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Notes:

Scanned by JASC

Version 1.0

NOTE: My previous release of this book was incomplete. I was swamped with emails saying that half the book was missing. Here is a re-release, of the FULL book. I fixed more errors in it. I am releasing it as a version 1.0 because most people downloaded the v.9 one, so the fixed book needs to be distinguished from the previous release.

Comments, Questions, Requests (no promises): [email protected]  

DO NOT READ THIS BOOK OF YOU DO NOT OWN/POSSES THE PHYSICAL COPY. THAT IS STEALING FROM THE AUTHOR.

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Book Information:

Genre: Fantasy

Author: John Marco

Name: Eyes of a God

Series:--No Name listed for the series, however

the sequel to this book is called DEVIL’S AMOUR, currently in hardback(winter 2003)   

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He was a giant.

    His horse was a giant too, and layered in hammered bronze like its rider, so that the two formed a centaur in the ebbing light. On his head he wore no helmet, just a short-cropped blond mane, but every other inch was armored, reflecting the sinking sun. He rode at the front of his legion, abreast of his king and a full pace ahead of the standard bearer whose blue flag stood flaccid in the breezeless air. Two lines of cavalry stretched out behind him, proud in the face of the dreaded city. They had traveled for days across good roads and bad, had drunk from the prized river Kryss, all to endure the company of enemies.

    Lukien, the Bronze Knight of Lьria, looked across the valley toward the waiting city of Hes, capital of Reec. Hes the Serene, it was called, and its walls and domed towers bespoke an easy quietude. He had seen the city before, had battled on this very plain, but he had never heard the wind whisper through the valley as it did today, and the sound startled him. Today there were no screams, no thunder of swords. Lukien lifted his face toward Hes, satisfied. Today was a good day after all.

    “They see us by now, surely,” said Lukien. “Yet they do not come to greet us?”

    Akeela shrugged off the implication. “We are far off yet,” he said. “When we’re closer, they will meet us.” The young king smiled as if nothing could sour his mood. ”Put your suspicions away, Lukien. Nothing will go wrong.“

    Lukien nodded, because everything Akeela said was true. He was seldom wrong, this new king of Lьria, and that’s why his people adored him. It was why they called him “Akeela the Good.” And it was why men like Lukien and the other Royal Chargers followed him, even into the heart of Reec. Lukien settled into his saddle, trying for some of Akeela’s abundant confidence. Behind them, the cavalry rode at attention, unnerved by the sight of Hes. The Bronze Knight stole a backward glance at his men. Behind the standard bearer he saw Lieutenant Trager. Unlike his underlings, Trager showed no trace of fear, but his silence belied his anxiety. Lukien leaned toward Akeela.

    “Trager seems. . . uneasy.”

    Akeela put up a hand. “Not today, please.”

    “You should have left him at home. He’ll disrupt things.”

    “He won’t,” said Akeela. “You’re just trying to irritate him. Stop it now.”

    Like many of the Chargers, Trager hadn’t wanted to come to Reec. Behind Akeela’s back he had secretly sneered at the notion of peace, sure that King Karis would snub the offer. Yet here they were, on the road to the Reecian capital, invited guests of the king. For Lukien, who had battled the Reecians since graduating war college, it seemed a miracle. Akeela was right to be proud. He had done something his dead father had never dared dream. If the meeting went well—if they weren’t riding stupidly into a trap—then years of bloodshed might end and Lukien’s Royal Chargers could at last sheath their swords. The decades of war had made them hard and suspicious, but the light in Akeela’s eyes had convinced them that peace was in fact possible. Like Lukien, they quested for Akeela’s dream.

    Lukien knew his world was about to change irrevocably. Under Akeela, they all faced an uncertain future. Even if it was one of peace, it would still not be perfect for the Bronze Knight. Lukien was still a young man, and peerless with a sword. He had earned his reputation the hard way. War was his life, his best and truest calling. Without war he would change, and the idea chafed him. To sit at home with a dog at his feet simply didn’t interest . Barely twenty-seven, he still had a soldier’s lust for life. Were it up to him, he would never make peace with Reec. That way, Lьria would always need him.

    But it wasn’t up to him. Akeela ruled Lьria now, and this was a matter he had decided alone. If war was Lukien’s calling, then peace was Akeela’s. Lukien glanced at his king and was pleased to be with him. If a trap did lay ahead of him, he would welcome death at the side of such a good man.

    High in a tower of Castle Hes, Princess Cassandra of Reec cocked an eyebrow toward the window, marveling at the soldiers approaching her home. It was nearly dusk but she could see them faintly in the dimming light; their silver armor, their well-bred horses, their blue flag stirring listlessly on a pole. They were very many, much more than she had expected. She wiped the mist from the glass, spying the front of the column. Akeela would be there, leading his men, as brave as the stories said.

    “Come away from the window, Cassandra,” the girl implored. Jancis was nervous, and her voice quavered a little. The handmaiden had laid out Cassandra’s dress and continued fussing with it, smoothing out wrinkles that weren’t there.

    “They’re coming,” said Cassandra.

    “You’ll see them soon enough. Come on, Cass, we must dress you.”

    “Come here, Jancis, look at them.”

    With a sigh Jancis did as her lady asked, going to the window to stand beside Cassandra. The princess, still in her undergarments, stepped aside so Jancis could see.

    “Look, at the front. The two riding alone.”

    Jancis nodded. “Uh-huh,” she said dully.

    “Do you see them?”

    “Barely.”

    “Do you think Akeela’s at the front?”

    “Probably,” said Jancis. The handmaiden frowned. “I suppose that brute Lukien is with him.”

