. The goblin did not even 
need a long runway to build up speed. His occult strength let him take off from 
a crouch like an arrow leaving a bow; but it also enabled him to stop dead in 
his tracks when he wanted to, and of course the aversion spell made him want to. 
The advantage of his great speed had been completely canceled out. The path was 
gouged where he had dug in his heels, and he had come no nearer the invisible 
barricade than Rap had.
But possibly his heart had not been in it. He had not seemed very convinced by 
Rap's explanations, preferring to believe his own conclusion that the magic 
merely stopped him from going more than a certain distance from the hut. He 
thought in terms of a tether, not a fence. That was very logical, Rap supposed, 
if you didn't have farsight. It might even be true, and the aversion spell might 
be quite unrelated to the shielding. It might just increase in power 
indefinitely as the distance from the but increased. He couldn't prove matters 
either way, because he couldn't tell if the aversion spell extended outside the 
shielding ...
Oh, yes he could!
With a yelp of triumph, Rap went racing back to the but to waken the goblin.
Rap's mother had firmly maintained that all cats were gray in the dark. Goblins 
in moonlight, likewise, lost any hint of being green. But they could still look 
dangerously surly at having been roused from a sound sleep. What dreams a goblin 
might enjoy did not bear thinking about.
Little Chicken stood on the path, scratching, slapping bugs, and showing his 
teeth in a fearsome scowl. His angular eyes glinted crossly as he listened to 
Rap's proposal. He nodded agreement. "Easy. "
"You'll do it?"
"No. Then you leave the island? Leave me? You think again, Flat Nose. Find 
better idea."
He turned on his heel, intent on returning to his hammock. Rap grabbed his 
shoulder. Little Chicken spun around, knocking Rap's arm away with a blow so 
hard that for a moment Rap thought the bones were broken.
Never let him save your life ...
Facing a hate-filled glare, he wondered if he was about to die at once. The 
goblin had not mentioned the subject of trash since Rap had come to the jail. He 
had spoken very little, spending most of the afternoon just eyeing Rap like a 
cat eyeing a bird. He might now consider that his diversionary attack on the 
soldiers had relieved him of any further obligation to his former master. In 
that case, Little Chicken was now free to pursue his life's ambition. The only 
thing that could be restraining him was the flimsy hope that he might one day 
drag his victim back to Raven Totem to enjoy the fun in relaxed family 
surroundings. If he ever discarded that hope, then he could start work anytime. 
Like now.
"I'll get you out, too!" Rap protested, gingerly rubbing his bruise.
Even the silvery trail of moonlight was enough to show the goblin's skepticism. 
"How?"
"I'll go and get a horse and a rope. I know where the stables are. "
Little Chicken scowled. "Two horses, maybe?"
He thought he could outwrestle a horse? He might be right, although he knew 
little about horses.
"Isn't room on the path for two," Rap said. "I'll toss the rope in to you. You 
tie it around yourself and turn your back. When the horse moves, you won't have 
time to undo the knots." Giant goblin teeth showed in a sneer. "Break rope! "
"I'll yank you out before you have time to break the rope! What's the matter, 
you scared?"
"Don't trust you. " Again he moved as if headed for bed. "I'm sorry," Rap said. 
"I thought we were friends and buddies right now, or I wouldn't have asked to be 
put in your cage. You won't trust my word that I'll come back for you?"
The goblin was still standing there, his back turned. "No."
"I'll have a lot more chance of escaping from the island if you're still helping 
me. You must see that! "
Silence. Obviously Little Chicken was tempted.
"I'm going to try to stow away on a ship. If I can reach the mainland, then I'll 
head for Zark, to find Inos. But you might be able to knock me on the head and 
carry me off to the northlands. You never know your luck. You certainly can't do 
that here in Faerie. "
Slowly the goblin turned around. He stared hard at Rap. "You promise to come 
back with horse and get me out?"
"I swear. "
Little Chicken grunted. "Suppose I try what you want. Suppose you break both 
legs, and the spell isn't thin, like you said. Suppose you land in it, not 
through it?"
"Then I'll probably go insane. You'll be able to listen to my screams all night 
long. "
"Real men don't scream!" The goblin stepped forward and grasped the back of 
Rap's belt. "Feet first, faceup?"
"Good a way as any, " Rap said, and was immediately hoisted into the air. 
Fingers like ropes tightened around his left ankle.
He held himself rigid. He watched treetops rush by against the moon-washed sky. 
Little Chicken hurtled along the path, bearing Rap overhead like a javelin. When 
the aversion spell stopped him, he threw, and Rap went soaring onward, feet 
first.
He felt a spasm of unspeakable horror, but he was through the magic before he 
could even cry out.
He did not break his legs, although he did twist an ankle, the same one he had 
injured before. He also collected an assortment of scrapes and bruises while 
rolling to a stop in a bush. He rose, dusted himself off, and tried a few steps 
to make sure he could walk. Then he looked back at the goblin, who had retreated 
away from the barrier.
"Thanks!" Rap said. "Guess it worked. I'll be back, I promise. "
One way or the other ...
Limping as fast as he could bear, he headed for the stables he had seen near the 
main gate. Proconsul Oothiana, the dwarf Raspnex, the warlock himself ... and 
there might be many other sorcerers around the palace grounds, Zinixo's 
votaries.
He shunned the paths, cutting across-country, staying close to patches of 
woodland whenever possible, and also close to the many shielded buildings 
because what blocked his farsight must block sorcerers' farsight, too. The wind 
was rising, and clouds scudded through the moonlit sky. Far off to his right lay 
the town of Milflor, its dying cooking fires a scattering of fallen stars. To 
his left was the hogback of the headland. Beyond that lay the ocean, and the 
mainland, and Zark. And Inos.
He was only one man, moving in darkness in a very large area. He thought he 
would reach the stables safely, but they might well be guarded, and to steal one 
horse in the middle of the night would panic all the others unless he used 
mastery. Mastery might be detected if there was another sorcerer awake 
somewhere. Even if he could pull off the horsethievery, he would then have to 
cross the palace grounds again, back to the jail. Only when he had done all that 
would he be able to make tracks for the harbor.
Common sense said he should forget the goblin and head straight for the docks. 
He resisted the temptation. He planned to live to an extreme old age, and that 
meant he must live with his conscience for a long time yet. He had promised to 
return.
It was a very long shot, and yet he was beginning to feel hopeful again. A word 
of power made its owner lucky, Sagorn had said. His luck was holding so far, for 
he was almost at the stables. He came around the corner of a shielded building, 
heard a voice, and dropped flat in the grass.
Farsight found no one to explain the voice, but it did tell him that there was a 
local circle of shielding a short way in front of the building. The sound seemed 
to be coming from there, at the edge of one of the major roads. After a moment, 
when there was no outcry, he raised his head cautiously and took a look. As he 
suspected, the speaker was Proconsul Oothiana, her white robe glimmering in the 
moonlight.
She was standing on a grass verge between the pavement and an ornamental flower 
bed. She had her back to him, and she was speaking in low, rapid tones to a man. 
All Rap could see of the man was that he was tall, and wearing a military 
helmet, and holding a spear.
Oothiana could not detect Rap with farsight while she was inside that shielding. 
He certainly ought to vanish before she emerged, but ...
But why would these two hold their conversation out here in the middle of the 
night, and why had the sorceress cast an occult shield around them? It 
overlapped half the width of the roadway, but it enclosed nothing except the two 
people.
A word of power made its owner lucky. Was this curious opportunity somehow 
important?
The moon sailed majestically into a cloud, the parkland sank into darkness. 
Faunish common sense went down to abject defeat before a harebrained nosiness 
that would have shamed an imp-Rap began to wriggle forward through the dewy 
grass. He aimed for some of the shrubbery on his side of the road, across from 
the sorceress. When he reached it, he rose on hands and knees in the dark and 
crawled around until he was as close as he could get to the strange 
conversation. He lay down and watched, straining his ears to catch the words.
She was talking about him! Describing how she had caught him. He had not 
expected that. It made him realize that he was eavesdropping on a private 
conversation. He felt even worse when she made some nonsensical comments about 
his manners and his courage. And then the moon found a gap in the clouds, the 
darkness lifted, and Rap's hair rose on his scalp. Proconsul Oothiana was 
speaking to a statue.
It represented a warrior leaning on a spear, and the helmet Rap had noticed 
earlier was all it was wearing. One arm was raised high to clutch the spear; its 
head was bowed, its shoulders drooped in a stance of weariness and defeat. That 
was curious, because all the others Rap had bothered to look at had depicted 
arrogance and triumph. They had all been set on high stone pedestals, while this 
one stood on a low plinth, no higher than a herring box; and only this one had 
occult shielding around it.
Why should a sorceress be telling a statue about Rap? Andor had mentioned 
talking statues that would predict the future, just as magic casements and 
preflecting pools did.
Then the lady got to the part about Bright Water. Somebody whistled in 
astonishment, and scorpions danced on Rap's skin. "I bet that upset the mole!" 
said a deep male voice.
"He was almost too furious to be scared, I think!"
"That would be historic!"
"He thinks she's in league with the other two, ganging up on him."
"Hal" the statue said. "Our esteemed master thinks everyone is ganging up on 
him."
"But why would she have sent them to Faerie? That's trespass! "
"I don't know." The statue straightened, suddenly tall, rubbing its back with 
its free hand as if it ached.
Rap dropped his face into the grass. Oothiana still had her back to him, but the 
statue was staring over her head in his direction-assuming that talking statues 
could see, of course.
"Can't you think of anything?" Oothiana cried. "If you can come up with some 
good ideas, then he'll realize that you're valuable to him-"
"Goose droppings! I'm more valuable to him here. You know that! Why doesn't he 
just ask her?"
"That's what I suggested," the sorceress said sadly. "I think he will. But it 
gets him involved in the Krasnegar thing, you see? And now he wants the girl."
Rap's head lifted of its own accord. What girl?
"What girl?" the statue asked. It had slumped back into its former slouch, but 
perhaps it was just looking down at the sorceress. If it was supposed to 
represent an imp, it was a little larger than life size, and it stood on a 
plinth. Oothiana was on the ground, and lower.
"The princess, or queen. Inosolan."
"I thought East promised to produce her for the imperor?"
"But he hasn't. Not yet. And now it seems that whoever stole her away wasn't one 
of his votaries!"
"Whose, then?"
"Don't now. Maybe no one's. The faun says she was a djinn, named Rasha. "
"Mm?" the statue said. "A wild card? Well, why does the dwarf want her, this 
Inosolan? "
"Who knows? Just because the others do, maybe. She seems to be important."
The statue grunted. "Can he find her?"
"I don't know! That's what I have to do next ... Oh, Godsthe time! I must go, 
love! I have to find out if the faun knows where this Rasha woman took her."
Again insects crawled on Rap's skin. He had told the lady about Rasha and he'd 
said she was a djinn, but perhaps he hadn't mentioned Arakkaran. He laid his 
head down on the damp, earth-scented grass and shivered. If Oothiana went 
looking for him and discovered his absence, then the chase would be on at once. 
Now he dare not go back to rescue Little Chicken. For Inos's sake, he must 
escape now, or else kill himself before they caught him.
Silence.
The moon was sliding behind another cloud. He sneaked a quick look as the light 
faded. Oothiana had stepped up on the plinth and was embracing the statue, 
kissing it. Its free arm was around her, holding her tight.
The kiss ended. She whispered something. The statue responded, equally quietly. 
Endearments. "I must go, my love," she said, and her voice cracked.
Rap started easing backward, planning to leave, but Oothiana jumped down to the 
ground then, and he froze. She set off at once, heading toward the building. 
When she left the circle of shielding she could have detected him with farsight, 
but either his stillness escaped her notice or she was too intent on her own 
troubles. As she vanished into the doorway, he relaxed and wiped his streaming 
forehead on the grass. Whew!
He began to move again.
The statue said, "You! Faun! Come here."

5
"Always did have good night vision," the statue said in a satisfied tone.
Standing within the shielding, Rap had farsight now to confirm what his eyes had 
been refusing to believe. Furthermore, the moon had come out again. The statue 
was only partly a statue. Feet and legs of solid marble supported a torso of ... 
meat, a living man. His right hand, the one held high to grip the spear, was 
stone also, almost to the elbow. That was what was holding him upright. His left 
arm seemed unaffected. So far.
"I'm Rap," Rap said hoarsely, mostly to see if he was capable of speaking 
without throwing up.
"Yodello, legate of the army in Faerie, retired."
He had been a burly, well-built man, big for an imp. Even now, with pain and 
horror shining out of half-mad eyes, he retained some trace of his former 
authority.
"How'd you get out, prisoner?"
Rap started to back away, and his feet froze as firmly as Yodello's. His mouth 
spoke without his wanting it to. "I was caged with the goblin. He has a word of 
power, and it's made him inhumanly strong. He threw me through the aversion 
spell."
Yodello chortled harshly. "And how did he know to try that? And what do you know 
about aversion spells?"
"I have a word, also. I have farsight, so I could see the shielding, and I met 
an aversion spell in Inisso's castle."
"In Krasnegar?"
"Yes, sir."
"A faun in the far north? And do you know where this Inosolan is?"
Rap tried to bite his tongue, but again his mouth seemed to have a mind of its 
own. "The sorceress said she was from somewhere called Arakkaran. You're a 
wage!" Rap added quickly. That was why he also was rooted to the spot.
"My, my! You know a lot! For a mere genius, that is."
"You killed the fairies. Three of them. The lady told me that the man who did 
that was being punished." But Rap found it hard to believe that even three 
murders justified this ghastly death, a creeping petrification. How long had 
this wretch endured his public torment?
"Not punished by her!" said the half-man.
"Please, sir, let me go? I have to escape, to save Inos! I must find a ship to 
hide in." Surely this Yodello could never be on Zinixo's side?
The soldier shook his head, and moonlight flashed from his bronze helmet. 
"They'd search all the ships with a looking glass. If you go somewhere else, you 
might manage to elude Oothie for a while, but the dwarf could track you like a 
bloodhound, if he was upset enough to come after you himself. Or his uncle 
might, even. He has others. No one escapes from a sorcerer, Master Rap."
And Little Chicken had been present in the chamber when Rasha appeared. He, too, 
had heard the name of Arakkaran. Rap sank down on the grass in despair. His 
ankle throbbed painfully, but worse was the sudden horror eating into his heart 
like an arctic chill. Inos! For a moment there was silence, then he said, 
"You're a mage? You could help me."
"You could help me."
"Me?" Rap peered up at the man's face, silver in the moonlight. He wasn't sure 
if the soldier was joking, or mocking him, or had just been driven mad by his 
ordeal. It must be at least a month, maybe two, since the attack on the fairy 
village. Had Yodello been suffering here all that time? Every day his former 
subordinates would go marching past. Someone must have to feed him, clean him.
"How can I possibly help you?"
"Scratch my left ankle. It's driving me crazy."
"Very funny," Rap said. "If I can do anything to help, I will, but if I can't, 
then I'd like to go now. "
"But I never have anyone to talk to! You can keep me company for a while. Talk 
to me. Kill me. "
"What?"
"Yes!" The soldier sighed and rubbed his ribs with his elbow, as if he had an 
itch there. "You can, of course. That's how you can help me, see? There's a shed 
around the back. You go find a shovel. They might even have an ax. Then you can 
cut my throat. You can put me out of my misery. "
"I couldn't do that," Rap said with a very dry mouth. "Sure you could!" Yodello 
sounded jovial, fatherly. He might have been encouraging a nervous recruit. 
"Very good opportunity for you. A man never knows what he is until he's killed 
someone. Ready?"
"No! " Rap slithered backward on the grass. He felt the edge of the roadway 
under one elbow. Behead a man with a shovel? "But you answered my call, Master 
Rap! You came within the shield. Then I had you. I'm a mage. Not as much a mage 
as I was, but I can still control a boy with only one word of power. "
"Once I'm outside the shielding again you can't!" Rap protested. What an idiot 
he had been! He should have run away when Yodello summoned him, but he'd thought 
the statue might shout loud enough to bring the lady back.
"Oh, but I can!" Yodello smiled grimly and dropped his voice to a confidential 
whisper. "Stand up, Master Rap. Right. Now, Master Rap, you're going to go over 
to where you were eavesdropping and then come back here. "
Rap's legs spun him around so suddenly that he almost lost his balance. Without 
even favoring his sore ankle, he raced across the road, turned, and raced back 
again. Then he stood and scowled up at the soldier in baffled humiliation.
Yodello was smiling happily. "See? I can make you do anything. It's only magic, 
but it would last long enough for you to go and bring a shovel to kill me with. 
"
"But you're not going to," Rap said. "You're Zinixo's votary, aren't you? You're 
bound to serve him, and he wouldn't want you to die soon, because he enjoys 
watching you suffer. So you can't make me kill you."
"Not bad. Good guess. Sit down. Let's talk."
Rap sat, not sure whether he had a choice in the matter or not. He didn't want 
to talk, but he wouldn't mind listening. "I thought magic was temporary?" 
Oothiana had said that.
"Sir."
"Sir! Beg pardon. Sir."
Yodello stretched painfully and rubbed his back again. Then he reached up to 
swat a bug on the living part of his raised arm. How could a mosquito possibly 
find any blood in an arm that had been held up like that for weeks? The 
mosquitoes must be a large part of the torture. His meat parts were speckled 
like sandpaper.
"Yes, magic is temporary. I put a compulsion on you to make you go out and come 
back, but if I sent you into town and back, it might wear off before you 
returned. Lot o' times it makes no difference. I could turn your head into an 
anvil. It would be a temporary anvil, but you'd be permanently dead."
Andor's mastery had worn off with time, Rap recalled.
The moon soared into silver-hemmed cloud again, and the light faded. Yodello 
slumped lower, hanging by his grip on the spear, his head sagging. He had closed 
his eyes, as if half asleep.
"Why won't you help me escape from the warlock?" Rap whispered.
The soldier whispered back. "Same reason I can't make you kill me. Same reason 
I'm going to send you back to your cell. Loyalty."
He wanted Rap to kill him, though, and it would certainly be an act of mercy. 
Was Rap man enough to do it, not because of a compulsion, but just out of pity?
"I'll try," he said suddenly. "I can't promise, but I'll go and see what they 
have in the shed, and ... "
The tribune spoke to his own feet, not raising his head. "Thanks, lad, but it's 
no go. Even if you found a sword, I'd have to stop you. Out of loyalty. A mage 
is never a match for any sorcerer. 'Specially the dwarf. He's a giant!" Yodello 
chuckled softly.
"Think I'm mad," he added, "don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Doesn't matter whether I am or not. In a week or so it'll get to my plumbing. 
Then I burst, I suppose. I'm looking forward to it. I just wish he cared more."
Rap waited a puzzled moment and then said, "Wish who cared, sir?"
"The dwarf!" the statue said angrily. "If he would just come and gloat, then I 
could defy him. I could show courage. I'm not afraid to die!" He thumped his 
free fist against a stone thigh. His voice rose. "I'm a soldier! I'll die 
bravely! But he won't give me the satisfaction. He never comes. He gave the 
orders, so here I am, on view. I'm washed, fed, and shaved. It's all done as he 
said, every day. Every day the stone creeps higher up my legs. The centuries 
march by here every day and see, but he never does. He doesn't care! Whether I'm 
brave or not doesn't matter at all. He's probably forgotten all about me. I'm an 
example, that's all. A human poster." His voice trailed away in despair.
Rap thought of the legionaries he'd seen running. Oothiana had called them 
examples. "Why an example? Why all this? Because you killed the fairies?"
"Because I tried to steal from a dwarf," Yodello said dully. Dwarves' parsimony 
was legendary. Ask a man where he acquired something and, if he didn't want to 
tell, he'd say, I stole it from a dwarf.
"Inos?" Rap whispered. "What will he do with Inos if he finds her?"
"Anything he fancies. He's a warlock." The imp opened his eyes, opened them very 
wide, and stared down at Rap. "Let this be a lesson for you, faun!"
"Sir?" Rap felt his flesh creep as he tried to meet that tortured, crazy gaze.
"Never tell people about your power, your word! It will get you into trouble. "
Rap couldn't see how he could possibly be in much worse trouble than he was in 
already. Then he saw the silent scream in Yodello's sunken eyes and realized 
that he could be in much worse trouble. And mostly he'd gotten into this mess by 
refusing to learn more words, by refusing to become a mage and help Inos.
"Oothie was a brainless bitch," Yodello said, but softly. He raised his head, 
peered out into the scented dark of the Faerie night, and seemed to speak to 
ghosts. "I love her madly, always. She was never much of a sorceress, though. 
Got her words from Urlocksea, great-grandfather, not from fairies. Nice old 
fellow. Didn't do much with his power except some healing, but Piandoth found 
him anyway. Pian' was East. When he died, the old guy got away before Olybino 
took over the gold palace. Died, too, soon after. Gave his words to Oothie. 
Warned her never to use them. "
The soldier seemed to have forgotten Rap altogether and to be talking for his 
own sake. He must have been a remarkable man once. Mutilated, naked, close to a 
terrible death, he still wore some shreds of dignity. Splinters of authority 
still glimmered through his madness.
"She didn't do much. Fast promotion for her husband, easy labor for the second 
child, a few things like that. Tried to resist the little worm when he took a 
fancy to her-stupid bitch! As if I'd have cared! That was what gave her away. He 
had her anyway, of course. Didn't even make her his votary till morning ... got 
to be warlock ... made her proconsul . . . "
Rap was struck by a sudden mad idea, a way both he and Yodello might escape. 
Dare he suggest it? Really, what did he have to lose?
The imp's voice grew louder. "But in the case of Faerie, it's different, you 
see. The imperor appoints whomever West wants. The runt thought itd be fun to 
make Emshandar send in Oothie's name. "
"You know three words!" Rap said, in a rush, "and I know one, so if I tell you 
mine, then you'll be a sorcerer! You can break free of the loyalty spell and 
turn your legs back-couldn't you? And maybe rescue Oothiana?"
Chin high, the soldier spoke to a point above Rap's head. "A female proconsul! 
Senators all had miscarriages over that, but they don't argue with warlocks. "
"If you promise to help me," Rap said hoarsely, "I'll make you a full sorcerer. 
So we can both escape."
"New proconsul appoints his own officers. Oothie picked the best soldier she 
knew as tribune." The statue sighed. "And I was the best, too! But she made me 
loyal to her, instead of the dwarf."
Rap began to feel desperate. "Or you tell me your three words, and I promise 
I'll do everything I can for you and your lady. "
"It was an honest mistake. She meant no disloyalty. She couldn't have meant to 
be disloyal. She was his votary."
Rap jumped up. On level footing, he would have been about the same height as the 
imp. Yet he still couldn't meet those proud, sad eyes, for now they were looking 
past his head. He moved; they shifted. They gleamed, moonlight reflecting from 
haunted caves.
"You can save her, sir! Save yourself, too, maybe! Let me tell you my word of 
power."
"You should have thought of that sooner," said a new voice, a gravelly bass. Rap 
spun around.
Arms akimbo, Raspnex stood on the road just outside the shielding like a stone 
pillar. He still wore the same disreputable work clothes, but now he had added a 
shapeless woolen cap. His iron-gray beard was bunched up in a dangerous scowl.
"Wouldn't have worked, anyway," Yodello remarked sadly. "I'm loyal to him now. 
Aren't I?"
Raspnex ignored him, addressing Rap. "Nice try, faun! I'll settle the score 
later, never fear. "
"I suffer loyally," Yodello said, seemingly to the night itself. "I am a very 
good example."
"I didn't deliberately try to deceive you, sir," Rap told the dwarf. "I didn't 
think of-"
"I know. You couldn't have fooled me. But I'll settle, anyway. " Raspnex 
glowered. Perhaps he was afraid of being made an example, too.
"About a week until I burst," Yodello announced cheerfully. "Remember to come 
and watch that."
"Arakkaran, faun?"
"Yes," said Rap's mouth. Raspnex nodded, satisfied. "What the goblin said."
"She may not still be there!" Rap said hopefully.

6
The dwarf shrugged his giant shoulders. "We'll see. Come along now. The boss 
wants you. He hates to be kept waiting."
"Come early and get ahead of the crowds," Yodello said.
Ekka was talking about spiders' webs. She kept on talking about spiders' webs. 
She would not stop talking about spiders' webs, and yet Kadolan could not hear a 
word she was saying because she was whispering. Whispering was not ladylike. It 
was very annoying. She decided she must tell Ekka that she should either speak 
up clearly, or else she should keep quiet and let Kadolan go back to ... sleep?
She was very stiff. Her back felt as if it had been tenderized with a meat 
mallet. Even her knees. Bells jingling in the distance. There was no light in 
the tent. Tent?
It wasn't Ekka. It was Inosolan who was doing all the whispering. Shaking 
Kadolan's shoulder.
"Mmph?"
"Don't waken the girl, Aunt! "
"What g--"
"Shh!"
There was someone else moving. Gods! A man! The sultan, of course. Kadolan 
certainly did not want to jostle him, not after seeing the blister on Inosolan's 
finger.
Inosolan had her lips to Kadolan's ear. "Get dressed quickly. It's almost dawn. 
We're leaving."
"Leav--"
"Shh!"
Kadolan struggled to sit up. She felt impossibly stiff, and very grateful that 
the other two could not see her. This was what came from only one-half of a day 
on a camel. She must have a whole day ahead of her now. There were weeks and 
weeks of it to come. She was too old for this. Her eyes felt full of sand. She 
shivered, and not just from sleepiness; the air was nippy. "Watch out for the 
girl! " Inosolan whispered again.
"I don't know where she is!" Kadolan whispered back. Fooni had been sleeping 
somewhere on her left, but that was not much help in pitch darkness after hours 
of sleeping. She could have rolled anywhere. "What is that revolting noise?"
"Camels!" Inosolan said.
Did they never stop bellowing? If the Fooni child could sleep through that 
racket, then Kadolan could practice a trumpet fanfare without disturbing her. If 
the camels came any closer, they would step on the tent. That would do it! They 
smelled close but that was probably just the tent itself. Everything smelled of 
camel.
Azak pushed back a corner of the flap, and a slightly lesser darkness surged in.
"There she is," Inosolan whispered.
Things were beginning to make more sense, as Kade's old brains awoke, taking 
their time. She didn't like some of the implications.
"Why mustn't we waken her'?"
Inosolan made an exasperated sound. She was on her knees, brushing out her hair, 
which was crackling and sparking in the cold dryness. Azak was a featureless 
enormity, an undefined impression of size. He must be kneeling, also, for the 
tent was much too low to let him stand, and he sounded as if he were busy. 
Stuffing things in bags, maybe?
"We're going to sneak away before dawn!" Inosolan whispered.
Kadolan thought Oh-oh! and felt a twinge of a sinking feeling. She was quite 
convinced in her own mind that this whole mad escapade had been organized by the 
sorceress. Or, if Rasha had not planned it, she must be aware of it and be 
tolerating it for her own reasons. Kadolan wasn't sure why she thought that, but 
she did; and she in turn had been willing to humor Inosolan and Azak by 
pretending that it was a serious attempt to escape from Arakkaran:
"Why?"
Inosolan made another cross noise. "Just in case Master Elkarath is not what he 
seems."
"But what could he be?"
This time it was Azak who answered, deep and urgent. "His timing was very 
suspicious, ma'am. He furtively sent me word just two days after you and your 
niece arrived, claiming that he had often transported messages, or even 
messengers, for my grandsire, and that he would be happy to perform such 
services for myself. There was no way to confirm his tale, although it is 
plausible."
At least he had given Kadolan the courtesy of a civil answer. "But what else 
could he be?" she asked. "What evil could he be plotting, with you to guard us, 
Sire-I mean Lionslayer?"
"He could be an agent of the harlot. "
"Do hurry, Aunt!" Inosolan whispered urgently.
"I've been telling Inos that." Kadolan did not budge, except to rub her back 
plaintively. The camel roarings and jinglings seemed to be coming closer. They 
would surely waken the Fooni girl soon. "I admit I don't understand why Rasha 
should indulge in such a devious silly game, but-"
"To hide your niece from the warlock. "
Oh, dear! That made excellent sense. Inosolan was a valuable political property, 
apparently, and Warlock Olybino might very well attempt to steal her away from 
the sultana if he thought the asking price too high. So Rasha had hidden her 
treasure away in the desert until the deal had been made; then it would be safe 
to come and get her. Kadolan felt relieved at finding so logical a confirmation 
of her instincts.
"Then why do you . . ." But the answer was obvious. Azak wanted to leave because 
he could not bear to remain within reach of the sorceress, if he still was. It 
was another of these double or triple or quadruple gambits, like the enormously 
complicated ways he had used to extract Kadolan herself from the palace and 
smuggle Inosolan to Elkarath's house from the state procession.
If Elkarath was Rasha's agent, then this would be the real escape from her 
power. If he was genuine, then he became merely another false trail.
"We are going to double back to the coast," Azak whispered. "He has a boat 
waiting," Inosolan added impatiently, "at some little fishing village. We can 
sail north to Shuggaran and catch a ship. You can forget about three months on a 
camel, Aunt! In three months we should be in Hub. Now, does that appeal or not?"
Well, yes, that was certainly tempting.
Before Kadolan could make up her mind, a voice called faintly outside the tent, 
barely audible over the rumpus the camels were making, "Queen Inosolan?"
They all heard it. They all froze, staring at the triangle of light that marked 
a corer of the doorway; dawn was close now. Dribbles of icy water ran down 
Kadolan's back as she remembered the meeting in the forest, when Master Rap had 
appeared so mysteriously out of the shadows. He had called to Inosolan like 
that.
"What was that?" Azak demanded in louder tones than before.
"It sounded like somebody calling me!" Inosolan's voice trembled. "A long way 
off. "
"Queen Inosolan!" Closer this time. No mistake this time. It was not a man's 
voice, though.
And Master Rap was dead, anyway, killed by the imps.
Inosolan uttered a strangled sort of gulp. "Nobody here knows me by that name!" 
she whispered.
Kadolan guessed what was about to happen and grabbed for her niece's shoulder. 
Inosolan was always so impulsive!
She was too late. Inosolan went scrambling on hands and knees over the litter of 
bedding. For a moment her shape obscured the hint of gray glow of the entrance, 
and then she was outside.
Nothing particular happened. Kadolan relaxed. It had perhaps been an illusion. A 
herdboy singing, or some such. Azak was more visible than before, and he had 
indeed been stuffing things into a sack and was now roping it, with swift, jerky 
movements. "Are you ready, mistress?"
Kadolan sprang to wakefulness. She was far from ready, but she certainly did not 
intend to be left behind. She was too old for this, she thought, rummaging to 
find her shoes, but a swift ride to the coast and then a sea voyage was a far 
more pleasing prospect than a camel ride to Ullacarn, wherever that was.
Hub, the city of the Gods! Who would choose to remain in this ugly desert when 
offered a journey to Hub?
Dragging a bundle, Azak crawled over to the doorway, making the tent darker. 
Kadolan decided she would have to forget about brushing her hair, just this 
once.
And then Inos screamed.

7
"He's a brave man!" Rap shouted, leaning into the wind. The seaward side of the 
headland was much steeper than the harbor side. A steady thunder of surf came 
drifting up from the darkness below. The air was cool and salty.
"Who is?" Raspnex was trudging solidly through the night, with one hand clasping 
his cap firmly on his head.
"Tribune Yodello."
The dwarf grunted. "Hasn't got much choice, has he?" he said indifferently.
But Yodello had very nearly succeeded in stealing from a dwarf, and a warlock 
dwarf at that. He had learned three words in the fairy village. It was a 
reasonable assumption that either the proconsul or the warlock had stopped him 
while he was trying to collect a fourth.
"How does a man get around a loyalty spell?"
That question earned no answer but an angry glare. Rap him self had evaded 
capture for half a day and then broken out of jail. Both times he had been more 
lucky than clever, but obviously sorcery and magic had limitations that could be 
exploited if one knew how. He wished he knew how.
The journey to the crest of the ridge had taken almost no time, so Raspnex must 
have used power. The Gazebo itself loomed dead ahead, larger than Rap had 
expected, overtopping the trees around it. It was a circular wooden structure, 
two levels surmounted by a conical roof. Lights were wavering strangely in the 
upper story, but that was cut off from his farsight by an opaque ceiling. The 
lower room seemed to be used mainly as storage: furniture and rolls of matting, 
metal tools and stone statuary, boxes of shells and glass cases full of 
butterflies, and much more that he had no time to make out, the accumulated junk 
of generations.
A line of armed legionaries encircled the building, all standing stiffly to 
attention in the salty wind. The centurion saluted the dwarf, who stumped by him 
without a word or glance.
"What need has a warlock for mundane guards?" Rap shouted.
"Curb your tongue, faun, or I'll tie a knot in it."
A wooden stair wound up the outside to connect with a wide observation gallery, 
silhouetted against the weirdly dancing light. Rap followed the thump of the 
dwarf's boots up the steps, watching the occult barrier approach as he had done 
in Inisso's Tower in Krasnegar. Then his head broke through, and the rest of the 
palace had gone.
The upper level was one large room, whose walls were merely widely spaced wooden 
panels; they held up the roof but made no clear distinction between the interior 
floor and the deck of the surrounding gallery. The wind blustered through 
unhindered. Sleeping bats hung within the high cone of the roof, and the rafters 
were heaped with ancient birds' nests. Faded rugs and wicker furniture lay 
scattered around in no particular pattern, together with some other buzzing, 
twitching things that Rap preferred not to inspect.
The wavering light came from overhead lanterns on long chains, swinging wildly 
in the gale. Even very ordinary-seeming chairs were gifted with many sinister 
shadows, writhing like black spiders in the golden glow on the floor. Tree 
branches outside seemed to fade in and out of the night.
Raspnex headed for Oothiana, who stood before one of the larger wall panels, 
apparently examining a picture. She had unfastened her hair, and it surged and 
rippled in the wind, like a black flag. So did her white gown. Rap tried not to 
stare at that as he followed the dwarf across to her. He was foolish to be so 
scrupulous, really, for no one's clothes held secrets from his farsight; yet he 
found those delicate curves sketched out in white fabric far more enticing and 
disturbing than crude certainty could ever be. He was learning how to control 
his power when he needed to, by diverting it to other things and away from 
places he should not pry, but that wasn't always easy.
Little Chicken stood at the proconsul's side, bare-chested, arms crossed, and 
greener in the dim gold light than Rap had ever seen him. He was probably 
enjoying the cold. His angular eyes narrowed when he saw Rap, his lip curled in 
silent contempt.
"Any luck?" Raspnex demanded.
Oothiana turned. She looked weary. "Some. The palace is shielded. " She glanced 
at Rap, but her face gave away nothing. The thing she had been studying was not 
a picture but a large mirror in an intricate silver frame. It had a dark, oily 
look to it that Rap disliked, but it seemed no more sinister than some of the 
other odd things, such as the potted plant that kept making finger-snapping 
noises, or the fairy statue that farsight said wasn't there at all.
Raspnex pulled off his ugly cap and stuffed it inside his flannel shirt. He 
rolled down his sleeves, meanwhile glancing thoughtfully around the room. Rap 
wondered what he was studying. "Votaries don't put up shielding, usually," the 
dwarf said. "Of course not."
No love lost there.
Rap bowed to her. "Your Highness."
Her face remained expressionless. "I 'm only an excellency, Master Rap."
"Beg pardon, your Excellency." He bowed again. "May I congratulate your 
Excellency on the quality of your jail?" This time he earned a faint smile. "Are 
you an expert?"
"I have seen enough jails that I never need see another. " Rap bowed again.
"But you tried to leave. "
"I hope you understand that I meant no discourtesy, ma'am. " She turned away 
from him and glanced around the room. He shrugged. Well, he had tried. At least 
she knew now that he bore her no grudge, and he thought she would care about 
that.
"I'll tell him we're ready," Raspnex said. He marched across to another section 
of wall, which surprisingly contained a completely unnecessary door. It was 
massive, embellished with intricate carvings and inset with golden 
hieroglyphics. The dwarf pulled it open, walked through, and thumped it heavily 
behind him.
He did not appear on the balcony beyond.
Feeling an unpleasant shiver run down his back, Rap said,
"Huh?"
"Magic portal." Oothiana took a deep breath. "Leads to Hub. Rap, all I can tell 
you is to be polite, very polite. He takes offense easily. Come."
She walked over to a couch and sat down. Something about the way she did it 
prompted Rap to go and sit beside her, surprised by his own presumption. It was 
ages since he had sat close to a beautiful woman. He could not remember doing so 
since he had held hands with Inos, the night Jalon had sung in the castle hall, 
back home in Krasnegar. There must have been others in the early winter, when he 
had been factor's clerk eating in the castle commons. He could not recall them, 
though. Only Inos, long ago.
In a manner suggestive of a cat staking out a mousehole, Little Chicken selected 
a chair close to Rap. He leaned back, smiling hungrily. Rap ignored him and 
inspected the room again, wondering what the two sorcerers had been studying so 
oddly. His farsight was starting to pick up odd shimmers that his eyes could not 
explain.
"Dwarfs don't like luxury," Oothiana said. "What? I mean, I beg your-"
"Warlock Zinixo can have anything he wants. He can make sand into gold, or sugar 
lumps into diamonds. But he grew up with shabby, old things, like most dwarves 
do. It's just their way. He's not comfortable with ... with comfort. He likes 
dead leaves around. "
She must have thought Rap was inspecting the furniture, which was lumpish but 
comfy. Only now did he notice spots where the wicker was worn and stuffing 
protruded from cushions; it had all seemed fine to him. And of course there were 
low heaps of dead leaves in every cranny; this place was more outdoors than in. 
Bird droppings aplenty, too.
"There were no dead leaves where I grew up, no leaves at all." He started to 
smile at her, but she was close, and he found himself too much aware of her 
smooth round breasts. Angry, he looked away and struggled to keep his farsight 
under control. Oothiana did not seem to mind. "And not much else but leaves 
where you grew up, Master Goblin? Or pine needles, I suppose? "
"Who's coming?" asked Little Chicken, looking surly. "Warlock Zinixo, warden of 
the west. Address him as `your Omnipotence.' Don't lip him, or he'll make your 
guts rot. " The goblin's eyes widened, becoming more triangular in the process.
Rap's nerves were too taut to stand the ensuing silence. "I met Legate Yodello, 
ma'am," he said, blurting out the words and regretting them at once.
Oothiana seemed to glance around the room again, inspecting ..
He gulped. "I'm sorry. I mean, I don't think he deservesthat. "
She regarded him coldly. "He was the one who killed the fairies. "
Rap nodded. "But I think he did it for ... for a good reason, ma'am. "
"What reason could justify torture and murder?"
"I-I don't know," Rap said miserably.
"He did it for me, is what you mean. Yes, he did." She sighed and looked away. 
"And maybe he wanted to save the other fairyfolk. He says he did, and I believe 
him. " She paused, picking at the fabric of her dress where it curved over her 
knee. "You've guessed what happened? The warlock had been hunting for wild 
fairies. They're very rare now, but eventually he discovered that village. He 
ordered me to have the inhabitants brought in. I told the legate, of course. 
Except I didn't-didn't give him quite the right orders. That was my second 
mistake. I hadn't put the right loyalty spell on him when I appointed him, and I 
didn't tell him to do the job himself. I told him to send someone to do it. "
After a moment, Rap said, "How did that matter?"
"He obeyed my exact orders, of course. He had no choice there. He sent his best 
maniple and put his best centurion in charge. But then he went along himself. He 
was just able to avoid my intent without actually disobeying my words. Somehow 
he convinced himself that he was acting in my best interests. It was an 
astonishing feat-he circumvented a binding spell. He couldn't give any contrary 
orders, but the centurion was only bound by an oath, not by sorcery, and he 
wasn't going to interfere with anything a legate wanted to do. So Yodello tried 
to win four words for himself. He thought the fastest way would be to flog 
children to make their parents tell. He got three before the warlock arrived."
Silence fell, while she continued to worry the threads of her gown. Rap had 
found three bodies; the parents, dead from telling their secret names. No 
children had died, therefore, at least not then.
"Arrived mad?"
"Very, very mad." As if realizing how she was fidgeting, Oothiana pulled her 
hand away from her knee and folded her arms.
"It was a stupid plan anyway!" she snapped. "Even if he had learned four words 
and become a full sorcerer, he would never have been able to defy the warlock. 
Sorcerers as strong as the dwarf are historical freaks. Oh, Yodello might have 
managed to break free of my binding, but he'd never have broken the one on me. 
And he'd have had to face the warlock eventually. It was a crazy dream."
It had been the sort of mad risk a man might take for the woman he loved, and 
for his children. Rap decided he could almost forgive the crime Little Chicken 
had uncovered in that jungle hamlet. Almost. What was being done to Yodello 
himself could never be forgiven.
Again the sorceress glanced around the room. Why were there mundane legionaries 
guarding this building? Who else was in here? Invisible guards?
The magic portal opened a crack, slashing a sliver of brighter light across a 
rug so threadbare that boards showed through it in spots. Rap's heartbeat 
speeded up disgracefully. For a moment nothing more happened. Then the door 
swung wide, revealing a brief glimpse of a book-lined chamber with a fire 
crackling in a grate. A blast of air swirled through, and the door slammed shut 
by itself.
Silence again ... except that the tension had just doubled, or tripled. The 
warlock was now present, and Rap no longer doubted that there were more 
bodyguards around than he could see.
Little Chicken looked puzzled. Oothiana was tense, staring straight ahead. The 
wind stirred the trees with a dry, insectile sound.
Then a voice spoke out of the air beside Little Chicken, and he jumped. It was 
the deepest voice Rap had ever heard, even deeper than Raspnex's.
"Goblin! Tell me what you know about Bright Water. " Little Chicken's eyes 
stretched wide, and he glanced all about and then licked his lips. Even his 
tongue seemed an odd color in this light. "Nothing," he said shakily, "your 
Omnipotence. Not seen her. Not heard of her, until Flat-the faun-told me about 
her. "
"Tally your ancestors."
The goblin stammered, then rattled off his forebears for a dozen generations.
Silence fell again, but Rap was not surprised when the voice addressed him next, 
from somewhere just in front of him. "How did you escape, faun?"
Rap explained.
There was no answer, no further question. Oothiana was still as a statue, not 
revealing the warlock's position with her eyes. Why should the most powerful 
sorcerer in the world bother to play such tricks?
Then the sepulchral voice spoke again, from farther away. "In the morning we'll 
give the goblin three fairies. Have you picked out three older men, as I 
ordered?"
"Yes, your Omnipotence," Oothiana said.
The unseen warlock grunted. "Good. I'm tired of having them die without 
speaking. Too many suicides, too. It's inefficient. That woman I was burning-has 
she recovered her wits yet?"
"Not yet, Omnipotence."
"Exactly! It's too slow. This way we'll get three words quickly. "
There was no hint of regret in the voice, and yet the implications were enough 
to freeze Rap's blood. Little Chicken had his mouth open and eyes wide, stunned 
by the idea of a woman being tortured.
"So you'll have a goblin sorcerer!" Rap shouted. "What do you do then? You 
planning to torture words out of a goblin?" Oothiana started, shooting him a 
look of warning. Suddenly the warlock became visible. He had the same heavy 
build as his uncle, but his clothes were even shabbier-motheaten, and frayed at 
the knees. He was young and his shortness made him seem younger, yet his hair 
was as gray as the older dwarf's; his colorless, unbearded face looked like 
stone freshly quarried. He stood in front of Rap, studying him with a look of 
cold dislike, nibbling at a hangnail. By repute, he was the most powerful 
sorcerer in the world. He could have been a farmhand, or a gardener's boy.
He took his finger from his mouth. "No. I don't plan to torture anything out of 
a goblin. I shall bribe him. " He grinned teeth like white pebbles. "We both 
know what he wants, don't we? And I can keep you alive as long as I want while 
he satisfies his ambitions."
Little Chicken had apparently worked out what was involved. He grinned at Rap, 
also, gloating.
Rap failed to restrain a shudder. "Then he'll kill you, too!" he told the 
goblin.
Little Chicken laughed gleefully. "Don't care! "
"There!" said Zinixo. "That's all arranged, then." He spun on his heel and began 
pacing the room, gnawing his hangnail and thumping the dusty floor with heavy 
boots. Goblins, fauns, legionaries, fairies, legates-this dwarf's indifference 
to other people was even nastier than Little Chicken's deliberate cruelty. At 
least Little Chicken regarded agony as an honor and had been prepared to endure 
it himself when Rap bested him. Obviously Zinixo's world held no one of 
importance except Zinixo.
After a moment, Oothiana said, "I found Arakkaran, Omnipotence. There's 
shielding around the palace."
Zinixo ignored her. Little Chicken was still beaming happily. Rap wondered how 
many invisible guards were present in the room, and what he would have to endure 
to satisfy the goblin, and why the magic casement had not done a better job of 
prophecy.
The warlock stopped his pacing. He put his back against a wall panel and let his 
gaze jerk to and fro around the room. "What's keeping them? This isn't some sort 
of trap, is it?"
"I In sure it isn't, your Omnipotence," Oothiana said soothingly-"They're 
ganging up on me!" His voice was an octave higher already, and rising.
"No, Sire! I expect-"
The dwarf jumped and spun around as the door flew open, but it was only Raspnex 
returning. He bore a long roll of fabric like a blanket draped slackly over his 
shoulder. He closed the door firmly.
"Well?" the warlock yelled. "Out with it, Uncle!"
"She's coming."
"Ah! " Zinixo looked around. "Ready? If she tries anything, strike at once! 
Blast the whole building if you have to. " Oothiana and Raspnex nodded 
obediently. Perhaps the unseen others nodded, also.
"Let her come." Zinixo wiped a sleeve over his forehead; he flexed his thick 
shoulders as if readying himself for a tussle. Raspnex threw down his bundle in 
the middle of the room and kicked it. It unrolled and became a small oblong rug; 
an oddly shiny one, glittering in the dim golden glow of the lamps. Both dwarves 
backed away a few paces. For a moment no one spoke, and Rap sensed tension 
coming to a boil. Oothiana was kneading her hands together and the warlock 
chewing fingernails again. The older man had crossed his arms, but he was wary, 
also. He remained standing.
For a few moments the only sounds were the distant surf, grinding the coast with 
ageless hunger, and leaves skittering thinly in the wind. Rap was becoming 
inured to magic; the most incredible sorceries now seemed quite commonplace to 
him, and he was not at all surprised when a faint shimmer appeared above the 
little carpet and quickly solidified into a tiny woman.
Had he not been expecting Bright Water, though, he might not have recognized 
her. On the two occasions he had met her before, her garb had been a goblin 
woman's long buckskin gown, but now she wore a frilly white dress, short and 
sleeveless. It glittered in a thousand dewy rainbow twinkles of sequins or 
perhaps gems, but it was also rumpled and soiled. Below the brief, flared skirt, 
her bare legs were fleshless as a crab's, ending in incongruous boots. Her dusky 
arms and shoulders were scraggy and gnarled, her chest flat and leathery. In 
absurd contrast to her goblin-khaki skin, her hair shone a brilliant auburn, 
lush and youthful. It had been piled high on her head and pinned there with 
combs of ivory-and apparently some time ago, for the coiffure was falling apart, 
and stray wisps and tresses tumbled loose. The effect was ludicrous, as if a 
crone had turned herself into an adolescent to go to a ball and then changed 
only partway back. Judging by the hair and the dress, the ball had been over for 
days.
Strangest of all, a pale-pink flame burned upon the hag's humped left shoulder. 
It flickered, changed color a few times, and congealed into the shape of a 
small, crouching animal. But it was still glowing and Rap's farsight could 
detect only a vague, fuzzy presence and an odd sense of something alive.
"Well!" the warlock shouted. "And what is the witch of the north doing with a 
dragon?"
Bright Water wheeled around to look for him. The light on her shoulder 
brightened and seemed to grip harder, as if afraid it might fall off.
"A gift!" she shrilled. "Isn't she lovely? Precious, I call her, a present from 
Lith'rian. "
The uncanny sense of madness unsettled Rap. Zinixo, however, merely thumped his 
fists onto his hips and leaned forward, the better to scowl at her.
"How sweet! I never heard of South giving away dragons to anyone. Did this 
exceptional gift seal some secret agreement?"
"Oh, no!" The old woman cackled. "No, no, no! He knows I like them, that's all. 
I've had fire chicks before, well before your time, sonny. Just hatchlings. 
Can't keep them very long, you know! Haven't got big enough shoulders! "
She shrieked another cackle of amusement and reached up to stroke the 
luminescence as if it were a kitten. It turned a warm blue-and Rap felt a 
strange purr. That wasn't farsight; that was his empathy for animals. Apparently 
the flame was alive, or enough alive that he could hear its feelings, but the 
sensation was bitter and alien, like a metallic taste in his mind. He shut it 
out.
But he could not shut out the stories he had heard about dragons and metal, and 
there must be metal around this bizarre summer house. Nails, lamps ... he 
glanced up at the windstirred lanterns, and they certainly looked as if they 
were made of gold, or at least trimmed with it. Gold was worst of all; all the 
tales warned about the terrible things that happened when dragons found gold.
"Now!" The witch turned around, peering. "Haven't been here since the days of 
Ho-11th. Not much change. Same furniture, by the look of it. We ate mangoes on 
that sofa and threw passion spells at each other. Where did you ... Ah! Death 
Bird! Are you all right, my sweet?"
Clumping in her boots, she marched straight off the mat, heading for Little 
Chicken, who was sprawled back in his chair, eyes and mouth wide with disbelief.
Zinixo twitched, as if startled.
The witch wheeled with incredible agility, the fire chick on her shoulder 
flashing momentarily orange. "Stop that! " she snapped. "That's no way to treat 
guests!"
Pause. The warlock had bared teeth like rows of tombstones.
He was rigid as a granite boulder, and his youthful face gleamed wetly in the 
glow of the swinging lamps. His cheeks were chalky. Then he forced his grimace 
into a cynical and dangerous smile. He made a small bow, without taking his eyes 
off the old woman. "Of course, Grandmother. But don't do anything rash."
"Course not!" Bright Water said. "That's-" The baby dragon flared green and flew 
up off her shoulder in an erratic, wobbling flight. "Oh! Be careful, my 
Precious!"
The dragon chick fluttered around the room at head height as if exploring. 
Eventually it came to hover suspiciously above Rap. There was very little 
substance to it, but he thought perhaps he could see a dragon shape there more 
often than anything else. At times it was a star, or a bird, or a butterfly, and 
often just a blur of light.
The witch put two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. Precious changed to 
a nervous yellow shade and zigzagged back to her shoulder. Cooing, she stroked 
it until it was blue again. Strangely, the incomprehensible tension somehow 
faded then. Oothiana and Raspnex exchanged puzzled glances.
And the witch seemed to notice Raspnex for the first time. "What was I about to 
say?" she inquired stiffly.
The dwarf blinked and shrugged.
"Well, then!" she snapped. "Haven't we met somewhere recently, young man?"
"We spoke about five minutes ago in the glass."
"Oh?" She looked vaguely around the room and frowned at Oothiana. "Aren't you 
Urmoontra, what's-his-name's wife?"
"Her great-granddaughter, your Omnipotence."
"Oh, Gods and mortals! " Bright Water shook her head sadly, causing another rope 
of hair to fall loose. "It is getting late, isn't it? Bedtime, everybody." She 
leered uncertainly in the direction of a potted palm, then curtsied. "Evening, 
Senator."
There might be an invisible senator there, of course. Nothing was impossible in 
this madhouse.
Finally the witch discovered Zinixo. "And you, lad?"
"You know who I am, you stinking offal bucket! Stop the play-acting." He stamped 
around her to reach Little Chicken, whom he indicated with a downward jabbing 
finger. "Tell us what your interest is in this."
Bright Water blinked at the prisoner for a moment or two. Then she beamed, 
displaying a mouthful of huge goblin teeth, whose shiny perfection was not in 
keeping with her otherwise decrepit appearance. "Death Bird! Knew I'd put him 
some where safe. Couldn't remember where. Isn't the resemblance wonderful? "
"What resemblance?" Zinixo was taut as a harp string, wary as a stalking cat, 
and growing madder by the minute.
"Blood Fan. My oldest brother, you know. When he was this age?" "The oaf's 
related to you, then? He doesn't know it."
The witch chuckled hoarsely, for what seemed like too long. Crazy, but not 
necessarily stupid-Rap had seen old Hononin act dim-witted often enough, usually 
when Foronod had gone barging into the stables to demand something the hostler 
had not wanted to grant. Almost always the factor had been driven to losing his 
temper and therefore the argument. This seemed like the same technique. If the 
witch made Zinixo much angrier, he might be capable of any sort of folly.
"He wouldn't know," Bright Water crooned. "Blood Fan was a sly lad, eh? A very 
quiet crawler when the fires were banked. Not a wife in the lodge didn't feign 
sleep for him at least once. They caught him eventually and he put on a 
wonderful show. Almost three days. You're very like him," she added to Little 
Chicken, who was frowning as he tried to follow the outlandish conversation 
going on over his head. "Ho-11th liked mangoes, and what good did they ever do 
him, eh? Blood Fan fathered Gut Thrust on Petal Bed, and Gut Thrust-"
"And is that all?" the warlock shouted furiously, his anger booming like a 
mountain thunderstorm. "Is that the only reason you're interested in him? That 
he's some distant bastard descendant of yours? "
The ancient goblin drew herself up stiffly and tried to look down her long nose 
at the dwarf. She failed, because she was even shorter than he was, except for 
her tangle of red hair and ivory combs. "Course not. Fill your guts with hot 
coals. Do you mean you haven't foreseen him?"
Zinixo seemed taken aback at the question. "No," he admitted. "He's got a 
destiny?"
"Oh, yes!"
The warlock shot Oothiana a meaningful look. "You're no good at this, are you?"
"Not much, Omnipotence."
He nodded, then spun around to face Little Chicken. The goblin's eyes rolled up, 
and he slumped in his chair, unconscious. His face turned a pale-lime color.
Looking intrigued, Raspnex moved in, also, so that the goblin was surrounded by 
three sorcerers, all staring down at him fixedly.
Oothiana leaned back on the couch. "My lady?" Rap whispered uneasily.
She did not turn to him. She was watching the room intently--especially the 
magic rug-and he wondered if she had been left on guard while the dwarves' 
attention was on other things. "It's very difficult," she said softly. "Like 
trying to follow a river through a swamp. There are always so many channels. 
Sometimes they join up again, sometimes not. Even the thoughts of people nearby 
can affect a man's future. It gives me a terrible headache."
"So all you can see are possibilities?"
"The Gods decree destinies for some mortals. Most of us are only given chances." 
She smiled absently. "Of course someone like a quarry slave wouldn't have many, 
would he? Any fool could foresee his future-more life unchanging, then death. A 
sailor, now, or a jotunn raider, he'd usually have so many they'd be almost 
impossible to unravel. But the rest of us . . ." She fell silent.
Inisso's magic casement had forecast several fates for Rapbeing roasted by 
dragons, being hacked to bits by Kalkor, being filleted by Little Chicken. 
Perhaps those had been alternatives that depended upon who did what first. That 
might explain why he had seemed doomed to die three times. If he could choose 
one of those deaths, though, it would never be the third.
"Can you foresee your own destiny, then?" he whispered. She shook her head, 
watching the others, but in a moment she added, "Very hard. Your own reactions 
change the images. That's one reason sorcerers make magic casements, or 
preflecting pools."
"I can kill him," Zinixo muttered. In the dim golden glow of the whirling 
lanterns, his rough-skinned face was again shining with sweat. Raspnex's was 
worse. The little goblin woman was scratching at her scalp with all ten fingers, 
making the precarious hairdo rock. The dragon had shrunk to a tiny wisp of 
yellow light, pulsating on her shoulder.
"That's always a choice," she croaked. "Not always wise, though. Time with all 
his banners rolling ... See the faun?"
"No."
"Push ahead. Back in the north. Snow! See now? All roads lead to the faun."
"Almost all."
"Pah!" The witch spoke as if her throat hurt. "Almost all, then. Never seen a 
clearer destiny."
It was all gibberish to Rap, but he thought of the swamp that Oothiana had 
mentioned and the many river channels emptying into a large lake within it. That 
might fit. And the mention of him sounded like the casement's third prophecy. At 
least there had been no word of Inos yet, in all this insanity.
"So?" The hiss might have come from either of the dwarves. "So what's beyond, 
eh?" the old woman whispered. Without warning the little grouping broke up. 
Raspnex stag gered aside, knuckling his eyes and gasping as if he had been 
running. Zinixo threw back his head and bellowed with heavy laughter like 
falling rocks. The witch bent down, took Little Chicken's face in both hands, 
and kissed him. His eyes flew open.
"Got it!" the warlock shouted.
"You see now?" Bright Water scrambled onto Little Chicken's lap, stroking his 
hairy cheek with a hand like dead roots. The dragon swelled and burned in pale 
mauve. Apparently not liking the younger goblin so close, it crawled around the 
back of her neck, balancing on her hump, and settled on her other shoulder.
"Oh, yes!" Zinixo favored Oothiana with a huge, childish smile. His change of 
mood was astonishing. "The goblin butchers the faun-no doubt about that. And 
then-" He laughed again, looking at his uncle, who was grinning a dwarf's pebbly 
grin.
"Then," the older man said, "we see something new, your Majesty! " He bowed, and 
both sorcerers howled with mirth. Little Chicken's eyes grew to very large 
triangles indeed. Again, he was fondly kissed by the old woman perched in his 
lap.
"That's right, my darling. A goblin king!"
"Kill Flat Nose?"
She nodded vigorously, beaming. "Oh, yes! Back at Raven Totem. "
"Long pain?"
"Very long, by the looks of it. Give good show."
Little Chicken sighed happily and smiled at Rap. "Is good, Flat Nose." He was 
speaking goblin again.
"A goblin king!" The witch sighed on his lap.
So that was it! Rap felt horror boil up in him like vomit. The imperor didn't 
want Kalkor as king of Krasnegar, and the thanes wouldn't let it fall to the 
Impire, but the two sides might still agree on a compromise. Neither imp nor 
jotunn, so a goblin, of course! Marry Inos to Little Chicken and then everybody 
would be happy.
Zinixo frowned. "Let us talk business, then. You want this goblin prince of 
yours back. "
The witch patted Little Chicken's cheek. "Death Bird is my darling, my darling."
"But you gave him to me. You dropped him here, in my territory. I can kill him 
yet-we saw that."
The old woman pouted and threw a skinny arm around Little Chicken's head, 
clutching it protectively to where she once had a bosom. "Not my sweeting! No, 
we save him, to be a king."
The expression on Little Chicken's face suggested that he was not enjoying this.
Zinixo smiled grimly. "And you want him loaded up with more words, of course?"
"More? Eh? No, no words!" Bright Water looked startled. "He stole one from a 
fairy!"
The witch's eyes flickered toward Rap, then back to Little Chicken ... Rap . . . 
"Eh? Death Bird got the word?" She giggled faintly.
She was surprised by something. Then she recovered, shaking her head so that 
even more hair fell loose. "No, no, no!" She released her victim and scrambled 
down off his lap. "You didn't foresee properly! Words don't help. Give him 
words, and he doesn't become a king!"
"Then why send him here?" The dwarf looked puzzled and angry.
She shrugged her knobby shoulders and cackled. "Had to move him somewhere. Safe, 
far away! Thought things might get nasty in the north. Olybino. "
Zinixo folded his arms. "What are you offering, witch? What's he worth?"
"Ah! Patient is the heron in silver waters wading!" The old woman raised one arm 
high overhead, spun around in a pirouette, and then staggered off balance with a 
clamor of boots on planks. Regaining her balance, she bowed to a patch of empty 
air. "Begging your pardon, ma'am!" Then she peered around slyly at the dwarf. 
"What's your price?"
"The elf's balls on a fork."
She cackled shrilly. "Naughty! You boys are all the same! He wants to tie yours 
to an anchor."
The dwarf scowled, unamused. He folded his arms. "What did you pay him for the 
fire chick?"
"Me? Nothing!" The hag stuck her long goblin nose in the air as if taking 
offense.
Rap sneaked a glance at Oothiana, who was frowning and twisting her fingers 
together. He decided that Bright Water had now succeeded in confusing everybody, 
perhaps including herself. He believed almost nothing he had heard so far, 
except that the dwarf and the elf detested each other, and he had known that 
before.
Was the witch truly as crazy as she acted? He had an absurd conviction that 
Bright Water had been lurking in his shadow ever since he first met her in Raven 
Totem. She professed to be only interested in Little Chicken, but whenever she 
had materialized before, it had always been to Rap. What were her real motives? 
Why should she care about Krasnegar, or who ruled it? And now he had developed a 
weird certainty that she had known about the fairy child and had expected Rap to 
learn the word, not Little Chicken. Obviously his imagination was becoming 
infected by the prevailing insanity.
And Bright Water had claimed that she could not foresee Rap's future. He hoped 
she did not mention that now, because the warlock would certainly take the 
information as a challenge, and if his foresight also failed, then he might feel 
threatened. Apparently almost anything made him feel threatened, in spite of his 
great powers.
"You're a liar!" Zinixo decided. "You bought that dragon with something." A 
molten hue in his cheeks suggested he was flushing.
The witch tossed her head, shaking loose more strands of copper hair. "I gave 
him the girl," she admitted.
Rap opened his mouth, and invisible lips whispered, "Shh!" in his ear. "Listen!" 
It was Oothiana's voice, but she had not moved and she seemed to be 
concentrating entirely on the argument in progress.
"The Krasnegar girl? " Zinixo demanded. "Inosolan? Why?"
"Why did I?" Bright Water said airily. "Because he offered me Precious." She 
stroked the flame on her shoulder, and it purred and burned up violet. 
"Dum-de-dum-dum ... Why'd he? No idea. Never ask `why' of an elf, sonny. Elves' 
explanations are the commonest cause of suicide among the young."
"You're in league with him against me!"
The old hag sneered. "Flammery! He's in cahoots with East. If I join them 
against you, sonny, you're mole pie."
The dwarf almost screamed. "Oh, am I? Well, we'll see about that!"
"You listen to me, boy! Leave Yellow-belly's organs in place for now. Would you 
settle for the imp's guts instead? "
A chair slid across the floor as if moved by the wind and came to rest behind 
the warlock. He sat down, crossed his stumpy legs, and scowled up at Bright 
Water with a sudden show of calm. "Cut the chaff. I've got your darling Death 
Bird, or whatever you call him. He could be very useful to me. You want him 
back, then make an offer."
Bright Water shook her head pityingly. She turned away, and Rap expected her to 
step on the magic mat and disappear, but she paused and seemed to have second 
thoughts.
"Isn't easy being a warlock," she said, sneering at the night, or perhaps at one 
of the unseen watchers. "He's discovered that by now. He thought he'd feel 
safer, but he doesn't, does he? Now he's public knowledge, and they're all out 
to get him. So he needs votaries to defend him. Thought that being West would be 
easy, because he could make lots of votaries. But it isn't easy. Never knows 
when he may raise a monster! "
Zinixo gritted his teeth. "Go on. It's late, I'm tired."
"Early, early, early!" Bright Water whirled around in one of her absurd 
pirouettes and ended facing toward Oothiana. "Much safer to steal your 
opponents' helpers than make new ones of your own, eh?" She waggled a finger. 
"Isn't it? Men never see that. "
Oothiana said, "Ma'am?" in a puzzled voice.
The dwarf's pebble eyes seemed to shine a little brighter. The witch sighed. 
"You remember at the end of the meeting, the imperor decided to pull his men 
from Krasnegar?" Rap stiffened. If the Council of Four had met with the imperor 
to discuss Krasnegar, that was important news. There might be word of Inos 
coming next.
Oothiana shot a baffled glance at the warlock, then said, "I wasn't there, 
ma'am."
In the background, Zinixo was looking skeptical. "Warlock Olybino agreed to send 
the orders. Witch Bright Water promised to hold Kalkor and the Nordlanders off 
for at least two more weeks, to give the imps time. But does she remember that?" 
The old woman giggled shrilly, a mad sound. "Don't need to remember," she told 
Oothiana in a whisper. "Kalkor's at the other end of the world."
"What? But you said . . ." The young dwarf rubbed his chin. "No, you didn't, did 
you? Just hinted."
Raspnex grinned, as if he was finding the witch's performance amusing.
She bared her big, perfect teeth at Rap, switching her attention to him, still 
whispering. "Kalkor's down south, on a raping holiday around Qoble. And I didn't 
say I'd hold back the goblins! They're going to pave the road with impish hides, 
all the way to Pondague. Oh, pity the poor prisoners!"
Rap shuddered. The witch was drooling, and Little Chicken was leering, doubtless 
remembering his own revenge on Yggingi. The goblins' traditions of peace had 
been discarded.
Zinixo was obviously intrigued. "So Olybino will try to cover the troops' 
retreat? So he'll want to send votaries up there!"
"So I refuse my gracious permission!" Bright Water danced a few steps in front 
of Rap. "So he'll do it anyway! You're not a dwarf! Where'd he go?" She spun 
around to locate Zinixo. "So do you want them?"
The warlock glanced at his uncle, who grinned and nodded, then at Oothiana.
She shook her head. "He'll make them legionaries. Then you can't touch them."
"But you can mark them!" the old witch shouted. "Every time they deflect an 
arrow or avoid an ambush, you'll know them. When they get back to Hub, they'll 
be off duty, and you can take 'em then, whenever you want. You'll have Olybino 
gutted and smoked. Fanfares and flying horsedung!"
"Why don't you do this?" Zinixo asked, with his usual dark suspicion.
She pouted and stalked across to Little Chicken. "I was going to. You said you 
wanted an offer. I need my darling." She stroked the goblin's hair. Infected by 
either jealousy or her distress, the baby dragon surged away, off her shoulder. 
Again it headed for Rap, then changed course and whirled up in a spiral toward 
the wildly swinging lanterns.
Gold! If a full-grown dragon could devastate a county on one taste of gold, then 
even the tiny fire chick might destroy the Gazebo. Without thinking, Rap hurled 
a summons at it, calling it away from the metal. He had never had any success 
using his mastery on birds, only on four-legged things. It worked best on 
horses, almost as well on dogs, cats less. But apparently a dragon was a 
four-legged creature of a sort, because he felt a response, and the lambent 
flicker reversed direction, coming toward him. Something that felt like an 
invisible leather belt slashed across his face, hard enough to wrench his neck. 
He yelped in pain and surprise. Another sickening blow lashed him on the other 
cheek, throwing him across Oothiana's lap.
"Idiot!" she whispered, helping him up.
Dazed and trying not to whimper, he raised a hand to a face that felt as if he 
had just shaved with boiling water. Bright Water was glaring very angrily at 
him, and the dragon chick had settled again on her shoulder.
"You stay away from my Precious, half-breed! If Death Bird didn't need you, I'd 
fill your belly with worms and rot your bones and-"
"Leave him! " Zinixo growled. "You want your goblin king. You let me put Raspnex 
up there to watch the rout? How do I know you're not just trapping my votary to 
aid East and South?"
She cackled shrilly again and spun around to find Raspnex. "Foresee him!"
This time the inspection was brief. Zinixo merely stared at his uncle for a 
minute and then chuckled heavily, his laughter as deep as the surf on the coast 
below. "Yes, you come back. As long as you stay away from the women, you do. "
"Green doesn't appeal much," Raspnex said.
The witch waggled a lumpy finger at him. "Watch your tongue, dwarf! Let's see a 
goblin."
The sorcerer shrugged. He began pulling off his shirt, and seemed to melt as he 
did so. His grayness faded to khaki, his curly hair grew long and straight, 
solidifying and crawling down his chest in a greasy cue. His head shrank, his 
legs grew. Nose and ears became longer and pointed. In a few moments he was a 
middle-aged goblin in a leather loincloth. He smiled, showing that his dwarvish 
rock-crusher teeth had become more pointed. A whiff of rancid goblin scent 
wrinkled every nose in the Gazebo.
"Oh, handsome!" the' crone shrilled. "And steady! Take a good eye to see that!" 
She pointed a finger, and arabesques of tattoo appeared on the former dwarf's 
face. "Long Runner of the Wolves!"
Zinixo stood up. "Stand over there, Long Runner. Downwind! One thing more, 
Witch." He scowled at Little Chicken. "He took a word that belongs to me!"
Yodello: I stole it from a dwarf.
"Phoo! There's a third one; the sequentials know a word. Take theirs in 
exchange."
For a moment longer the warlock hesitated. Then he nodded. "It's a deal. Go, 
Uncle. Here's a chance to redeem yourself. You want to take the goblin with you, 
your Omnipotence, or shall I have it delivered?"
Bright Water shrugged her bony shoulders, and the dragon wobbled. Wind blew 
straggles of copper hair across her face. "No. Just send them back to the 
mainland. With a destiny like that, he'll find it."
Humming, she clumped over to the magic carpet. "Not them," Zinixo said. "Him!"
Rap felt a sudden twinge of hope.
Bright Water turned and scowled. "Need the faun! Death Bird butchers the faun! 
Doesn't work else. You saw!"
The warlock shook his oversized head, leering triumphantly. "You bought one! I 
keep the other."
"He's no use to you!"
"He won't be any use to you if I kill him. And I will! Now!"
"No!"
"Yes. I'll count to three!" The dwarf pointed at Rap. "One!" Oothiana jumped 
from the couch and moved quickly to a safe distance. Rap's throat tightened so 
he could hardly breathe. Zinixo was capable of destroying him without a second 
thought. "What else d'you want?" Bright Water demanded angrily. For the first 
time she seemed to be at a loss.
"You've got your king. I'll take the queen."
"Why? What do you want of her?"
The dwarf snarled. "I'll decide that later. She's valuable, that's enough for 
now. Two!"
Oothiana was staring in horror, hands at her mouth. Rap tried to move, and some 
invisible power locked him to the couch. And why should he struggle? This would 
be a much faster death than being handed over to the goblin witch and her 
beloved Death Bird.
"Haven't got her," Bright Water said sulkily. "But you know where she is!"
The witch nodded with obvious reluctance.
"Toll!" snapped the warlock-but he did not complete his deadly counting.
"The Rasha woman took her. Tried to sell her to Olybino. East didn't like the 
price."
Zinixo hissed and hunched his head down, as if facing an attack. "What was that 
price?"
"Your guess is as good a bag of nuts as any." Bright Water's mad confidence 
seemed to be returning. "But neither has her now, so you can relax, sonny. "
The warlock did not look as if he would ever relax, but he had released the 
invisible bands around Rap, and Oothiana was looking less frightened. The wind 
blew cool on Rap's sweatsoaked hair.
The witch stroked her fire chick, turning it mauve again. Rap heard its strange 
purring noise inside his head.
"The elf wanted her, and I told him where she was."
"So?"
"She was in Zark, in Arakkaran. Lith'rian just happened to have a votary in the 
town, and he got the child away before Olybino did. "
"What's South doing with a votary in East's sector?" Zinixo growled, looking 
puzzled and even more suspicious than before. "Who knows? You mean you don't 
have any tucked away in odd places? Dear Gods, the kid's more honest than he 
looks! Anyway, this one's only a mage, but he charmed her into going off with 
him somehow. She's out in the desert-heading for South's sector, I expect. East 
doesn't know where she is, so he can't produce her for the imperor, as he said 
he would. "
"What's South up to?" The dwarf's expression had turned murderous again, at this 
talk of the elf.
Rap was wondering the same. He cared nothing for the fate of the impish troops 
in Krasnegar, nor what the goblins might do to harry them when they left; but he 
did care about Inos. If the warlock of the south was as bad as these other two 
wardens, then she must be in horrible danger. He had hated the thought of her 
being in the power of the sorceress Rasha, but now he thought the wardens were 
even worse. They were going to marry her off to a goblin, and it sounded as if 
the imperor had agreed.
"I warned you, " Bright Water sneered. "Never ask `why' of elves, lad. They 
think like drunk moths. But East thinks he has Kalkor to worry about, the 
goblins have burned Pondague and are raiding over the pass, and now he can't 
deliver up a girl the imperor wants to meet. Poor ninny's as red as a djinn. "
Zinixo chewed a fingernail. His suspicion seemed to darken the night. "Show me!" 
he said.
Bright Water shrugged, almost dislodging the fire chick. She glanced around the 
room, then went into her weird dance again, waltzing over the magic carpet, and 
eventually arriving in front of the big oval mirror on the wall. She pouted at 
it for a moment, stroking her fire chick, which turned a ghostly rose shade.
"Must be almost dawn in Zark," she muttered. "They may have struck camp already. 
" The glass shimmered and changed. Rap discovered that he was digging his nails 
into his palmsthis was nastily reminiscent of the magic casement in Krasnegar, 
which had caused so much trouble.
Soon he heard a strange noise, unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was 
faint, but it came from the mirror, a monstrous bellowing, distant and muffled, 
as if filtered through a thick window. Everyone in the Gazebo was watching 
whatever it was that the witch was doing.
Without warning, a hairy animal face appeared in the frame. It bared giant teeth 
and roared.
Zinixo leaped to his feet. "What the Evil?"
"It's a camel!" Oothiana shouted, and Bright Water cackled shrilly. The monster 
faded back into darkness. Now a pearly light flowed from the glass, as if it 
were a window to somewhere brighter than the darkness that still enshrouded the 
Gazebo. Bright Water's shadow lay long on the floor; the lamps seemed to have 
dimmed.
Then a new scene appeared, a row of dark shapes under trees. Rap recognized the 
trees. They were palms, and Thinal had said that there were palms in Zark. He 
wiped his forehead and glanced at Little Chicken, who was scowling, and at 
Oothiana, obviously fascinated. Zinixo was still gnawing his finger. At the far 
side of the room, the fake goblin Raspnex was being inscrutable, thick greenish 
arms folded over his barrel chest.
The view crept closer to the dark shapes, and they became more distinct, a line 
of black tents.
"This one, I think," the witch said. She might be crazy, but her sorcery was 
impressive. The tent that now dominated the view was much like all the others, 
except that it seemed to be flapping more, as if its ropes were loose, and its 
door flap hung awry. "Let's see, shall we? Queen Inosolan!" Everyone jumped at 
her shout.
Rap eased forward to the edge of the couch. Nobody noticed. For a moment only 
the wind and the sea spoke, and the muffled monster howls from the glass. He 
held his breath. Inos? Alive and well? He could hear his heart pounding. Again 
the witch called out "Queen Inosolan!"
The flap moved. Someone scrambled out on hands and knees, then stood up, a 
dark-shrouded figure with long bright hair. She peered around as if to locate 
the voice. Even in the predawn gloom, Rap knew her. Tears prickled under his 
eyelids.
"There she is!" Bright Water remarked triumphantly, stepping aside so that 
everyone could have a clear view.
They were going to marry Inos off to Little Chicken!
"Oh, that's very nice!" Zinixo said. "Tender and succulent! She shall be my 
guest until the Four have arranged a marriage for her. "
No! No! Rap lurched to his feet, ignoring a gesture from Oothiana. He bounded 
across the room to the looking glass. "Inos!" he shouted. "It's me! Rap!"
Inos looked around, puzzled. The glass was muffling his voice. Then she seemed 
to see him. Her mouth opened, and he heard a faint scream.
Clutching the ornate frame with both hands, he yelled as loud as he could. 
"Inos! It's a trap! Run away, Inos! Don't stay with them! "
He had hardly time to register another shape that came bursting out of the tent. 
It charged straight at him with sword flashing in the dawn. Yet an image in a 
mirror could not hurt him.
Magic could. Before he could utter another word he was hurled away by an 
invisible impact as heavy as a charging bull. He crashed full length to the 
floor, far from the looking glass.

Magic shadow shapes:
We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show.
Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§68, 1879)


NINE
Dead yesterday

1
The stones dug sharply into Inos's hands and hip. She was sprawled on the cold 
ground with Kade's comforting arms around her; shaking uncontrollably, not 
trusting herself to speak.
"I saw it, also!" Azak loomed protectively over them, still holding his scimitar 
and glowering around at the dawn. Fooni had come out, rubbing sleep from her 
eyes, bewildered but mercifully silent. Other people were emerging from other 
tents, alerted by Inos's scream. The camels kept up their awful bawling in the 
background, and the peaks of the Agonistes glowed pink to the west.
"A wraith?" Kade repeated.
"I know not what else," Azak snarled. "Not that I have ever seen one before. You 
knew him?" he demanded of Inos.
She nodded miserably.
Rap, oh Rap! It had sounded like Rap. It had looked like Rap, a faint 
transparent image in a blur of darkness. She had even made out his ever-tangled 
hair and the stupid tattoos on his face.
But why Rap? She had never thought of Rap as being wicked. Clumsy, maybe. 
Stubborn. Apt to do damage without meaning to, but never wicked. Yggingi had 
been an evil man. Andor, too, perhaps. Ekka had certainly schemed most foully. 
But Inos would never have imagined that there had been more evil than good in 
Rap. When the Gods had weighed his soul, then surely the balance would have been 
good, and gone to join the Good and become part of it forever, as the sacred 
texts said. Only a great sinner left a residue of evil that the Evil itself 
rejected and left behind to haunt the world as a wraith. Not Rap! If Rap had 
been judged so evil, than what hope was there for her, for her dead father, for 
anyone?
The others were approaching warily, starting to ask questions. Then the men 
noticed uncovered female faces and turned back. The women drew closer, 
jabbering.
" 'TWas nothing!" Azak insisted, whirling on them fiercely. "Merely a bad dream. 
" When they retreated in haste, he seemed to realize that he was still 
brandishing his sword; he sheathed it.
Kade tried to lift, and Inos let herself be helped to her feet. She fought to 
control her trembling limbs. "I'm fine! " she said. "Inos?" Kade whispered, blue 
eyes wide. "Who was it?"
"It was Rap."
"Rap? Oh, no!" But probably Kade was relieved that Inos had not seen her father.
"Who was this Rap?" Azak demanded. Inos just shook her head.
Kade explained. "A servant in her father's house. A groom. He was slain by the 
imps, we thought. "
"He must have died somehow. There are no footprints where I saw him. My blade 
passed right through the vision. " Azak also was showing the whites of his eyes. 
He must be more troubled than he would admit. He rounded on little Fooni and 
roared at her to make coffee. Fooni fled. Kade helped Inos toward the tent, and 
suddenly her legs steadied.
"I in all right," she insisted. "I can walk."
Azak lifted the flap, and they all went inside, away from prying eyes. Inos 
sprawled loosely down on her bedding and shivered. Kade drew a blanket over her 
shoulders for her.
"It spoke," Azak said. "What did this apparition say to you?"
"It ... he ... it said something about me being in a trap. It said to flee, to 
run away."
The big man grunted. He adjusted his sword and sat down cross-legged. "Which is 
exactly what we were about to do."
"We can't now," Inos whispered, thinking of the crowd that had appeared. She 
huddled the blanket tighter.
"Not today, anyway. Tomorrow we shall be farther inland, away from the boat. And 
it may not wait for us. " He scratched at his stubbled face and scowled.
"Wraiths are the embodiment of Evil!" Kade protested. "Whatever it said we must 
ignore! It would be the height of folly to take the advice of a wraith! "
Inos looked at Azak and they nodded simultaneously. "We must not trust it!" he 
said.
Yet it had seemed so much like Rap! It had sounded so much like Rap, Rap very 
agitated about something. She had never thought of Rap as especially clever. 
Dogged. Well meaning. Earnest. And had Rap spoken as emphatically as that, he 
would have had good reason. He had never played silly practical jokes, like Lin 
or Verantor.
She discovered that her instincts were telling her to trust what the eerie 
vision had said. Run away! But Kade was being sensible. To take the advice of a 
ghost would be insanely foolish. Its motives would always be evil.
Rap had helped the goblin kill the proconsul. Had that been the wickedness that 
had tipped the balance? Oh, Rap!
Azak was staring. What must he be thinking of her?
"I'm a fool, " she said. "I should not have cried out like that. It was just so 
sudden, so unexpected."
"Perfectly natural. "
Perfectly natural for sheltered palace flowers, but that was not how she wished 
to be judged.
"No, it was unforgivable. I am ashamed."
"Queen Inosolan," Azak said softly, his dark gaze unwavering, "you reacted by 
shouting for help. Why not? You faced an unexpected danger. You were alone and 
unarmed. I reacted by charging like a mad bull. That was not rational or 
forgivable, for I had not taken time to assess the nature of the enemy. And if 
you fear that I may think the less of you because of what has just happened, 
then please set your mind completely at rest. Ever since I watched you ride my 
most ungovernable horse, my lady, I have never doubted your courage, nor shall I 
ever doubt it. You taught me that a woman could be brave like few men I know, 
and that was a wonder beyond all my experience and outside the lore of the 
ancients. "
Huh? Inos gaped. She had never expected to provoke a speech like that from the 
giant. In fact, she was astonished to discover he was capable of it. She had 
just found another unexpected facet of his character.
Before she could frame a reply worthy of her Kinvale training, the tent door was 
darkened by a large bulk. "First Lionslayer, may I enter?"
Azak flashed the women a glance of warning. "Enter and be welcome to my humble 
abode, Greatness."
Sheik Elkarath stooped and came in, wheezing softly, massive enough to make the 
tent seem crowded. He had discarded his many-colored garments before leaving the 
city and now wore a simple white robe. He sank to his knees, not looking at 
faces. "May all the Gods respect this house," he muttered formally to the 
matting.
Azak gave a ritual response, offering food and water.
"You have troubles, Lionslayer?" The sheik fingered his rings and still did not 
raise his eyes.
Azak hesitated, then told the story. Swift sunrise brightened the tent. Inos 
cowered inside her blanket, still trying to control her shivers.
Thinking of Rap.
"And her Majesty knew the man," Azak concluded. The only item he had not 
mentioned was that the sheik's chief guard had been planning to desert and take 
his companions with him. But there were bundles lying around, and a wily old 
trader might well be wondering why someone had been packing at so early an hour.
"Majesty?" he murmured, with a glance in the general direction of Inos.
"One of her late father's stablehands," Kade explained. "Slain by the imps who 
pursued us."
The old man thoughtfully stroked his snowy beard with plump fingers that 
splattered rainbows. "And what did it say to you?" Inos found her tongue and 
repeated the wraith's words as well as she could recall them.
"Ah!" Elkarath nodded. The sunlight flashed crimson from the rubies on his 
headband, and some jewel among his rings streaked orange fire. "Did the 
sorceress ever meet this man?"
"Yes!" Inos said excitedly. "Yes, he was in the chamber when she came. It was 
she who showed me later that he had been killed!"
He chuckled. "Then she is playing tricks on you! Do you see?"
"Of course! " Relief surged through Inos like spring sunshine melting winter 
snow. "It was a sending from Rasha! " She looked to Azak, who grinned with a 
ferocious joy.
"Indeed!" he exclaimed. "This is most logical! Mayhap the harlot cannot find us 
herself, but is capable of sending evil spirits after us. They might take any 
form! Who knows the limitations of her power? I do think you have solved the 
mystery, Greatness! "
"I agree!" Inos said. "Aunt?"
Kade nodded, although she still seemed doubtful.
"Then I take it that you will not obey the commands of this abomination? " 
Elkarath inquired softly.
"Of course not!" Inos said. "Your wisdom has solved the mystery, your Greatness. 
We are relieved, and much in your debt. "
"Let us hope that by nightfall we shall be out of her range, then."
The others exchanged smiles of agreement and relief. The sinister chill of the 
evil undead had been banished and replaced by indignation at the sorceress's 
spite. Feeling much warmer now and rather foolish under her blanket, Inos threw 
it off and laughed. How stupid to be frightened by an apparition so 
insubstantial that Azak's sword had passed right through it!
Rap must still be dead, but she need not worry that he had become a wraith. 
After all, death came to everyone. Rap's end had been tragic, but she was 
beginning to accept it, and her father's, also. They would both have gone to 
join the Good, and she would not let Rasha persuade her otherwise.
Elkarath chuckled and started to rise. Azak jumped up to help him. Even Kade was 
smiling.
There could be no thought now of leaving the sheik's caravan. Ahead lay the 
desert and adventure and the road to Ullacarn. The emergency was over.

2
For some minutes, Rap just lay and tried to collect his spilled wits. The impact 
with the floor had left him winded and shaken, hurting at every protruding bone: 
knees, elbows, and hips. There had been a man in her tent. Two hard landings in 
one night were two too many. Counting the one the night before would make three, 
but a convenient sorcery had cured the effects of the first one. Even so, he 
ought to take better care of himself. Wouldn't always have sorcery around to 
help. His face still throbbed from Bright Water's first attack, and it was 
resting on a threadbare rug stinking of age and dust; his nose was dribbling 
blood on it. A man in her tent?
There were dead leaves all around him. A moment ago they had been casting 
shadows across the tattered landscape of carpet. Now they weren't. That meant 
that the magic mirror was no longer showing Zark; no more dawn sunshine and 
palms and sand and tents and Inos. He couldn't hear the camels, either.
No need to hurry, then. There had been a man in her tent. Bright Water was 
speaking. Then the dwarf. They both laughed. Zinixo must be feeling extremely 
sure of himself if he could laugh. Perhaps they were laughing at him, idiot 
stableboy spread out bleeding on the floor. What ever happened to the bold young 
hero who was going to go to Zark and find Inos because he'd told her he was 
coming and he wanted to keep his word? A few hard knocks and he shattered like a 
crystal goblet.
He raised his head, and it didn't fall off. It was none of his business if Inos 
had been sharing a tent with a man. The witch was babbling something to 
Oothiana, calling her by the wrong name. Then she spun around, warbling one of 
her fragments of song, and somehow arrived on the shiny magic mat. There might 
be a moral there: Bright Water goes round and round but she gets where she wants 
to be. With the dragon glowing amber, witch and fire chick faded away and 
vanished.
Had she bought him from the dwarf or not? Had Zinixo bought Inos? Would Inos 
heed Rap's pathetic warning? It had been all he could do, to shout to her like 
that. He hoped she had understood.
He pushed himself up, but didn't quite make it to a sitting position. He leaned 
on his arms instead and blinked to get his eyes working. It couldn't be any more 
than a month since Inos left Krasnegar, and probably not as much. His head 
ached. "Right,. Uncle," the warlock said. "Go and get 'em!"
The fake goblin stalked over to the magic portal. Rap caught a rank whiff of 
rancid grease as he went by. Of course Inos had always been popular and could 
probably make new friends very easily, but a month wasn't very long to make 
really close friends. Intimate friends.
"Tell me exactly what I must do, Omnipotence," Raspnex said.
"Being cautious, Uncle?"
"Nephew, you make anyone cautious."
The boy laughed, but his mirth had a mean ring to it. "Go north and stay close 
to the imps when they leave Krasnegar. If you detect power, mark who's using it. 
Don't reveal yourself. Serve my interests as you see them."
"To the death, of course?"
"Of course. Take the welcome mat with you."
The older dwarf shrugged and headed over to stand on the shiny rug. He shut his 
eyes, as if he were concentrating hard. Rap struggled to his knees. The witch 
had shouted, Inos had come out of the tent, Rap had frightened her, she had 
screamed, and the man had come out. Big. Young. Can use a sword. Same tent.
Raspnex and magic carpet faded away together.
The warlock yelled in triumph and did a little dance like Bright Water's, his 
boots thumping loud on the planks. He held out a hand to Oothiana and spun her 
around roughly.
"Oh, I shall have East where I want him! He'll be ordering his legions about in 
a shrill soprano from now on!"
Rap scrambled to his feet and reeled out of the way as the two sorcerers went 
whirling by. Inos's tent had been quite large, hadn't it? Too big for just two 
people, maybe. There might have been other people in there, as well. Her aunt, 
perhaps.
Zinixo stopped dancing. He gripped Oothiana's face in both hands and pulled it 
down to kiss. Then he released her and spun around to face the oval glass, which 
had become a mirror again. "Now, the girl!"
Alarms rang in Rap's aching head. This vile little monster was not going to get 
his hands on Inos! Except that there was no one who could stop him. Not Rap. Not 
that big man with the sword. He must have been a guard, and there would have 
been other people in that tent, as well. Queens did not travel alone in the 
desert.
But before Rap could force his muddled brains to work, someone or something did 
stop the warlock. He turned back to scowl at Oothiana. "You agree?" he demanded, 
although she had said nothing.
She shook her head.
Apparently the dwarf valued her judgment. He pouted up at her and said, 
"Explain!"
"The witch said that South had stolen her away from East-"
"From the sorceress, she said."
"Well, before East could steal her from the sorceress, South did. And in East's 
sector. Why?"
"They're allies, you mean?"
"Yes, Omnipotence. And that so-convenient votary? It doesn't ring true, even for 
an elf."
"You think North was lying?" His stony face darkened. The proconsul nodded. She 
seemed to have relaxed her magic, because she was looking drained and exhausted. 
Haggard, even. "She made friends with you tonight, but she may be trying to make 
trouble for you, too. If you snatch the girl from East's sector, he isn't going 
to like it."
Zinixo guffawed. "But I'm going to have him staked out on the anthill! And he 
tried to kill me," he added angrily. Getting no response, he said, "Tell me what 
you think!"
The sorceress ran fingers through her hair, pushing it back. She took a minute 
to gather her thoughts. Rap's head was clearing, too. Bright Water had 
apparently gained what she wanted, Little Chicken, and she had given up nothing 
of her own, merely a chance to spy on Warlock Olybino. She could spy on him 
herself at the same time, with her own votaries, so she hadn't lost anything 
very much, and the dwarf didn't seem to have thought of that. Had Oothiana?
"You've done North a favor," she said, "for what it's worth. The elf's your big 
trouble. He always will be. I think you should woo East. You're going to know 
his votaries, or some of them. He's the weakest of the four of you, isn't he? " 
When the warlock nodded, she said, "Well, then he would value an alliance with 
you, because you're stronger than either of the others. Don't make him mad. Woo 
him!"
"Isolate South!" The dwarf showed his teeth. "Very good! And we still don't 
really know what the yellow whoreson was doing when he gave North that dragon. 
Tell East where the girl is, you think?"
"No, Sire. No yet, anyway. He's promised her to the imperor, so he must be 
hunting for her. But wait and see what happens. Find out who does control her. 
If South really does steal her away from East's sector, then their alliance will 
surely be over! Play a waiting game. Knowledge is power."
Zinixo thought about it, then nodded reluctantly. "All right. We'll wait and 
see." Abruptly he headed for the magic portal. "Master!" Oothiana said. "What do 
I do with the prisoners?"
Faun and goblin caught each other's eyes. They, also, were interested in the 
answer to that question.
The warlock scowled at Little Chicken, then at Rap. "We have to send them back 
to the mainland. "
"Buy passage for them, then?"
He shook his big head vehemently. "Why waste money? They're healthy-looking 
types. Send them down to the docks in the morning and sell them to a galley 
master. Be sure you get at least ten gold imperials for each of them. What 
happens after is their problem. "
And with that, Warlock Zinixo hauled open the magic portal and went back to Hub. 
The door slammed behind him.
The others all relaxed with audible sighs.
A load of weariness fell on Rap like an avalanche. It had been a very hard 
night!
So he was going to be a galley slave after all?
Back to the mainland. Then what? A lifetime chained to an oar? Or Raven Totem 
and a terrible death? Or Zark and Inos? There had been a man in her tent.

3
For once the cool sea breeze had failed in Milflor. Muggy air stuffed throats 
like wool and although the sun was barely above the spiky roof of the Gazebo, it 
was brutally roasting the docks already. Noontime was going to be hell. Sailors 
and slaves, merchants and porters-all dragged their feet as they slouched about 
their business. All cursed and sweated and wiped and panted. Even the sea gulls 
seemed to have deserted their usual hunting grounds. No one was moving fast.
Rap certainly wasn't. Fettered at ankle and wrist and neck, all chained together 
so that he was doubled over, he walked with his hands between his knees. He was 
very close to being naked. The sun scorched his bare back, flagstones broiled 
his bare feet, and the anklets took more skin with every step. He would not have 
Oothiana around to mend him any more. She had repaired his bruises when she put 
him back in the jail, and that had not been very long before dawn. She had also 
put a compulsion on him so he could make no more escape attempts, but he could 
hardly blame her for doing that. He had liked Oothiana. She deserved better than 
to be slave and plaything for the warlock.
And she had talked Zinixo out of kidnapping Inos.
At last Rap had a chance to inspect the ships tied up in Milflor. He had 
shuffled half the length of the docks and would likely have to shuffle all the 
way to the end, and then partway back. If he went too fast he lost more skin; if 
he went too slow he got hit with a sword, and even the flat of a sword could 
hurt.
He was doing better than Little Chicken, though. The legionaries had comrades to 
commemorate, and they knew of only one goblin in Faerie. Every few minutes their 
victim would be pushed too hard, or just tripped up, and would crash to the 
roadway in a wild jangle of chains. Then two men would kick him until he 
scrambled up again. The dull-faced young tesserary was not merely encouraging 
his men in this entertainment, he was taking his turn with the others. Rap's 
heart jumped into his mouth every time, for if Little Chicken lost his temper, 
he would tear those chains off like spiderwebs and hold another massacre. 
Fortunately he was very eager to be put on a ship and was therefore willing to 
endure the indignity. The physical pain he would be accepting as an honor.
There were galleys and there were sailing ships. The latter were impressive, for 
the tide was in and their freeboard put their decks high above the roadway. Some 
were large as floating castles, grander than anything Rap had ever seen in 
Krasnegarvast ornamental wooden palaces, colorful, intricate, and strange. Their 
luxury cabins would have honored monarchs. In most of them the lesser 
passengers' deck was an overcrowded slum, while the crew's quarters below them 
were a prospect to nauseate maggots.
But the galleys interested him more at the moment. They were much smaller; 
narrow and low, and generally cleaner, because galleys were entirely reserved to 
the rich. A galley needed an enormous crew for its size, all of whom would have 
good appetites. Galleys could carry very little paying cargo, but they were the 
safest vessels in the doldrums of the Nogids.
Most of the galleys he saw were little more than open boats with a row of 
cramped passenger cabins standing along the centerline. They looked top-heavy 
and would be unmanageable in any sort of crosswind. The rowers must sleep on 
their benches, or on bare planks.
Letting his farsight roam the harbor was much more entertaining than staring 
down at the flags or his own dusty, blood-streaked feet, or Little Chicken's, or 
the soldiers' boots. Whatever the future held, he would not regret leaving the 
baleful land of Faerie. Even slavery could be accepted for a while, if it moved 
him closer to Inos.
There had been a man in her tent. He had thought about that when he should have 
been catching some sleep in the fag end of the night. He had concluded that 
there were so many possible explanations for what he might possibly have seen 
that he must just forget the whole incident. It was none of his business anyway. 
Inos was his queen, and he was merely her loyal subject, nothing more. Even if 
she chose to create a public scandal, it would be none of his business. He could 
not imagine Inos creating a public scandal-not, at least, that sort of public 
scandalbut she was certainly entitled to do so if she chose.
The big man with the sword might even have been the mage Bright Water had 
mentioned, assuming that the witch had spoken any truth at all. Inos could no 
more keep a mage out of her tent than Lady Oothiana could refuse to serve the 
disgusting warlock.
Forget about the man in the tent.
Rap had escaped from goblins, from imps, and now from a warlock. That was the 
most surprising escape of all. And why should sailors be any different? Once on 
the mainland, he would escape again and start walking.
There was no such thing as slavery in the Impire. The legionaries were seeking a 
ship's captain willing to transport two convicts back to the mainland. It was an 
interesting fable, but in practice the sailors inspected the alleged convicts as 
carefully as old Hononin scrutinized a horse-poking, pinching, peering in their 
mouths and eyes, lifting their slaves' loincloths to check for disease or 
mutilation. The ship's destination was irrelevant and never mentioned. These 
convicts would sail to the ends of their lives, or until they reached a land 
where marketing of people was less overregulated.
The bidding was a farce. How much to ship them, then? the bored tesserary would 
ask. The sailor would name a price. The soldier would automatically tell him it 
was too low, he must charge more.
He would write down the final offer, and then move on to the next berth to offer 
his wares again. In time the parade would return to the highest bidder. It was 
going to take all day, likely.
But suddenly Rap's chin was grabbed in a horny hand and twisted up until he was 
staring into pallid blue eyes above a silver floor-brush mustache.
"You heal quickly, halfman." Gathmor was wearing more than he had done the 
previous day, but he was still bare-chested, crude and dangerous as a white 
bear.
"I had help, thir." Of necessity, Rap spoke through clenched teeth.
"Still want to be a rower?"
"Meth, thir."
"How many fingers am I holding out on my other hand?" The jotunn's voice was 
low, his other hand was behind his back, but when Rap hesitated, his thumb found 
the pressure point below Rap's ear and squeezed mercilessly.
"Three, thir," Rap said as tears of pain sprang unbidden into his eyes.
"Now?"
"Two, thir. " He was released.
"What was all that about?" the tesserary asked, not caring much.
"That goblin really mess up half a century coupla days ago?" Rap could not see 
the speakers' faces, but he heard the change in tone. "Where did you hear that 
lie, sailor?"
"Saloon gossip. Did he?"
"There was a riot. "
"I heard otherwise. How much for them both?"
"You bid on a contract to-"
"Come with me." The jotunn led the tesserary aside for serious talk. Gathmor's 
eyes would have told him that Rap's injuries had been cured by sorcery, but how 
had he learned that Rap had farsight? A sailor with occult farsight would be 
invaluable. And he seemingly knew that this goblin could outrow anyone-if he 
chose to, of course. Gathmor was remarkably well informed.
Rap edged his feet around and twisted his head sideways to see how the bribery 
was coming along. Another man was blocking his view. He was dashingly dressed in 
the loose clothes that the rich affected in such warm climes, but they were 
superbly cut and were being worn with supreme elan. A broad-brimmed hat shadowed 
his handsome bronzed face, a rapier dangled rakishly at his hip. He flashed Rap 
a smile of snow-white teeth.
In the first surge of his fury, Rap tried to straighten. He paid for his error 
with more skin from wrists and ankles. Had he not been chained, he would have 
attacked, for this was the monster who had used foul occult mastery to deceive 
Inos. Hatred made Rap tremble. He could imagine nothing in the world more 
pleasurable than grinding that pretty face into the street.
His second emotion was a stab of fear. Where there was Andor, there could be 
Darad.
"Hello again, Rap."
"What'd you want?"
Andor's smile became tinged with sadness, or possibly pity. "Thinal thinks 
you're lying, Rap. "
"What? "
"Thinal's very good at detecting lies, you know. Best of the lot of us. He 
thought you were lying when you said you didn't know your word of power. Not 
nice to lie to your friends, Rap!" So Andor was still after Rap's word, and if 
Rap was now capable of telling it, then Darad could be called to encourage the 
telling and arrange the unfortunate consequences.
Andor watched Rap's reaction, and his smile grew even wider. "Rowing is fine 
exercise! Better even than running, I'm told."
"But you won't be trying it."
"Er, no." Andor sighed regretfully. "I'm often told that my hands are one of my 
best features. But I'll be in Cabin One. Do drop in for a chat sometime. Ah ... 
Looks like your fare has been paid. Well, see you on board, old buddy. Bon 
voyage!"

4
Andor led the way along the quay. Rap followed, with Little Chicken hobbling 
behind him, and the sailor bringing up the rear; having just paid out much good 
gold for two healthy thralls, Gathmor was taking no chances on losing them 
before they even reached Stormdancer.
A thrall with farsight, an occult slave ... to sailors, Rap was beyond price. 
Shuffling along in his awkward trussed posture, he lamented the irony of his new 
situation. Minutes ago he had been congratulating himself on escaping from 
Faerie. Faerie was a good place to escape out of, but what had he escaped into?
What chance would he ever have of escaping from sailors who knew of his occult 
talent? A pilot who could see in fog, in the dark? The crew would guard him like 
a chest of rubies, the most precious thing aboard.
So the sailors wanted his talent, but Andor was still after his word of power. 
Perhaps Rap had been unfair in his attitude to Thinal, for whatever his 
suspicions, the little alleyrat had at least refrained from calling Darad. Andor 
was not so picky. The gentleman had fewer scruples than the thief.
And Little Chicken wanted his hide. Having been hailed as a king by a coven of 
sorcerers, the goblin saw himself as nobody's trash now. Now he was the worst 
danger of all. Given a fraction of a chance, he was going to toss Rap over his 
shoulder and lay course for the taiga, for Raven Totem and his destiny.
Bystanders on the Milflor dock saw a gentleman and a sailor escorting two 
convicts, and they paid slim heed. What Rap saw was three jailers escorting him. 
He wondered which one was going to get him.
He wondered if they might all kill one another off and leave him free to go.
Of it they might end up with one-third apiece.
Then he was following Andor down the plank to Stormdancer's deck and a future as 
a galley slave.
Dead yesterday:
Ah, fill the Cup:-what boots it to repeat How time is slipping underneath our 
Feet: Unborn Tomorrow, and dead Yesterday, Why fret about them if Today be 
sweet! Fitzgerald, Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§37, 1859)


TEN
Water willy-nilly

1
The helmsman's deck aft was very tiny and presently crowded. Still clattering 
chains, Rap was handed over to Kani, a wiry young fellow with the hopelessly 
battered face of a jotunn who couldn't fight well. That was not his only 
surprising quality. His sea-blue eyes twinkling happily through a straggling mop 
of silver-blond hair, his lopsided, gap-toothed grin was half hidden by a 
matching mustache, and yet he chattered like a purebred imp.
He began by shaking Rap's hand crushingly-a noisy and awkward procedure because 
of the chains-and thereafter he just kept talking. Wind's from the west, 
unusual, he said as he set to work removing Rap's fetters, be underway in an 
hour. What's that round your eyes? he asked. Makes you look like a raccoon. Ever 
done any rowing? Is that other one really a goblin? Heard of them, never seen 
one. Are you left-handed or right-handed? Can't row bare-asked like that, get 
you some decent gear. Grab some chow from that basket if you're hungry and come 
along and meet the lads. And as soon as Rap was unshackled, Kani led the way 
into the chaos of a hot, dim, and very crowded tunnel.
On one hand the walls and doors of the passengers' cabins stood taller than a 
man. On the other, shade awnings slanted steeply down to the ship's side, ending 
barely high enough to clear the heads of men sitting there. More air and light 
could have struggled in from both ends of this awkward gut, had not it been so 
completely packed with bodies: men on benches, men on the baggage between the 
benches, men sitting or kneeling in the gangway, men walking and standing and 
passing bundles and bags around. In all there were at least forty sailors 
scrambling about in the narrow space, and it was dark and hot and unpleasant, 
filled with odors of men and ancient spills of every fluid the human body could 
produce.
Bewildered by the friendly reception, Rap followed Kani as best he could, 
banging knees and elbows, stubbing toes, squeezing past people, and clambering 
over oars and benches and stacks of supplies, all of which were being crammed 
into completely inadequate storage below the seats. And Kani was continually 
introducing him, so he must cling greedily to his treasure of victuals with his 
left arm, while at the same time trying to smile convincingly as his right hand 
was deliberately juiced by the boisterous grips of professional oarsmen.
At times he found himself squashed breathless inside a pack of six or seven 
sweaty sailors while someone or something important went by. One of these close 
encounters put him nose to nose with Kani, who peered through his dangling 
flaxen thatch and exclaimed, "You've got gray eyes! Never saw a faun with gray 
eyes."
"I'm half jotunn."
"Hey! Why didn't you say so? Rape, of course? But that's terrific! Was wondering 
why Number One would buy a faun, even a large economy size. Guys, Rap's got 
jotunn blood in him."
Rap was then congratulated all around on being part jotunn, his back slapped 
bruisingly, and his hand pumped again, more vigorously and agonizingly than 
ever. Gradually he made sense out of Kani's disorganized chatter. Although 
Stonndancer's home port was Durthing, on the Imperial island of Kith, all of her 
officers were jotnar, as were all the rowers except for two imps, one djinn, and 
a few assorted half-breeds.
"I'm pure jotunn, of course," Kani said, his eyes daring Rap to contest the 
point or belittle its importance, "but it's no secret that I've never seen 
Nordland. "
"Nor your father, nor his before him," remarked another voice. Kani wheeled, and 
eyed the speaker. He was a sour-faced jotunn rating named Crunterp, much larger 
than Kani. Too large, evidently, because Kani did not take offense. He said, 
"Um. " Crunterp smirked and went back to coiling a rope.
"O'course jotnar prefer jotnar," Kani said, squeezing by him.
"Only natural. But you being half jotunn helps, and Number One runs a fair ship. 
Pull your weight and the worst you'll get is wisecracks and a bit o' jostling to 
keep you humble. No real hardship."
An inexplicable lump had settled in Rap's throat. Apparently life on Stonndancer 
would not be the living hell he had been expecting. In fact it might turn out to 
be dangerously enjoyable. For far too long, he had been deprived of friendly 
company. Goblins didn't count, and even before he'd acquired his green shadow, 
he'd been shunned as a seer in Krasnegar. Just to be smiled at and smile back 
was a forgotten treat. Let them batter his shoulders and crush his fingers! He'd 
grown up around jotnar and knew their rough ways. He knew their good points, 
too.
After much further heaving and pushing, Kani brought Rap to his assigned bench, 
almost all of it already occupied by his assigned benchmate, a dog-faced 
rolypoly giant who apparently answered to the name of Ballast.
"Ballast," Kani said solemnly, "is one-quarter troll and three-quarters jotunn, 
and therefore mostly troll."
The big man exploded in bellows of laughter that seemed to rock the ship, while 
Kani's eye said plainly that the joke was old and threadbare. Probably it always 
won the same reaction from the big man, for if Ballast had twice normal bulk, he 
seemed to combine it with little more than half normal brains. But he was the 
first man on board to shake Rap's hand without deliberately squeezing it. Alone 
among the half-naked crew, he was fully dressed, even his arms being draped in 
long sleeves. Rap decided that he liked this good-natured colossus and hoped 
that it was only his clothes that smelled so bad. He would obviously be capable 
of doing much more than his fair share of the rowing.
Feeling happier by the minute, Rap perched on the tiny corner of bench left to 
him and began to tear at the loaf and cheese he had been clutching so fondly.
"Here, put your chains on," Kani said and knelt to shackle Rap's ankles. When he 
stood up, he grinned and remarked, "Don't forget to unfasten 'em if you need go 
to the heads. You'll break your neck otherwise. Want anything, just ask 
Ballast." And he went wriggling off through the mad chaos of bodies and baggage.
What Rap wanted right away was an explanation of the chains, but he quickly 
discovered that Ballast was not the man to ask. He turned instead to Ogi, who 
was one of the two purebred imps-short, swarthy, and almost as wide as a dwarf. 
Ogi shared the next bench forward with a jotunn named Verg.
He chuckled at the question and rattled the chain on his own ankle. "A sailor's 
always chained to his ship. An old jotunn tradition! "
"Not in the north, it isn't," Rap said.
Another chuckle. "There's no slavery in the Impire, right? That's the legal 
legend, right? We're all free men on this shipor we were until you got here. 
'Cept for a couple of rookies, we're all partners; every man has a share. But 
there are bought sailors on the Summer Seas, lad. You and your friend aren't the 
only thralls around. So there's the tradition-all the hands are chained, always. 
I've heard some farm workers have similar customs, except it's more of a 
religious rite with them, symbolizing brotherhood of the soil, or something. We 
tend to observe ours in Imperial ports, and not elsewhere. Un'erstand now?"
So Rap was a real slave wearing fake chains. He found that quite ironic-and very 
realistic. He wasn't going to do much escaping with seventy or eighty sailors 
watching him. Not when they all owned a piece of him.
A couple of hours after he boarded, lines were cast off, and the oars run out, 
but no green hand would be allowed to row while the vessel was still in harbor. 
Ballast rowed while Rap sat in the gangway and gutted fish.
Only one man was needed on each oar, usually, and in this case it was not for 
long. As soon as the ship had crossed the bar, the sail was hoisted. There had 
been no wind in the town and there was little enough even out to sea, but what 
there was could still move a ship about as fast as rowers could. And always it 
had to be one or the other; under sail the ship heeled over, making rowing 
impossible.
Sliding smoothly over the swell, Stormdancer set course for the horizon within a 
convoy of fourteen.
The awnings were taken down and the chains were thrown off, with no regrets. 
Sunlight and a fresh breeze made Rap feel even better than before, confident 
that he had enough jotunn in him that he need never fear seasickness. By then, 
too, he had realized that neither his faunish appearance nor his slave status 
was going to matter at all on Stormdancer. His inexperience would, and everyone 
was going to work very hard at curing him of that, but otherwise he was being 
accepted as just another new hand. That discovery was so unexpected and so 
exhilarating that he felt drunk.
Soon after departure, young Kani's demolished face appeared again, complete with 
grin. He had been sent to give some lessons, he said, and he thereupon conducted 
Rap all over the ship, from stem to stern and up the mast, also, naming and 
explaining. Use the wrong name for anything after this, he warned, and Rap would 
feel the mate's fist.
The master was the Old Man, and a truly old man, Gnurr. He left most of the work 
to Gathmor, who was Number One, and this Number One could lick any man aboard 
and was willing to prove it at any time. Kani obviously admired his talent 
greatly, but he did add in passing that Gathmor was a fine mariner, as well.
The tour ended on the catwalk that ran along the top of the line of cabins, and 
this seemed to be the only clear space on the ship. An elderly couple sat on 
chairs at the forward end, frowning at the intruders.
"Passengers' deck," Kani said. "Don't come up here without orders. Now, any 
questions?" He leaned back against the flimsy rail.
"Why did we come up here now?" Rap asked.
"Time to start your exercises. Hey, Verg! Pass up an oar, lad. "
An oar was three spans long and loaded at the handle end with a counterweight of 
solid lead. Kani dropped it at Rap's feet.
"What do I do with this?"
"Lift it overhead and then lay down. That's all."
"For how long?" Rap asked unhappily.
Kani considered, smirking under his windswept mustache. "Two months and you 
might risk some arm wrestling. Four months you could try a fight or two. Six 
months and you may be an oarsman. Now there's something I didn't mention-no 
fighting on board! Save it up for shore, or settle with arm wrestling. "
Rap had heard of the rule; it was why newly docked jotnar were notoriously 
homicidal. "I'll try to restrain myself."
"Except Gathmor, o'course. He's got to be able to maintain discipline. "
Rap could not imagine himself ever deliberately provoking Gathmor to a fight, 
afloat or ashore. "Is the culprit allowed to defend himself?"
Kani chuckled. "Against Gathmor? Defend yourself all you want. It won't make any 
difference. "
About to pick up the oar, Rap hesitated. He decided that he liked Kani, except 
that he was so reminiscent of any one of a dozen or so jotnar back in Krasnegar 
that he was making Rap homesick. "The goblin?"
"I 'spect he'll be next. No more questions? Then get moving." Kani turned away.
"You mentioned arm wrestling?"
Kani turned back, alert. "Ship's sport."
"Any side bets?" Rap knew what the answer would be even before the sailor 
nodded. "Then go lay all the money you can that anyone you like can't beat the 
goblin."
Kani moved a pace closer. Foam-white lashes drooped menacingly over eyes as blue 
and deadly as the sea. "I would be very, very upset if I lost a bet like that, 
Rap," he murmured.
"You won't. It's free coin, but you'll need to do it before you exercise him." 
Rap stooped to pick up the oar.
A jotunn's favorite sport was brawling, always. Whether wenching or gambling 
came second depended strictly on the opportunities. Rap had just made a friend.

2
Stormdancer had set sail from Milflor in a convoy of fourteen. By the next 
morning only eight were still in sight, and the mountains of Faerie had vanished 
over the edge of the sea. The wind was fitful and continued to veer too much 
southerly for the crew's comfort, but it was strong enough to prohibit rowing.
The galley was little more than a large boat, and tiny for her complement of 
eighty. She mounted a square sail on her single mast, but her superstructure and 
shallow draft made her unweatherly, and under sail she could do nothing but run 
before the wind. In a calm the rowers would be sheltered by awnings, but those 
were taken down when the wind blew. The spaces below the benches were crammed 
with baggage, the benches themselves laden with men, either working or sleeping. 
The only clear places aboard were tiny decks at stem and stern, and the cabin 
roof that was reserved for passengers.
Little Chicken soon demonstrated that exercises were wasted on him, so Rap had 
to suffer up there alone each day with the oar. He would not have believed that 
anything could have hurt more than his run through the forest with the goblin, 
but now he was far from sure. He ached from fingers to toes. His hands were raw 
with blisters, although every man aboard had blisters and always would.
On the second day, while he was slumped in a heap on the boards, enjoying a few 
minutes' blessed break, he found himself staring at a pair of expensive shoes. 
He looked up just as Andor crouched down and smiled winningly.
"Hello," he said.
"Go swim," Rap panted.
His remark earned an expression of pained reproof. "I got you off Faerie, didn't 
I? That was what you wanted?"
Rap ached all over. He was shivering as the sea breeze chilled his sweat. The 
last thing he wanted was a talk with Andor. "I'd have managed without you."
"But not on this ship. It's a good one, Rap. Lots are worse. Gathmor has a good 
reputation-I checked. Believe me, I checked very carefully!"
Rap scowled at the too-handsome face. "Why're you leaving? I thought Sagorn 
wanted to stay?"
Andor snorted. "Crazy old man! Faerie's obviously swarming with magic. Far too 
dangerous for us! "
"Including me, or just you and the others?"
"All of us! Sagorn's a nitwit in some ways. He'll do anything to gain more 
learning, but he'd achieve nothing in Faerie except to get us all caught. I saw 
you talking with Gathmor on the bench. I want to know what happened afterward. 
Who healed your injuries?"
Already Rap could feel the mastery working on him, softening his resentment, 
whispering that Andor was a useful friend, that he could be trusted.
"Go away! I don't want to talk to you."
"But you should! We can help each other. Listen, Rap. It wasn't me that sold you 
to the goblins. It was Darad. I didn't want to call him. I had no choice."
"You set that up--"
Andor looked hurt. "No! If I'd planned to loose Darad on you, I could have done 
it as soon as we left Krasnegar, couldn't I? God of Villains, I could have done 
it any time. I had months when I could have trapped you-in your room, or the 
guards' gym, or the stables. I really hoped wed get through the forest without 
trouble. And if we did meet with the goblins, I honestly thought you'd agree to 
share, then." He sighed. "Yes, I was after your word of power, but I'd have 
shared mine, also. Believe me! "
Rap knew he could never look Andor in the eye and lie to him. He stared at the 
hateful oar lying on the deck between them. "I don't know any word of power!"
"Thinal thinks you do."
"He's wrong."
Andor sighed. "I told you, Thinal's the best of all of us at detecting lies. He 
decided that you do know your word of power. That's good enough for me. Maybe 
you didn't once, but you do now. "
Rap did not answer. He was shivering and starting to stiffen up, and any minute 
now Gathmor would be shouting at him to get back to work. Below him the sailors 
were noisily arguing, cleaning, tidying, repairing, or just sprawled on benches, 
snoring.
"Sagorn hoped to find more words in Faerie," Andor said. "Me, I'm a gambler. "
Now Rap did look up to meet that soulful, earnest gaze. "Gambler?"
Andor smiled triumphantly. "You're a man of destiny, my friend. I don't know 
what that destiny is, but magic seems to collect around you in a way I've never 
met before; that none of us have met before. A witch? A sorceress? How about a 
warlock, maybe? In Faerie?"
"Go away!" Rap shouted, tearing loose from those hypnotic dark eyes. He stared 
instead at Andor's silver-buckled shoes; he heard a hateful chuckle.
"Can't go very far at the moment. But we'll see when we get to Kith. You and I 
will have a talk then. I'll have to think of some way to get you off this tub, 
as I did help to get you on. We might encourage our green friend to take up a 
maritime career permanently, though?"
"That won't be easy."
"Perhaps not. But I do think Sagorn was wrong. I think our best bet is to stay 
close to our friend Rap. That way we'll meet lots of sorcerers, I suspect. And 
maybe one of them will be willing to lift our curse."
"Rap!" Gathmor's voice roared from below. "Get busy!" Rap rose stiffly and 
stooped to grasp the accursed oar. Andor stood up, also. "That would be easy 
work for an adept."
Rap heaved the oar overhead, scowled at his companion, and lowered it back to 
the deck again. He managed not to whimper at the pain.
"Come to my cabin later," Andor said. "I'll tell you my word first. I promise 
that! Mine first, then you tell me yours. " Again Rap raised the oar, keeping 
time with the roll of the ship, but this time he closed his eyes. Down ...
"I'll tell you mine first, Rap, if you'll promise to share." Up ... And then 
call Darad, later?
"You're an honest man, Rap. I'll trust you." Down...
"Even if you won't trust me, I'll trust you." Up ...
Gods, but it was tempting! Andor had been a good friend to him in Krasnegar, 
when no one else would speak to him. An adept would handle this damnable oar 
easily.
Down...
Eventually Andor tired of the game and went away. Up ...
Blinking sweat from his eyes, Rap watched him go. Down...
Had Andor stayed another ten seconds, likely he would have won.
Up ...
Rap could no more resist Andor than he could fight Darad. Down...

3
Year in and year out, Stormdancer shuttled back and forth to Faerie. By playing 
off the prevailing wind-such as it wasagainst the prevailing current, on four 
trips out of five a skilled mariner like Gnurr or Gathmor could manage the run 
from Milflor to Kith with very little need for oars. But on Rap's second night 
aboard, a gale sprang up out of the south-southeast, a very rare event. For four 
days Gnurr held her head as much to the east and north as he could, but no one 
liked the resulting course, or where it led. Rowing was impossible in that 
weather. The crew became crabby; the passengers vanished into the hell of 
seasickness.
Every day Rap endured longer periods of lonely torment with the oar. As his 
strength increased, so Gathmor raised his demands, and Rap was amused to find 
himself savoring nostalgic memories of old Sergeant Thosolin and his petty 
testings. He was pestered no more by Andor, for Andor was an imp, and imps were 
poor sailors. Rap had the passengers' deck to himself as he swung his oar up and 
down in a mindless fog.
Even Little Chicken rarely bothered him. The goblin, of course, had soon become 
arm-wrestling champion of the ship, unwittingly earning Kani a year's wages on 
his first two bouts. No one had been willing to bet on the third. The sailors 
quickly accepted him as just another nonjotunn curiosity. They assumed that his 
unnatural strength was a racial trait and joked about raiding the northlands to 
collect more like him.
Stormdancer carried seven passengers: Andor the gentleman tourist, an elderly 
bishop and his wife, a young Imperial playboy who had been visiting his retired 
parents, a horse-faced, desiccated matron who wrote popular romances and was 
planning one about Faerie, and a viscount of middle years, honeymooning with a 
much younger wife. Obviously they must all be wealthy, or they could not have 
afforded the fare. Obviously they were all either brave or foolish, also, for 
the crossing from Faene was never a sure thing. As the days passed, one by one 
they found their sea legs and emerged again from their cabins.
Night by night the convoy scattered. By the fifth day the last two sails had 
gone and thereafter Stormdancer was alone under the blue dome of heaven. On the 
sixth day the wind suddenly failed, having done all the damage it could. 
Thereafter Rap made muscles and blisters with real rowing. Real rowing was much 
worse than exercising, and he was grateful for the extra strength he had gained 
already.
Day by day he settled into the routine life of a sailor. When not rowing, he 
scrubbed and peeled and baited as he was told. He emptied the passenger's slop 
buckets, he cleaned fish, he polished and mopped. Such simple labor he could 
handle as well as any man alive, always doing the best he could, because that 
was his way. As he completed each task he was rewarded with another. He received 
neither punishment nor praise and looked for neither; he was more than happy to 
be accepted as just another hand. Somewhere between Hononin's stables and 
Stormdancer, a boy had become a man. That discovery was enormously welcome, and 
Rap was determined to do anything at all to live up to his new status.
He listened to the sailors' talk; he asked questions; they were happy to answer. 
They borrowed the master's charts and spread them out and showed him. The 
simplest route to Hub was to sail northward through Westerwater to the great 
Ambly River, which was navigable all the way to Cenmere. But the winds and 
currents were treacherous that way. Many a fine ship had been hurled onto the 
lee shores, or swept into the maw of the Nogids. There were always pirates, and 
the Imperial navy did not patrol much in Westerwater.
Safer by far was a course to the south of the archipelago, usually to Kith, the 
Impire's island stronghold in the Summer Seas. The currents were strong, though, 
and the winds were fickle. Sailing ships becalmed often turned up years later as 
desiccated husks being battered by the surf against the rockbound coast of Zark. 
Galleys were safer, but they faced dangers, also, and the gale had left Gathmor 
unsure of Stormdancer's position. In that situation, in the Summer Seas, the 
only solution was to head north and make landfall.
Day after day the air remained as calm as rock, the sea flat as well water. 
Men's muscles urged the ship onward, northward, against the southerly current. 
The more experienced men grew thoughtful. This might not turn out to be one of 
their better trips, they muttered. Thirst became a large part of Rap's life. 
Even the passengers complained at the scanty water ration, and they were not 
rowing.
Two men to an oar ... but only in emergencies would both men row at once. The 
other would rest as well as he could, curled up on the baggage under the bench, 
or be off somewhere else doing work for Gathmor. Rap soon learned to sleep on 
any surface, in any position, lulled by exhaustion and the surge of the ship, by 
the hiss of water beyond the hull, by the rhythmic creak of oar against thole 
pin, and the pulsing susurrus of many men breathing in unison.
And when it was his turn to row, then stroke merged into stroke, watch into 
watch, day into night, and all into a fog of pain and burning thirst. A sip of 
water became a lifelong ambition, one moment's rest a dream of paradise.
Whispers told of ships that had died of thirst, of floating coffins filled with 
skeletons, drifting for years upon the Summer Seas, but after a while even the 
whispering stopped. No one had breath or spit to waste.
Especially not the green hand. At first Ballast did far more rowing than his 
share. Inevitably Rap flagged near the end of his watch, when every moment had 
become a torment beyond endurance and the next one worse. Then the big man would 
appear and offer to relieve him a little early. Rap always refused, but always 
his partner would simply slide into the harder inboard position and row 
alongside until Rap knew that his own efforts had become mere show and Ballast 
was doing all the work. Rap, in fact, became a drag on the oar, but he made 
himself a promise that he would always keep up the pretense, and he never once 
released his grip before the bosun rang the bell.
Then came a watch when Ballast did not arrive to relieve him early, and the 
officers came at the bell. For a brief moment all oars were shipped and 
Stormdancer drifted, a lonely speck on a limitless ocean, visible only to the 
Gods. Trusting that They were watching, Captain Gnurr ritually thanked Them for 
sending him a new mariner and tipped a glass of wine over Rap's head. The 
officers shook his blood-soaked hand and the crew cheered. He was very grateful 
for the wine, because it would conceal any other shameful fluid that might be 
trickling down his cheeks.
Little Chicken had been a capable rower from the first, but no one bothered to 
honor him that way. He had made it look too easy.
The goblin's bench was port amidships, whereas Rap sat near the starboard bow, 
and the line of cabins stood between. Of course Rap's farsight was not blocked 
by mere cabins, and he took a mean pleasure in noting that the goblin's occult 
talent had not made him blister-proof-but Little Chicken probably enjoyed 
blisters.
Rap also knew that the viscount was failing to satisfy his young wife, and that 
the elderly bishop had the opposite problem with his. And he knew why the 
handsome young gentleman traveler, Sir Andor, so popular with both crew and 
passengers, took longer than the others to find his sea legs.
Andor had not been on board during the worst of the weather. Even in the calm, 
Sir Andor often pleaded squeamishness and retreated to his cabin. He sometimes 
even took his meals along with him, which seemed like odd treatment for 
seasickness.
More often than not, the man in Andor's cabin was Darad. The first time Rap 
farsaw that transformation, it frightened him, and made him angry. He suspected 
Andor was threatening him. He toyed with the idea of telling Gathmor and 
exposing the whole sequential gang. As he calmed down, he saw that a 
denunciation would be useless. Gathmor would never spy on his passenger and 
Andor would deny the charge. Rap knew who got believed when the two of them 
offered conflicting stories.
Much of the time, therefore, the occupant of Cabin One was a giant jotunn 
warrior, who did little except lie on his belly and squirm. His back was a mass 
of blisters, his eye swollen, and the bites on his arm tumescent and oozing. His 
agony would not improve his attitude toward Rap, but he did not need to suffer 
that way. He could simply call Andor back in his place and wait until one of the 
gang summoned him in some place where medical help was available. His 
innumerable scars showed that he had endured much healing in the past, and that 
was what he was doing now. Despite what Rap had been told by both Thinal and 
Sagorn, the five men did care about each other to some extent. Andor was giving 
Darad a chance to recover from his injuries, just as Andor's own arm was 
healing. When the cabal needed its fighter, he would be fit again.
Two weeks out of Milflor, the danger was extreme. Men were chanting the daily 
prayers with much greater verve than usual. The air stayed calm, the water 
barrels were almost dry. Gnurr cut the ration, and men began fainting at the 
oarsinevitably causing chaos and even injury. The next day the wind rose, but it 
came out of the north. Stormdancer wallowed and rolled, and the motion made 
rowing a worse torment than ever. Reluctantly Gathmor was forced to double up 
the men, two to an oar, and lack of sleep was added to the torture list; as was 
the salt spray that soaked every garment and bit into sun-scorched skin like 
acid. Rap suspected that all the men's efforts were fruitless and the ship was 
being driven backward. To run before the wind meant dying of thirst before they 
found Faerie again, if they ever did. They might die of thirst in any case.
On the sixteenth day the lookout saw smoke ahead. Gnurr himself came around with 
an extra allotment of water, but it was less than two swallows per man. By 
nightfall, the peaks of the Nogids were visible from the masthead.
The ensuing darkness seemed to last a whole lifetime. Rowers given a break would 
simply fall off the benches and lie where they landed until they were kicked 
awake to start rowing again. The wind had brought no clouds, and the stars shone 
bright and beautiful and merciless.
The next day was worse. The volcanic smoke was no longer in sight, but a fringe 
of brown islands along the northeast horizon was visible even from the benches. 
Cruelly, the wind had banked to the northwest, and Stormdancer was unmanageable 
in a crosswind. Rap had an oar to himself now, for the ordeal was taking its 
toll on the weaker men. When the fear of death itself could not inspire, then 
the threat of a beating would not, even if it came from Gathmor.
Fear worked on passengers, also. Rap's sole amusement of the whole day was to 
observe Andor bloodying his pretty hands on an oar. That was double irony, for 
Darad would be a much better rower. Hard to explain, though.
All day the islands drifted past. By afternoon, they were visibly drawing away, 
as the weakened crew lost its battle with the wind.
When the sun neared the western skyline, Gnurr handed around the last of the 
water and called for extra prayers. Those might be the last of the prayers, 
also. Inevitably morning would find Stormdancer out of sight of land, drifting 
away into the unknown ocean south of the Summer Seas.
As the prayers ended, the wind seemed to falter. The crew prayed all over again, 
forcing the words through cracked lips, and gradually-maddeningly slowly-the 
breeze freshened again and backed to the southwest. Smiles and laughter and 
cheers appeared among the holy words. The sail was raised, the oars pulled 
inboard, and soon the ship was dancing landward. The drab hills approached as 
the sky dimmed, exhausted men lay in heaps, and Gnurr and Gathmor brought out 
the charts.

4
A white bear had its teeth in Rap's shoulder and was shaking him bodily. He 
said, "What?" without opening his eyes. Why bother with eyes when there was no 
light? He knew it was Gathmor.
But Gathmor did not know that Rap knew that and he continued shaking until he 
was satisfied that Rap was awake. The ship was plunging and leaping, ropes 
creaking in a stiffening breeze.
"This farsight of yours, lad. What's your range?"
" 'Bout half a league, sir. " Stupid question-why couldn't it have waited till 
morning?
"Thank the Gods! Come along, then."
Grumpily Rap rose and followed, stumbling aft over the sleeping men, but being 
gentler than the mate, who had no choice but just to walk on them in the dark. 
No one complained very loudly.
By the steering oar stood the master, old and battered, a proud vessel listing 
in a killer storm. But Gnurr was a jotunn; he would not go down without a fight. 
Mundane vision would hardly discern him, were it not for his silver hair, 
fluttering in the dark like a captive bird. The helmsman was almost invisible, 
and only two white-bandaged hands nearby defined the silent figure of Andor.
"You may save us all, lad, if you really have got farsight." Gathmor opened a 
case and pulled out a roll of vellum. "You've heard of the anthropophagi?" His 
voice was a dry croak.
"Aye, sir." Rap peered all around. Even to the west, the horizon was barely 
visible, and forward his eyes could only just make out the humped shapes of 
hills against the sky. His farsight could not reach those-he sensed nothing out 
there except waves breaking on a reef to starboard.
"We're still in danger. We're on a lee shore in a rising gale. We must find 
water before morning, and the natives are hostile. "
"They really eat people, sir?" Rap had to force the words from his parched 
mouth. He was becoming more interested, less sleepy, but he had a pounding 
headache and he felt oddly fragile and unreal. He was shivering, and so were the 
others, fevered by the endless thirst.
"Yes. Now look here." Gathmor peered at his chart. He raised it almost to the 
end of his nose. Then he lowered it and seemed to slump back against the rail. 
"Evil take it! I can't even see well enough to show you."
"I can see it, sir. "
"You can read?"
The mate's surprise was both insulting and oddly flattering. "Aye, sir. "
Gathmor muttered what sounded like a prayer of thanks. "Well, look at this, 
then, if you really can." He thrust the chart at Rap. "We're approaching the 
channel between Inkralip and Uzinip, or so we think. "
"Aye, sir. " Rap was wondering foggily why Andor had gone away. It was Sagorn 
standing there in the dark, listening-erect and intent, holding tight to the 
rail. His sparse white hair blew free, like the captain's. Only Rap had noticed 
him.
"Well, man-look at the chart!" The mate was starting to sound urgent, perhaps 
even desperate. He must know about the reef to starboard.
"I am looking, sir. " Rap had not tried to unroll the scroll in that wind. "I've 
found Uzinip ... Orphanlover Shoal ... that's the surf over there, sir?" He 
pointed.
Gathmor's fist closed on Rap's shirt and twisted, hauling him closer, almost 
nose to nose. "You trying to tell me you can read a rolled chart in pitch 
darkness?"
"Aye, sir. "
There was a stunned pause. Then Rap was restored to vertical and also thumped 
hard on a painfully burned, saltscabbed shoulder. He staggered weakly and 
grabbed the rail for support.
"Right, faun. You may save us yet. Follow the channel. It branches. Veer to 
port-keep left, that is. Several small islands . . . Fort Emshandar . . . can 
you see it?"
"Aye, sir."
"Water, sailor! There's water there. There's Imperial soldiers there. The Gods 
have brought us to the only Imperial outpost in this stretch of the Nogids. Can 
you get us to the fort?"
Rap nodded, remembered it was dark, and said, "Aye, sir." Then he yawned, which 
seemed to make his headache worse. The channel looked like a tiny wormhole, but 
he didn't know much about charts. If Gathmor thought it was wide enough, likely 
it was. Fort Emshandar was on the far side of Uzinip, facing a much wider 
strait.
"You see where the chart says `village'?"
"Aye, sir. "
"That's the anthropophagi, except this chart's old, so they may have moved by 
now. "
Instantly Andor stood in Sagorn's place. "Not probable! There's little water in 
these parts. The settlements will still be by the streams. " That was Andor's 
voice and Sagorn's thinking, of course.
Gathmor growled angrily into the darkness, not seeing that the old sage had 
already replaced Andor again.
"Never mind, then," the mate said. "We'll creep by them, wherever they are. But 
it's narrow. This back door's not recommended but we have no choice. We'll have 
to sneak in quietly and make the fort before they know. Otherwise we'll be 
caught in the narrows and there'll be faun pie for breakfast. Coming out, we'll 
have a clear run to the north. All right? "
"Aye, sir. How close to the Orphanlover did you want to go, sir? We seem to be 
drifting that way."
Gathmor blasphemed.
Rap yawned and yawned. If he sat down, he would be asleep at once, so he lounged 
against the rail between the master and the first mate and he gave the orders. 
That would have been funny, had anyone felt like laughing. He told them when 
Stormdancer was entering the channel, and then the sail was lowered and oars 
were put to use. Winds in narrow passes, he was told, were not predictable. 
Gathmor put on his sixteen most skilled rowers, with oar blades and thole pins 
muffled. Out of all the rest of the crew, very few could even stand up, and 
among them only Ballast and Little Chicken would be capable of using weapons. If 
the anthropophagi attacked, they would find the larder door unguarded.
Only Rap noticed as Andor and Sagorn alternated in the darkness. The wily old 
scholar had contributed no more ideas.
The channel twisted to the right. It was much wider than it had looked on the 
chart. At first Stormdancer showed a dangerous desire to drift ashore in the 
crosswind, and Rap had to learn that he must make the crew row the ship this 
way, to make the scenery move at an angle that way. He held the chart in his 
hand, still rolled, slowly turning it to keep the picture the right way up. Then 
another bend brought calmer air and the ship began to behave more like a horse 
would.
His head drooped, his knees quivered. He forced himself to straighten up. This 
was much easier than driving a wagon down the hill in Krasnegar, but it was not 
easy enough to do in his sleep.
"There's a village over there!" The chart was correct so far. He wasn't sure 
that Gathmor could even see him pointing. There were no stars. The night was 
about as black as night could be.
"Ssh! Sound travels over water."
"Aye, sir," Rap said quietly. "We're getting too close this side, sir." The high 
walls of the valley had muffled the storm that would be battering the open sea 
by now, but ripples ahead must mean wind.
The mate leaned on the steering oar. "Current. You're doing great, lad."
"This can't be easy for you," Rap said, with sudden insight. "Easy? Easy?" The 
jotunn's whisper was bitter. "Steering my ship in the dark through the Nogids 
with a landlubber mongrel pup as pilot? I d rather pull out my toenails. I mean 
that. Every nail. Slowly."
"I'm sure you would, sir. A little bit to the left, sir. " Gathmor shuddered and 
muttered, "Two points to port." He leaned on the oar.
The old captain had stretched out at Rap's feet, too weak to stand longer. He 
was either asleep or unconscious.
The silent progress was uncanny. Even within the ship, there was hardly a sound 
from the rowers. Perhaps these men had experience in sneaking around in the dark 
in boats, but it would be unwise to ask. They did not even have the coxswain 
piping the stroke for them. Likely they could hear the drumbeat in Rap's head-it 
felt loud enough to waken the anthropophagi.
Waves splashed on the shore, and the wind stirred trees on the higher slopes, 
but that was all. Stormdancer was going to pass very close to the village. A dog 
started to bark, and Rap quieted it-all part of the service. A man coughed on 
the shore. Nothing Rap could do about coughs. He wished he could cure headaches, 
though. His.
And his farsight was starting to play tricks, surely? "How much water does the 
ship need, sir?"
"Draft? About half a fathom is all."
"Oh!" Incredible-a fathom was a span. "That's all right then. "
Gathmor groaned. "You can see through water, too?"
"Aye, sir. At least two fathoms here."
Water ... drinking water ... fresh water ... Gods be with us. ..
"Where are we, lad?" Nerves crackled in the mate's voice. "Just rounding 
Uzinip."
A moment later Stormdancer began to move uneasily in a stronger swell. Surf 
boomed somewhere ahead, and she came sweeping out of the narrow pass, turning 
the corner at an angle Rap had not expected, borne by the current into a strait 
whose far side he could not sense-it might be Zark, for all he knew.
And there were lights on the shore nearby, fires.
"That's it! " Gathmor said. "The fort! " He took a deep breath to yell his 
triumph, and Rap clapped a hand over his mouth just in time.

5
The crew rowed gently, holding the ship against the gusting breeze. Dead ahead, 
on a narrow meadow between hillside and beach, were the remains of Fort 
Emshandar. Dead ahead.
Rap had described the scene, but the sailors could make out most of it 
themselves. The great bonfires on the sand showed the dancing anthropophagi, 
while sounds of drums and chanting drifted over the waves, as did the rank odors 
from the smoking ruins of the stockade, and a stronger, stomach-churning scent 
of roast meat from the celebration. Large things were being cooked on spits.
"Can you see the water?" Gathmor asked grimly. He was keeping his voice low, but 
the wind would carry sound out to sea anyway.
"I think so, sir. In the ruins. A well, with a windlass. There's men there. No, 
they're women." Rap thought he could hear the windlass creaking, but that might 
be the turnspits on the beach.
"Doesn't matter." The mate thumped his fist on the rail in baffled fury. There 
were hundreds of the anthropophagi, and the jotnar were in no shape to fight 
anyway, whatever the odds.
Sagorn had been watching and listening, heedless that he might be noticed in the 
flicker of the bonfires. Now he became Andor again. "We must not linger. That 
fort must have had occult defenses. It would not have lasted a week in the 
Nogids without them."
"So?" Gathmor snarled. The other passengers had been sent to their cabins long 
ago. Anyone but Andor would have been.
"So the anthropophagi must have sorcerers of their own. They will have farsight, 
too."
The jotunn grunted agreement. "We're dead without water." Like them all, he was 
having trouble speaking. They were all shivering and staggering. The rowers 
would fail soon.
"There's a streambed," Rap croaked miserably. "Farther up the hill." Of course. 
That was why the fort had been built on this spot, and why its well had found 
water.
"There's a thousand cannibals between us and it."
"I can see in the dark, sir. But I can't swim." Again the brutal hand thumped 
Rap's shoulder. "Who can, with a bucket of water? The Gods sent you, lad. Do it, 
and you're a free man. "
Rap did not reply. If he didn't do it, he would be a dead one.
Stormdancer carried no dinghy and needed no fancy docks. Rap piloted her back 
along her previous course until the fires were out of sight. Farther would be 
safer, but the rowers could barely make way against the current being sent 
through the channel by the storm, and Rap was too weak to walk very far. One 
final spurt drove the bow up on the beach, and the men collapsed on top of their 
weaker companions. Without fresh water to revive them, they likely could not 
even push her off again.
The mate scrambled over the rail with a rope. Rap followed, clutching two 
buckets. The drop was not far, but he fell in a heap, struggling and spluttering 
in thigh-deep water. He swallowed a fair bit without meaning to, yet it felt 
good. The sailors had told him stories about seawater driving men mad, but 
perhaps a little wouldn't hurt in the short run, and there might not be any long 
run to worry about. The anthropophagi would not need to add salt to their Rap 
stew, that was all.
"Gods, it's dark!" Gathmor had blundered into a rock and was now tying the rope 
around it. "If I let go this cable I couldn't find the damn ship again. You 
still there?"
"Aye, sir."
"I'd come with you if I thought I could do a damn bit of good."
"I'm sure you would, sir. "
"I'll try, if you want. If you hold my hand." The mate was suffering an attack 
of fallibility. Perhaps he had never before in his life had to admit that 
another man was better than he was at anything, and that must be hurting his 
jotunnish pride.
Rap said something reassuring as he staggered away across the sand. He was the 
seeing man in the land of the blind, but he kept remembering the warning that 
Sagorn had passed along by way of Andor's voice and memory-the anthropophagi 
might very well have sorcerers of their own.
They must have! The Nogids lay like a barricade across the road home from 
Faerie. Certainly Rap was not the first occult genius to be shipwrecked here. 
Adepts and even mages ... not all would have died without telling their words of 
power. There might be many seeing men in this land of the blind.
Moreover-and the sudden insight felt more like a flicker of delirium than any 
sort of sane logic-down the centuries the Impire had launched dozens of 
campaigns to conquer the Nogids; so the sailors had told him. But the imps had 
never achieved more than a scattering of strongpoints, little forts like 
Emshandar, to succor the naval traffic. They were perpetually under seige, he 
had been told. Sooner or later they all got taken and sacked. Tonight was a case 
in point.
The legions' opponents, therefore, had not been mobs of primitive savages but 
the wardens of the west. The Nogids must lie in Zinixo's sector. They were a 
quarantine, a barrier defending Faerie itself from being overrun by the masses 
of the Impire. The Protocol kept East's legions at bay, and likely North's 
raiders, also. No occult defense the Impire put on its forts would last long 
when the warden of the west decided to clean house.
Tonight's anthropophagous treat came courtesy of the dwarf.
Rap's weakness appalled him. True, his clothes were soaked and clinging, but 
even so, he should not be shivering to such excess. He staggered, making far 
more noise than he should as he scrambled through the brush on the hillside.
Every few minutes he had to stop and rest. His head was pounding like a 
farrier's hammer, and all his muscles had turned to ... no, not to water. Mud, 
maybe.
The shore flats were narrow: tide-washed sand, a strip of rocks, and then some 
scrub at the base of the slope. He knew he must climb well away from the beach 
before he rounded the curve in the hill that blocked his view of the 
anthropophagiand blocked their view of him, also. The hill seemed unfairly 
steep, and the dry scrub was sharp and thorny and noisy. Just because his 
farsight didn't work through hills didn't mean that a sorcerer's wouldn't, but 
as he angled higher he began to hear the drums more clearly and see the 
flame-lit smoke roiling upward in the wind, and then sparks.
He took a farewell glance at Stormdancer, her prow almost clear of the water, 
and one thin thread of a cable curving down to a boulder. Gathmor sat morosely 
on that rock, sword in hand and totally blind. No one seemed to be moving on 
board. It was a ship of the dying.
Now Rap had reached the spur and he needed another rest, but he crouched low and 
forced himself to crawl through the prickly scrub until he had a clear view.
Once there had been a narrow stream valley notched into the hill. One side had 
collapsed ages ago, and the debris from the landslide now formed a little shelf 
on which Fort Emshandar had stood, a bulge on the shore. The rest of the gorge 
was still there, higher up the slope. It could not hold any great torrent, but 
surely there would be some water there? The Gods could not be so cruel as to 
make it completely dry?
Most of the anthropophagi were down by the fires. Not one of them wore as much 
as a string of beads. Few were still dancing. Many seemed to be feasting--God of 
Vomit!
Four chattering women were clustered around the well in the ruins of the fort 
just below Rap, so close that he could hear their laughter. He saw a whole 
pailful of water being tipped from the draw bucket into a pitcher, and the sight 
was a stab of pain to him. He wanted to leap up and run screaming down there. He 
quickly directed his attention farther seaward.
The shore below the fort was packed with canoes, dozens of them drawn up on the 
sand. Fuzzily Rap wondered if he could somehow damage those, to frustrate any 
pursuit when Stormdancer left. Then he knew he must be growing lightheaded.
Yet he could detect no sentries anywhere, and the lack of them was an ominous 
hint that the cannibals might be relying on occult protection; and just as that 
thought occurred to him, his mental eye was caught by two anthropophagi who had 
left the victory feast and were running away from the firelight. They were 
running in his direction. For a freezing moment he thought they must be guardian 
sorcerers who had noticed him; then one of them seemed to trip and pull the 
other down on top of ... of her. Oh, that! He sighed with relief and sent them a 
private blessing. Now he noticed other couples similarly engaged. Obviously the 
anthropophagi would not be indulging in that sort of celebration if they had any 
suspicion of enemies skulking nearby.
Deliberately, but shakily, he rose to his feet. Tiny whispers inside him said he 
should continue slithering through undergrowth, but no mundane eye could see him 
in this darkness, and no bush would hide him from sorcery.
His sodden boots were eating the skin off his toes, but he hobbled as fast as he 
could up the slope to the little gorge. He could hear no water running, but soon 
his farsight picked it out-slimy pools, small trickles. He stumbled down the 
rocks, remembering his arrival at the fairy village, when he had thought he was 
thirsty. He had not known what thirst was then. Oh, praise the Gods!
He stopped drinking before he made himself ill, but it was the hardest thing he 
had ever done. He had no time to let the first load settle and take on another. 
Well, he would be returning. He filled his two buckets and began staggering up 
the bank with them.
They were impossibly heavy. The rope handles cut his blistered hands, and he 
staggered with weariness, slopping more water into his already sodden boots. 
Almost all the anthropophagi had paired off, many not even bothering to leave 
the firelight. Apparently that was dessert. The drums had stopped. If he kept on 
swaying like this he'd arrive at Stormdancer with two empty buckets ...
But he did reach the ship eventually. Gathmor was slumped over, holding his head 
as if it were about to fall off. His sword was thrust in the sand at his feet 
beside two empty buckets. Rap kicked a pebble and the sailor jumped a league in 
the air. He drank right from a bucket and afterward he muttered a prayer of 
thanks.
Then he said something else, but Rap was already heading back with the empties, 
going for more.
By his third trip, the drums had started again, and most of the lovers seemed to 
be back dancing and feasting. Anthropophagi must have remarkable stamina. 
Perhaps it came from their diet.
He felt a few spots of rain. The wind was backing.
He delivered his buckets and went back again. And again ...
The fifth trip was a dangerous blur. Rain was falling heavily, and the wind was 
stronger. Even the distant surf sounded louder, so the storm was still 
increasing. Storm or not, the ship must leave before dawn. Rap was so unsteady 
now, slithering and stumbling, that he dropped one of his buckets coming down 
the hill. He handed over the other and fell to the sand.
"Need a break, " he mumbled.
Gathmor had handed the precious cargo up to eager hands. There were people 
stirring on board now, revived by the water. "Everyone's had a drink, lad. 
You've done all you can."
Rap forced out the hateful words. "I'll do one more."
"No. You're beat! You've done great, though. Really shows the jotunn in you."
"How far to the next fort?"
"Gods know. Depends where we get blown."
Two buckets-even two half buckets-would mean very little water among seventy, 
but divided among the strongest rowers, it might make the difference between 
safe haven and shipwreck. Rap struggled to his feet, feeling as if he weighed 
more than the ship and all its crew together.
"One more," he insisted.
"No! Get aboard. That's enough."
Rap took up the buckets and walked away over the sand, and Gathmor could not 
have noticed at first that he had gone, for he was busy shouting orders to the 
crew.
Rap scrambled up the hill with his eyes tight closed against the streaming rain. 
The Gods were having fun, sending rain now. But Gathmor had been right, he was 
very close to his limits. He reeled with weariness, fighting for every step, 
waving the empty buckets around to keep his balance.
He tripped, fell, and rolled into a spiky bush. For a moment it was just pure 
heaven to lie there with his mouth open and the downpour washing his face. And 
he could sleep for days if he let himself.
Sleep? He sprang to wakefulness. He hadn't slept, had he? Probably not, or not 
for more than a few minutes. But he had been awakened by shouting.
One quick scan around told him how bad things could become in jnst a few 
minutes. Dawn must be close, for the darkness was no longer impenetrable-he 
would have noticed that sooner had he kept his eyes open. He did not bother to 
hunt for his buckets. He was on his feet and running down the hill before he 
knew he had started to rise, and all the demons of the Evil were screaming in 
his ears.
It was a three-way race.
Stormdancer was leaving. The sailors clustered around the prow were heaving her 
seaward. The tide had gone out since she was beached, and the bosun's shouts 
rang through the night as he called time to the men. Every push moved the hull a 
fraction farther into the waves, but it was hard and desperate work for a sadly 
weakened crew.
Rap was staggering with weakness, windmilling down a thorny, tangled hillside. 
Only his occult ability to see in the dark let him avoid the roots and bushes 
and trees, but his magic was no help in keeping his balance. Rain had become a 
cloudburst, grass and dirt were slick and greasy. He slid and fell and rolled 
and scrambled up to do it all again; but his progress was agonizingly slow.
And racing along the sand were several hundred angry cannibals, all howling at 
the top of their lungs, all waving spears and bows, heading for the ship and 
already almost past their beached canoes, although others had turned aside to 
run out a few of those, planning to cut Stormdancer off if she escaped. That 
made it a four-way race, then.
As Rap reached the shore, a roar from the sailors announced that the ship was 
free, sliding away into the dark. Men had fallen headlong into the surf and now 
were scrambling up, grabbing one another's hands, grabbing also at the nets that 
had been hung over the bow for just this purpose.
As Rap reeled across the sand, the ship was already drifting off into the night, 
being caught now by the wind, trailing her struggling tangle of men like some 
strange marine weed.
He galloped into the waves, but the cannibals had seen him and their yells 
redoubled. He fell headlong, rose, fell again, and breathed water and choked and 
lurched forward, tripping repeatedly because the sea caught at his legs. His 
pursuers were moving much faster than he could and he was already almost out of 
his depth and Stormdancer was moving fast now, turning away, heeling as she 
escaped from the lee of the hill and the gale caught her.
Half a dozen anthropophagi were closing in on Rap, with a couple of giants in 
the lead. They were swimming while he just floundered, helpless in the waves, 
trying to run on tiptoe in the troughs, trying not to drown in the crests, being 
carried shoreward, but his farsight found the cable even as two huge hands 
reached out for him. He grabbed it just seconds before it could slither out of 
reach. The anthropophagite's fingers touched his shoulder, and then the rope 
whipped him away, burning his tattered hands, almost yanking his arms from their 
sockets, burying him under leagues of suffocating black water.
The tension eased; he knew he had only seconds before the next jerk, and it was 
not easy to think straight when farsight said you were four cubits underwater, 
out he managed to wrap the rope around one wrist before it pulled taut-and then 
it did and he shot through the sea like a fish. It slackened and he lashed 
fruitlessly, struggling to reach that surging, essential, breathable surface, 
but before he got there another heave on the rope sucked him along again, and 
deeper, spinning him giddily. If the sailors knew he was there they could haul 
him in, but they'd better do it soon ...

6
Gathmor sent two youngsters over the side as the faun came within reach. They 
bent a line around his ankles and hauled him inboard bottoms up, so he'd 
jettison some of his bilge on the way.
Even so, he carried a cargo of seawater that would have floated a galleas. They 
worked him like a bellows to pump it out of him and get him breathing again.
But the seer's work was not over yet. The channel that had seemed so unending to 
his farsight was still only one of many in the archipelago. Even on a bare pole 
Stormdancer crossed it in a couple of hours, living up to her name, leaping and 
plunging against a sea anchor. If the sun came up, no one knew it, and the 
deluging rain cut visibility to less than a length. Neither Gnurr nor Gathmor 
could guess where the ship was by then; there were rocks out there, rocks and 
shoals and islets as uncountable as the stars of heaven, and only one man aboard 
could scry them.
With the tiniest sail the ship could hoist, still every blast seemed likely to 
unmast her. If that happened, she'd be a hulk, bearing her crew to the last 
weighing. And if she broached to, she'd be on her beam ends in seconds. It took 
four men to hold the steering oar, and she moved like a pig. Another three men 
kept the kid awake, walking him up and down, slapping his face, pouring 
rainwater into him-they had plenty of water now-and yelling in his ear. "There!" 
he would mumble, or "Rocks that way!" and then his head would droop again.
The mate reckoned afterward they'd likely gone through Eelskinner Gap by way of 
the Bunghole-a couple of times they'd had cliffs in view on both sides, and not 
much more than an oar's length away at that. It went on for half a lifetime, 
seemingly, but when nothing had shown up for an hour, they knew that they'd 
broken through into Dyre Channel itself, and by then they couldn't waken the 
faun anyway, so they rolled him in a blanket and laid him under a bench and said 
a prayer that he would live.
Water willy-nilly:
I came like Water, and like Wind I go,
Into this Universe, and
Why not knowing Nor Whence,
like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, As Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§29-30, 1879)


ELEVEN
Wilderness were paradise
"This bread is remarkably good, Fooni," Azak said. He wiped one last fragment of 
bread around his bowl, popped it in his mouth, and simultaneously belched 
loudly. Inos winced. Such vulgarity was a compliment in Zark, she knew, but 
there were some local customs that she found harder to accept than others.
Azak and Inos, Kade and little Fooni-the four of them were sitting cross-legged 
on rugs, on the ground outside their tent, First Lionslayer and his family. The 
sun was setting, the temperature falling like a stooping falcon. The tents had 
been pitched in the lee of a steep rocky bank, but even there they all flapped 
and surged in the wind that howled through the pass. The night would be noisy; 
but Inos never had trouble sleeping these days.
Apparently Fooni was not going to comment on the bread. "How fast it cools off!" 
Inos said, pulling her coat closed and fastening it. By day Gaunt Pass was a 
furnace, the rocky walls tossing the sun's heat back and forth. By night it felt 
like winter in Krasnegar. At sunset everyone donned warm mountain garb, heavy 
garments that Elkarath had purchased in the little foothill settlements during 
the past few weeks. She wondered if he would haul them all the way through the 
Central Desert to Ullacarn, or sell them again on the west side of the 
mountains. The big fleecy boots she had pulled on a few minutes ago might have 
crossed the range a dozen times already.
"Did your mother teach you to make such good bread, Fooni?" Azak inquired.
Inos shot him a puzzled glance. Why this sudden interest in cooking? He normally 
never bothered with trivia. The bread had not been specially good. In fact it 
had been poor stuff, flat and tasteless, made from a gritty meal paste spread on 
hot rocks. That and goat stew were standard fare for the camel folk. Tonight 
there had also been some sour wine as a special treat.
Hard bread and sour wine, distant laughter and the clanking of camel bells, 
braziers twinkling and a cithern twanging-these things were all very familiar to 
her now. Watch out for snakes in the bedding and scorpions anywhere; she was 
learning. Hair full of dried sweat, air full of flies. She could handle a camel 
quite adequately and erect a tent no floppier than her neighbors'.
Fooni was scowling and still saying nothing. Fooni was a miserable little pest, 
and Inos was planning to be rid of Fooni very shortly. She had served her 
purpose and soon could be sent off to travel with her great-grandfather, who 
would not have to tolerate her snide remarks and snappy temper.
Eastward, the first stars twinkled above blood-red crags. Gaunt Pass had turned 
out to be spectacular beyond Inos's farthest expectations. For days the caravan 
had been trekking over scrubby hills and through barren valleys, gradually 
losing altitude as it neared the western slopes of the Agoniste range, and yet 
all those hills and valleys had been mere wrinkles in the floor of the pass 
itself. On either hand a dreamscape of real mountains soared up in incredible 
cliffs and faces of rock to far-off icy peaks. The sheer scale of the scenery 
had astounded her. Her eye refused to comprehend it. It was a land for Gods, 
under a sky immeasurably huge.
Of course Kade enthused about this interesting experience, as she always did 
about anything, and for once Inos was inclined to agree with her. All her life 
she would remember this journey.
Everywhere were signs of a long and bloody history. Ruins of cities long 
forgotten sprawled in the mouths of tributary valleys; the wind wailed around 
derelict remains of castles on jutting spurs of the mountains. No one lived here 
now except goat herders, and perhaps bandits. She would have liked to have 
explored some of the ruins, but the caravan must keep moving.
If Azak slept at all, he must be doing so during the day, on his camel. If he 
did come to the tent, Inos never heard him. She suspected he prowled the 
campsite all night long. Early in the journey, he had worried only about petty 
pilfering in the settlements. In this lawless mountain land, all the lionslayers 
were becoming red-eyed and grumpy, and that was not from fear of fast-fingered 
village urchins.
Another spectacular belch rang through the twilight.
Inos discovered that her jaw had fallen open and she closed it quickly. That 
obscene noise appeared to have come from"Yes, the bread was delicious," Kade 
remarked softly. Azak raised one eyebrow. He looked at Inos, then at Fooni. "It 
wasn't me made it," Fooni muttered. "It was her!" Azak coughed. 
"Congratulations, wife. Quite excellent."
"I didn't think it was much! " Fooni shouted. "Only bread! Too much salt! Any 
wife ought to be able to make better than that-my mother could! I can! What's so 
wonderful about a woman grinding meal and making rotten bread?" She leaped to 
her feet and went running off.
Inos watched her departure with satisfaction. "That child deserves a good 
spanking! "
Azak chuckled. "Why? Was she responsible for this atrocious bread?"
She glared. He grinned wickedly through his brigand's red beard. She glared 
harder, he began to laugh, then they laughed together, and even Kade joined in 
with a chuckle.
Inos had never heard Azak laugh in Arakkaran. Being a lionslayer must be less 
stressful than being a sultan. But this was her chance to dispose of the odious 
Fooni.
"No, I made the bread. However, these petty tantrums of hers are becoming very 
wearing! She snaps and gripes all the time. "
"Ah! But you must make allowances for her."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Lionslayers are romantic figures to a child of her years. Me especially, of 
course."
"You mean she ... That's absurd! She's far too young!"
"No, she isn't," Azak said firmly.
Inos choked. "Forgive me! I keep forgetting that you are an expert in such 
matters! I suppose you have bedded several girls of her age?"
"Quite a few," he agreed complacently.
"Time for dishes!" Kade began gathering up the bowls and beakers in a hasty 
clatter.
"I'll do that, Aunt!"
"My turn," Kade insisted.
"Come walk with me, Inos." Azak rose, inhumanly tall against the sunset, holding 
out a hand.
Inos hesitated, then accepted when she saw that he was wearing thick sheepskin 
gloves. Just for a moment, some trick of the twilight and the heavy clothes and 
she could have sworn he was a winter-garbed jotunn. Some jotnar had red beards. 
He pulled her up effortlessly, then he took off at a run, and she found herself 
being hauled at high speed up the bank, as if being towed by a horse, rocks 
rattling and rolling under Azak's great boots.
When they reached the crest the wind struck them like a flying iceberg, and Inos 
staggered. Azak transfered his grip to her elbow to steady her. Below them, in 
the shelter of the slope, the braziers of the camp were spread in a long line 
like a string of fire jewels. At their backs, the sunset was drawing to a 
peaceful conclusion on the peaks.
"Idiots!" Azak said. "I tell them-and they camp all spread out like that! How 
can I defend them if they will not listen to common sense?"
"Can't the sheik make them?"
"Bah! He just smiles. He does not seem to care. How he has survived this journey 
so many times, I cannot imagine. The Gods tolerate his follies, it would seem."
Inos shivered at the bite of the wind, watching the long grass and wispy bushes 
writhe, as if in pain. Kade was plodding over to the spring, going to wash the 
pots. That was an excuse for a gossip, of course, or she would have made do with 
sand. Bells jingled in the distance, where the hobbled camels grazed.
"We've done it, haven't we?" she said. "Three weeks? There can't be any doubt 
now. Can there?"
Azak was studying her face instead of the scenery. "I expect so. There are very 
few passes, so I thought she might look for us here. But we seem to have slipped 
by . . . " He shrugged himself into silence, and gazed up at the stars.
"Why did you drag me up here?" she demanded, shivering. "Is Krasnegar colder 
than this?"
She laughed. "This? There are times when you can spit ice in Krasnegar. "
"Mmm," he said, noncommittally.
He did look like a jotunn in the twilight. It was his height, and the clothing. 
The distant peaks shone with ice, and ice also reminded her of home, although 
Krasnegar's hills were nothing like these ranges. A great adventure, this, but 
she was homesick still.
"Azak? >, "Mmm? 
"How long? When will we ever get to Hub?"
"Why? Are you not enjoying the journey?"
"Well, some of it. But I'm impatient! I hate this dawdling through Zark when 
terrible things may be happening. It's taking so long! "
He sighed. "I am enjoying it!" His grip on her elbow tightened. "Be patient, 
little one! The world moves slowly. The imperor may still not know anything 
about Krasnegar, unless the wardens have told him. Even the Imperial post takes 
weeks and weeks to cross the Impire. Armies rarely march more than eight leagues 
a day. You must learn to be patient. "
Now it was she who said, "Mmm!" Then she asked again, "Why did you bring me up 
here? Because if you don't have-"
"To ask a question. Have you ever been in love, Inosolan?" Love? Startled, she 
stared at him, but he was gazing at the last glimmer on the distant peaks. Alarm 
bells began to clamor in her mind.
"Once I thought I was. I'd been bewitched. I told you about Sir Andor. "
"Just once?"
"Well, puppy love, maybe. There was a boy I was very fond of, when I was young. 
The one Rasha copied for that apparition she sent to haunt me, the first night 
on the trail, remember? "
Azak grunted. "I wondered why a stableboy upset you so much."
"Oh, no!" Inos said. "Don't start that! That was no stableboy! I can handle 
stableboys. It was a wraith, or seemed to be. Don't accuse me of-"
"Fooni is not the only one who has been snappish lately. "
"Well, you're not getting enough sleep . . ." Mention of Fooni roused Inos's 
temper again. The child herself was bad enough, and Azak's suggestion that she 
was lusting after him was pure barnyard disgusting. "But talk to the sheik. 
Mayhap he will include her with your wages when we reach Ullacarn."
Azak turned to face her and took both her shoulders in his big hands. Huge 
hands, in their massive gloves. He stared intently at her for a moment and 
suddenly her heart started beating very hard.
"Love is an impish notion," he said. "It is not a Zarkian custom."
"I have noticed."
"I never thought it could happen to a djinn."
"I'm sure it doesn't. "
"Yes, it does. I have fallen in love, Inos. Imagine such a thing happening to a 
sultan of Arakkaran!"
She dropped her eyes and said nothing. Oh, Gods!
"You once told me you would marry a goblin if your people's welfare required 
it."
"Er ... Yes. "
"You also said that any imp would be better than a goblin."
"I did?"
"You did."
She kept her eyes down and hoped the gloom hid her blushes. His grip on her 
shoulders was almost painful.
"How would you rank an imp and a djinn, Inosolan?"
"Azak! This is madness!"
"Yes, it is. But the poets say that all love is madness. The God of Lovers is 
the God of Fools, they say. Answer. " Answer how? Why had she let this take her 
unaware? Because the idea was so absurd?
"Anything but a goblin," she admitted.
"So? A djinn also would be an outsider. Neither imps nor jotnar could object to 
a djinn. A royal djinn, Inos. A very suitable husband for a queen of Krasnegar."
"The climate would kill-"
"Heat has not killed you."
She tried to imagine Azak in Krasnegar and it was impossible. He would go mad 
with boredom. Would he kill off the burgesses if they annoyed him? Would he try 
to buy their daughters?
No, he wouldn't. Azak was not a fool. He had obviously thought about this. Now 
she recalled how he had been asking a lot of questions about Krasnegar lately. 
He had also been laughing a lot, and smiling a lot, and cracking jokes. She 
should have guessed.
And Kade must have, because Kade had been making some very odd remarks about 
Azak lately, very catty remarks for her.
"You have a kingdom of your own. A duty of your own."
"Arakkaran has many princes. Krasnegar has only one queen."
Why had she not foreseen this? And none of her Kinvale training had explained 
how to handle a giant barbarian swordsman intent on wooing. Think, woman! Think!
"What of your sons?"
"They can take their chances, as I did. My father died when I was seven. He was 
poisoned. " After a moment, Azak added, "Or I could send for them, if you didn't 
mind. "
God of Fools! She was trembling, and his grip on her shoulders would tell him 
that. Marry Azak? He was a barbarian! A peerless specimen of manhood, maybe, but 
a killer. Ruthless. Deadly.
"Azak, this is very sudden. I have never even considered such a possibility. It 
has never crossed my mind. "
"Then why do you snap at Fooni so much?"
Incredible arrogance! "Because she is a nasty, ill-mannered little slut. Not 
because of you, I assure you! I was snapping at her, as you put it, the first 
day we met."
"Yes."
Azak thought she was jealous of Fooni? Nothing she could say would change 
that-she had never met a man so stubborn ... or maybe one ... Was she fated 
always to consort with obstinate men? She shied away from that line of thinking, 
and that comparison.
"What are you suggesting?" Her voice came out much too shrill.
"That when we go before the wardens to ask for justice, we go as man and wife. 
My curse lifted, your throne restored. I will relinquish Arakkaran for the woman 
I love."
Love? How to explain the problem tactfully? There wasn't any tactful way. 
Despite the chill of the wailing wind, she was sweating. "Love? Azak, Rasha's 
curse has deprived you of--"
He squeezed so hard that she yelped. His eyes seemed to flash in the dusk. His 
red beard bristled.
"Do you think I don't know the difference? Of course I need a woman. 
Desperately! I buns for the touch of a woman, my hands on her body, her flesh 
against mine. But what I feel for you is something else, something more, 
something I have never known till now. It is love! It is as the impish poets 
say, both joy and agony together. I can think of nothing else. I have eyes only 
for you. I am miserable except when I am with you. I will do anything, just to 
see you smile. This has never happened to me before."
Probably it had never happened because any other woman he had ever wanted had 
been his for the taking. Why had Inos not seen that this might happen? She had 
worried that she had no hold over Azak. Now she had too much of a hold over him. 
Love spurned could turn to hatred.
"I have never met a woman like you, Inos!" He was almost shouting. "That day you 
rode Evil, I could not believe it. I had not known a woman could behave like 
that. Your courage, your spirit-" He released her shoulders. "Why do you think I 
came?"
"Wh-what?"
"To tell the wardens that there is a sorceress in Zark?" He sneered. "Do you 
think I could not have trusted Kar with that message?"
"I. . ." Inos was speechless.
"And do you think I would have trusted Kar with you?" Why had she not seen that? 
Blind, foolish, stupid!
Azak sank down on one knee. "Inosolan, my beloved, will you marry me?"
She muttered prayers to all the Gods. When had Azak last knelt to anyone? What 
would he do if she refused? His intensity terrified her. He was a killer. He was 
capable of anything. She might learn to love a hard man, a fighter, but only if 
he had some gentleness in him somewhere. And some respect for her womanhood. 
Azak had neither. A djinn? Who would reign in Krasnegar-the queen or her 
husband?
Azak's arrogance had no limits at all. He knew he was the ultimate male. He 
would never understand a woman refusing such a mate.
"Azak, when I marry, I must not jump into ... I mean ... Oh, Azak! Please stand 
up."
Reluctantly he rose, towering over her again. Trust in love! the God had told 
her.
It was crazy, but it was also horribly logical. Azak was a perfect solution to 
Krasnegar's problem. After all the trouble with legionaries, and perhaps with 
jotnar, the city would need a firmer rule than Holindarn's. The ideal monarch 
would be strong, impartial, and experienced. Azak was all of those. Gods!
Think, woman, think!
"Azak, there are too many things we don't know! Krasnegar may have been seized 
by Kalkor, or taken over by the Impire, or razed and butchered. The wardens may 
not want to help." He started to speak and she shouted, "You expect me to marry 
a man who can't even touch me? Who can't kiss me, or hold my hand? "
He groaned, as if in pain. "A promise-"
"No! You are being unfair."
"Tell me that you care, then. "
Not looking at him, Inos said, "I admire. you. I am very grateful for all your 
help, and I promise I will think very hard about this. Anything more ... I need 
time to think. Please, Azak? "
He sighed, and shivered.
"I shall start spitting ice soon. Let's go down," she said.
"Yes. "
He took her by the hand, and they started down the slope. There were weeks and 
months of desert ahead of her and Azak would be at her side all the way.
She did not love Azak ak'Azakar. Not now.
Could she learn to do so? Or could he persuade her? She had watched wooing done 
at Kinvale, she had seen maiden won against long odds. Hearts could be won, or 
won over. Love Azak? She did not think she had ever known love, not real love. 
Maybe if ... but he had only been a stableboy. What would Foronod and Yaltauri 
have said to a stableboy! None of the eligible young men at Kinvale ... Andor 
had been a delusion.
In a daze, Inos stumbled at Azak's side as they descended the rubbly slope, back 
to the tents.
What greater proof of love had any man ever offered a woman? He would relinquish 
Arakkaran for her, leave his homeland, his throne, his unbounded wealth and 
unlimited power ... for her! How could any woman refuse such a love?
Trust in love! the God had said, and at last she understood that cryptic edict.
The God had been speaking of Azak, and Azak's love.

Wilderness were Paradise:
A book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread-and Thou, 
Beside me singing in the Wilderness
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! 
Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§ 12, 1879)


TWELVE
Take the cash
"Think the Old Man's going to drop anchor?" Ogi whispered, his imp's nosiness 
making him twitch like a dog scenting rats. The captain had just gone by.
"Likely," Kani mumbled with his mouth full. "He looks almost as old as Rap, 
here."
They and a group of others were seated along the gangway, eating sausage and 
biscuit with their knees up and their backs against the cabins. Some were off 
duty; some, like Rap, were still too sick to work. On the benches before them, 
healthier men were rowing their hearts out, timing their stroke to the brutal 
swell for which Dyre Channel was famous.
The air was warm and still and muggy, with a thin drizzle keeping everything 
soaked, and clouds hanging just above the masthead. Even in the shelter of the 
awnings, water dripped everywhere. The storm had blown itself out before it 
smashed Stormdancer into the iron toes of the Mosweeps, but Rap had not been dry 
since he came back aboard; nor had anyone else. By nightfall they would reach 
Thuli Pan.
Rap was going to live. He was as weak as a sick chicken, still prone to sudden 
spasms of fever and ague, but definitely recovering. Some of the crew were in 
even worse shape, and everyone agreed that there was a sickness aboard, because 
no one wanted to admit to being felled by mere thirst and exhaustion; or even 
near drowning, as in Rap's case. No one had died. Most were on the mend.
And Rap had just been insulted, so he must give a suitable reply. He spoke 
around a wad of half-chewed sausage. "Kani ... I wasn't eating, I'd feed your 
guts to the gulls."
The sailors considered the threat and decided it was adequate. "Do it as soon as 
we get to Durthing, " Ogi suggested. "He needs it. Four days now, maybe?"
"Five, more like," Ballast said in his guttural troll voice. Kani wiped a 
glitter of rain off his silver mustache. "More. Number One says he's going to 
lay over a day or two in Thuli. " Everyone groaned. Rap ate in contented 
silence, knowing that someone would start explaining something to him shortly. 
Kani did. "Some of the passengers may quit there. Can't say I'd blame them after 
this trip. That means looking for replacements, but most folk'd rather sail than 
go by galley, 'cept through the Nogids, see? Either way, we go on to Finrain. On 
Kith, see? We drop the rest there and carry on to Durthing. "
Everyone sighed happily and began boasting of certain unbelievable experiences 
the female population of Durthing wanted, needed, and would soon receive.
"Good spot, Durthing," Ogi said, speaking only to Rap. "It's just a village. Not 
even a jetty there. We'll haul up on the beach and refit. Make momma happy, do 
some brawling, a bit of gardening. Durthing's all sailors. I'm almost the only 
imp there. Jotnar, and a few trolls, mostly."
Kani claimed to be pure jotunn, but he snooped and chattered like an imp. "And 
the Impire doesn't bother us," he said firmly. "No chains there! No clanking 
legionaries. Nice little spot. We can find you a girl. Hey, fellows-who do we 
fix Rap up with?"
Names were mentioned, and evidently became more and more unlikely, for each new 
one brought louder merriment. Even a couple of rowers joined in, calling out 
suggestions.
Rap just ate and smiled and tried not to remember that Durthing was on Kith, and 
Kith was another island. He wondered if he might possibly escape during the 
layover in Thuli, then decided he was too weak to walk to the edge of town. Any 
town, no matter how small.
His romantic future was soon forgotten, and talk returned to the captain's 
probable retirement. "The Old Man does drop anchor," Kani said, "then we put up 
Gathmor?"
Everyone agreed to that, and the argument broke out about a new first mate, and 
other promotions.
Ogi, though, turned again to Rap. "This one's been rough! None of us can recall 
a worse trip." He dropped his voice as if being careful not to give offense-any 
imp who lived and worked with a shipful of jotnar would soon learn caution. 
"We'll all be glad to see home this time; but in a month or so, we'll be ready 
to go again. It's a good life if you can stand these-" His voice dropped to a 
whisper, "-blue-eyed maniacs. A week or two at sea, over to Faerie and back. 
Week or two onshore. Usually it's dull as gutting fish, but the money's good. 
Five years, a man can buy a farm and a wife. And you're quick, lad. With that 
and your farsight you might even make an officer. You're half jotunn, after all. 
"
Rap mumbled noncommittally. He was sure now that escape from this Durthing place 
would turn out to be harder than it sounded, but he wasn't going to raise 
suspicion by asking. He leaned across Kani and Verg to grab another sausage. 
Build his strength up.
"Hey!" Ballast boomed. The talk had changed subject yet again. "The Mosweeps are 
the greatest mountains in all of Pandemia!"
"Greatest bilge!" Kani mumbled, rubbing crumbs out of his mustache.
"Yeah-how would you know?" asked Ogi. "You've never seen 'em!"
"Nobody's ever seen them!"
"Not even Rap can see them!"
That remark won a brief guffaw all round. Rap just grinned. He was a seer, and 
they didn't mind! The matter was not usually mentioned, because sailors had a 
superstition against talking about magic, but they all knew about his power, 
obviously. Unlike the timid townsfolk of Krasnegar, these hardy sailors did not 
care that he could peer through walls or clothes. They had no privacy on board, 
anyway, so why did it matter? That discovery had touched him deeply. He was also 
something of a hero, which was another deliriously pleasant feeling. These tough 
seafolk had accepted him as one of themselves, and his freakish abilities didn't 
count against him at all.
It was a long time since he'd been one of a group. He had friends again.
Someone whistled, and all eyes turned. "Rap!" shouted a voice. "Report to Number 
One."
Rap's insides lurched nervously. He handed the rest of his sausage to Ballast 
and scrambled to his feet. The sudden move made his head spin, and he had to 
steady himself against the cabin wall. Then he began making his way forward, 
cursing his wobbling knees. As he emerged from the shelter of the awnings, the 
rain felt like ice on his heated face. His fever was coming back.
Gathmor and Gnurr were waiting in the bow. The captain was slumped against the 
rail, looking haggard and about as ill as Rap was feeling. The mate was standing 
with feet apart, arms folded, glowering.
Rap came to a halt before him, spreading his own feet wide to balance on the 
tipping deck. "Sir?"
The deadly fog-gray eyes drilled through him. "Feeling better? "
"Aye, sir. "
"Ready to pull your oar next watch? "
Rap's heart cringed at the thought, and he was afraid his shivering might be 
showing, but again he said, "Aye, sir. " The mate grunted. His silver hair was 
streaked down over his face almost to his walrus moustache. The ship pitched and 
rolled while he just stared. Then he began to unfasten his jerkin.
"You disobeyed an order." Rap flinched. "Aye, sir."
"Look at me when I speak to you."
Rap looked up, although he didn't need to. Gnurr had his eyes half closed and 
did not seem to be paying much attention.
Gathmor hauled off the jerkin and dropped it on the desk, leaving himself 
bare-chested in the drizzle. "When a man does that," he said, biting the words, 
"I usually throw him overboard. Look at me!"
"Aye, sir."
"You believe me?"
Rap swallowed and said, "Yes, I do, sir. " Jotnar often started quietly and then 
talked themselves up into manic frenzy. He could remember his friends 
Kratharkran and Verantor almost killing each other a few times as kids, and he'd 
lost his own temper once or twice, before he was old enough to control it. He 
wished he was in better shape to handle this, not so weak and shaky.
"Rarely, on a first offense, I just beat him until he's purple all over."
Why else would he strip down in the rain? "Aye, sir. "
"Sometimes I do both."
Rap gave him the same reply. The sailor gripped the rail on either side of him. 
Muscles swelled and his knuckles showed white. He chewed his mustache for a 
moment.
"The tide was ebbing, dawn was coming, and it was raining. But you thought you 
knew better. "
"I thought-"
"You're not supposed to think!"
"No, sir. "
Pause. "And that line you caught was left there to keep her head to the wind. 
Not for you. I almost didn't have it pulled in."
"No, sir. "
Another pause. The jotunn was breathing hard, shivering with fury. "Well? You 
got nothing to say? You disobeyed a direct order. That's mutiny, sailor! And you 
won't give me any reason why I shouldn't pulp you?"
"No, sir."
"No appeal for mercy?"
Rap had been studying the sodden planks again, but at that demand he looked up, 
met Gathmor's eye squarely, and said, "No." He knew that things were very dicey 
now, but he also knew jotnar, and to show his fear would be a fatal mistake. 
Then he found enough spit to add, "No excuses!" But all his insides were 
silently screaming, Yes!
"Evil take you!" For a moment Gathmor's lips tightened, turning pure white. "You 
could mention that you saved the ship again, later. That would help."
Rap felt a thin tremor of relief. "I won't beg, sir."
The mate seemed to take that as a challenge. His eyes narrowed, and Rap braced 
for the attack.
Then the captain seemed to waken. "Belay that!" he said quietly. "Quit hassling 
the boy! You're just mad because the whole crew started talking back." He turned 
dull eyes on Rap and pursed his lips in a hint of a smile. "Did you know that?"
"Sir?" Rap said blankly. He'd never spoken with Gnurr before.
"They didn't want to leave you."
Rap blinked stupidly, trying to comprehend an absurdity. The sailors had wanted 
to wait around for him when a million angry anthropophagi were about to descend 
on them?
Gathmor scowled. "I suppose no one else heard ... All right! But if you ever 
tell a soul-anyone at all, mind!-I'll kill you. I swear."
"Aye, I mean no-sir. "
"Not a word! But as long as no one knows you flouted that order, I'll overlook 
it. Just this once."
"Thank you, sir. It won't happen again. "
"No, it won't."
Suddenly the old captain laughed. "I told you he wouldn't scare easy!"
Gathmor grunted. "No, he didn't." He bent to retrieve his jerkin. With sudden 
anger, Rap realized that they'd been playing with him. Had Gathmor really been 
about to start a fight, he would have turned pale as ice, and he hadn't. They'd 
been testing.
For a long minute Stormdancer rolled and pitched, while the mate fastened 
buttons. Then he thrust aside his sodden hair with his fingers and sort of 
smiled. "But you did well. I said you'd be a free man. That stands."
He leaned back beside Gnurr, elbows on the drippy rail. Behind them the sea 
rolled in great gray hills and valleys. For a moment the two jotnar studied the 
greatly relieved faun.
The captain doubled over, racked by a spell of coughing. Then he straightened 
again, annoyed by his weakness. "It's not going to be much of a voyage, this 
one," he said hoarsely. "For one thing, it just about killed us. And it would 
have, but for you."
"Aye ... I mean, I did what I could, sir. "
"And for another, Number One blew all our profit on buying a couple of thralls. 
Thought he'd gone crazy."
"So did I," Gathmor growled sourly. "Forty-six imperials! Can't think what got 
into me. "
Andor had, of course. Andor could make most people do anything. Rap scanned 
briefly, but Andor was not aboard. Darad was snoozing on his bunk, facedown. His 
back was healing.
Then the figure penetrated Rap's throbbing head. "Forty-six imperials? "
Gathmor scowled. "For you and your meaty friend. But it was worth it in the end. 
"
"Er ... thank you, sir. " Forty-six imperials? Rap had never thought he'd be 
worth that much money, not to anyone. Even allowing half for Little Chicken ... 
twenty-three?
"You like the life, don't you?"
"Aye, sir," Rap said politely-and truthfully.
Gathmor forced a thin smile and held out a horny hand to shake. "Welcome to the 
crew, sailor."
He seemed to mean well, he hardly squeezed at all.
Then the significance of that little ritual drove a spike of horror into Rap's 
conscience. Did the mate think he was promising to stay on, as one of 
Stormdancer's hands? What about his quest for Inos? Had he just given his word 
to the sailor?
And if Rap was forced to settle down as a crewman, living in this Durthing 
place, then what would Little Chicken say? Or do? What happened to the goblin's 
destiny then, and how would he go about kidnapping--
Huh?
Rap scanned the ship again, then stared in shock at Gathmor. "The goblin?"
The mate scowled. "You mean you didn't know? He went after you."
Little Chicken? "He did?" Rap felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.
"When I ordered the men to float the ship, your buddy was the first to argue. I 
almost ran him through. Then he went tearing off, looking for you."
"Not my buddy," Rap muttered, and staggered over to slump on the rail beside 
Gnurr while the world turned cartwheels and his knees almost folded under him. 
He must have been putting the goblin out of his mind as a man might try to 
forget a debt or ignore an aching tooth. He hadn't noticed his absence.
Of course Little Chicken would not have wanted to leave the island without his 
chosen victim. The sailors insisted that no one ever escaped from the Nogids. 
Whole fleets could disappear there. Castaways had no chance at all. Rap stared 
unseeing at the foam-streaked sea rushing past below him.
Misunderstanding, the old captain laid a hand on his shoulder. "Death is a part 
of life, son," he said, "and the sea a demanding mistress. Sailors all know what 
it is to lose friends. "
"If it makes you feel any better," Gathmor said sourly, "he disobeyed orders, 
also, and he didn't save the ship. In fact we needed his strength to push off, 
and he wasn't there, so even if he'd come back, I wouldn't have let him on. It 
was probably him who roused the anthros. Friendship can be carried-"
"He wasn't my friend!" Rap shouted. He straightened up to face them. "I hope he 
tasted delicious!"
That shocked the sailors into silence, while he struggled to take in all the 
implications of Little Chicken's death. The prophecy had been cheated by a 
freakish accident of weather and timing. The goblin king was not going to meet 
his destiny. Witch and warlock both-their foresight had failed them.
And the magic casement had been proved wrong, too! Not only was Rap not going to 
be tortured by the goblin, but if those prophecies had also been fallible, then 
he now had no reason to expect to be Inos's champion against Kalkor, or meet a 
dragon with Sagorn.
Whatever Rap did now, Inos would not be forced into marrying Little Chicken. Of 
course the witch might find another goblin prince for her.
But maybe Sagorn had been right-Rap was only a humble churl who did not belong 
in Inos's world of kings and imperors and sorcery. He was a faun, the old man 
had said, so he should be a hostler. But he was a jotunn, too. Jotnar were 
sailors by instinct.
Gathmor was scowling suspiciously at Rap's expression. "Sir," Rap croaked, still 
clinging to the rail, "I haven't told you how I got to Faerie."
"If it's magic, I don't want to hear about it. Not now, not ever."
"But ... I may bring bad luck, sir."
"You brought good luck," Gnurr said, with more authority than had shown so far. 
"You look beat, lad. Go greet your new partners."
"P-partners, sir?"
"Yes, partners!" Gathmor was grinning, which woe astonishing--so astonishing 
that Rap could see nothing in the world but that huge grin under the great 
silver mustache and hardly noticed that he was shaking hands with the frail old 
captain, whose skin felt even hotter than his own. "They voted you in, sailor, 
as full partner. It won't mean much this voyage, because of what you cost, but 
from now on you get your share. Off with you-and try to stay warm. "
It didn't make any sense. His heed was throbbing, and waves of fever were 
tossing him like a tub in a storm. Moving on rubbery legs with the roll of the 
ship, Rap staggered away, and at once found himself encased in a mob of 
wet-smelling, noisy men, all crushing his hand and thumping his back, and half 
dragging him to his bench, raucously welcoming him and laughing. They'd all 
known why Gathmor had summoned him. They'd voted him a share. They wanted him as 
one of themselves. He thought he was going to vomit.
Little Chicken was dead. The casement had been wrong. Rap wasn't going to be 
butchered by the goblin. And he wasn't going to meet any dragons, or Kalkor, or 
be Inos's champion. He wasn't ever going to see Inos. Not even Andor could get 
him away from Stormdancer now. Andor's charm had limits-he couldn't charm this 
many men all at once. And eighty men had all paid an incredible fortune to buy a 
seer who could guide their vessel through the dark, and fog, and rocks.
They wanted him, and he felt good about that and couldn't do anything about the 
way they kept pumping his hands, both hands, and he couldn't tell them he didn't 
want to be their crewmate and he mustn't tell them about Inos and he was just 
babbling nonsense and no one was listening. They must think it was the fever 
talking, because someone was trying to wrap him in a damp blanket.
He hadn't been wanted like this for a long time. Or never. But he didn't want to 
be wanted. He wanted to go and find Inos. Except that Inos didn't need him any 
more. She had a swordsman to protect her, a swordsman who shared her tent.
The sailors wanted him, and needed him. They would keep him.
Escaping from goblins and imps and warlocks had been easy, compared to this. How 
could he escape from the sailors, when they had bound him with ties of 
friendship? He really didn't want all these new friends because he wanted to run 
away and that would betray their friendship and they'd talked back to Gathmor 
for his sake.
He had shaken their hands. No use saying he'd been too sick to understand-he'd 
shaken their hands. He was still shaking hands, trying to protest, and being 
shouted down in the celebration. He wanted to scream.
Trapped!
He was one of them now. He'd shaken hands. He had given his word.
Take the cash:
Some for the Glories of this World; and some Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to 
come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum! 
Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§ 13, 1879)