    “I suppose,” agreed Cassandra sourly. No one had wanted her father to allow the Bronze Knight into Reec, but Karis had in-

    sisted, for King Akeela would not come without him. “I bet he’s an arrogant-looking bastard, too.”

    “Too far away to tell.” Jancis bit her lip. “Hmm, I wonder what Akeela looks like. I can’t wait to see him.”

    Cassandra’s curiousity spiked. She went back to the window, nudging Jancis aside. Akeela was much too far away to see, and that frustrated her. It frustrated her, too, that she’d been obsessing over his appearance. He was a great man coming to Reec, with a great offer, and that should have been enough for her. But Cassandra knew she was special, and had long dreamed of a special husband. It was a childish thing, she supposed, but the dream was still with her. Cassandra thought it very strange that no one knew what Akeela looked like, or had faced him in battle. Most princes were warriors, but not this one. He let his infamous knight make war for him, while he himself stayed safe behind castle walls. Was he a coward then? Cassandra didn’t think so. It took courage for a Lьrian to ride into Reec.

    “He’s a mystery,” Cassandra purred. The idea intrigued her. She moved away from the window and drifted toward her bed, an oak four-poster with ruffled sheets and perfumed pillows. The dress Jancis had made for her lay across the mattress, looking pristine and beautiful, the perfect garment for seduction. The princess looked down at her smock-clad body. She was seventeen and had filled out nicely. She knew this from the way the men at court looked at her, and she loved to play games with them. But Akeela was a king. Surely he had been with many women, and would judge her critically. A touch of inadequacy—something Cassandra rarely felt—began to tug at her. She had accepted her father’s request to marry the Lьrian gladly, because she was tired of Hes and loved the idea of being a queen. But she had made sure that she supported her father’s plan with just enough restraint to keep her modesty. However, that had been a month ago, and now Akeela was at her doorstep. Worse, the Lьrian king didn’t even know what her father had planned.

    More than anything, Cassandra wanted this peace to work. She had seen the disbelief in her father’s eyes when Akeela’s message had arrived, imploring a summit. Her father had never seemed so happy, or so grave. To make this peace he would do anything, even give her away. Cassandra pretended to care for her father’s sake, but to be away from Hes—away from the shadows of so many sisters—was her fondest dream. And to be a queen! Which of her sisters could say that yet?

    “We should dress you now,” said Jancis, “before they get here. Your father may want you to greet them.”

    Cassandra nodded but said nothing. Jancis picked up on her silence and shot her a questioning look.

    “How are you feeling?” Jancis whispered.

    Cassandra groaned. She didn’t want anyone finding out about her pains, not today when she was so close to leaving. “You promised you wouldn’t speak of that today.”

    “You’re all right then?”

    “Yes, and keep your voice down.” Instinctively Cassandra looked toward the closed door, hoping no one was outside. “I’m fine. I haven’t felt the pain for days.”

    “I don’t believe you,” replied Jancis. “I heard you this morning. If you’re feeling fine, why were you vomiting?”

    “Oh, you’re such a witch sometimes!” snapped Cassandra. “Stop ear-wigging on me.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, knowing she couldn’t escape her friend. The sickness had come upon her a week ago, and had gotten worse before it had gotten better. Now it came in fits, a burning pain in her stomach that made her retch and sometimes turned her water red. She didn’t know what it was, and truly didn’t care to find out. She only knew that if her father discovered it, her marriage—her chance at greatness—would vanish. “It hurts sometimes when I eat, and that’s all,” she admitted. “I was nervous at breakfast. It’s made me a little sick.” She looked up. “Don’t worry, Jancis. And don’t you dare say a word to anyone.”

    The girl remained troubled. “I’m afraid for you, Cass. You should let Danette look at you, at least. She won’t tell anyone, and maybe she can give you something for the cramps.”

    “Danette has a mouth as wide as the Kryss. I can’t tell her anything, and neither can you. And besides, you make it sound like my moon blood, which it’s not. What’s that old midwife going to do for me?”

    ”I don’t know,“ Jancis confessed. ”That’s why I’m worried. Maybe you’ll need a real physician. Maybe—“

    “Jancis, stop,” bade Cassandra. She help up one finger, the way she always did when Jancis rambled. “That’s enough. You promised to keep quiet about it, and I expect you to do so. Now ...” She stood up and tucked her long hair behind her ears. “Let’s dress me.”

    Jancis was about to take the garment from the bed when a knock came at the door. Dressed only in her undertunic, Cassandra jumped at the intrusion, wrapping her arms about herself. “Who is it?” she asked.

    “Your father, girl. Open up.”

    As expected, the king had come to fetch her. Cassandra replied, “I’m not dressed yet, Father.”

    A laugh came from behind the door. “I bathed you myself and know every inch of you. You’re going to show modesty now? Fetch a robe and open the door.”

    Jancis hurried a dressing robe out of the wardrobe and hustled Cassandra into it. As the princess tied the garment’s belt around her waist, Jancis opened the door. King Karis stood alone in the threshold. His pepper-black beard was split with a wide grin, and his body was swathed in crimson velvet, kingly attire for the meeting to come. He wore all his rings today, great gem-stones that twinkled in the torchlight, and when he saw his youngest daughter across the room he beamed. Jancis had brushed Cassandra’s hair till it shone and had carefully painted her face and nails. Even in her plain dressing robe, Cassandra was beautiful.

    “Daughter, you look lovely,” said the king. He stepped into the room. Jancis curtsied and kept her eyes averted. Karis hardly noticed her. He was taken by the vision of his daughter, which always filled Cassandra with pride.

    “Father?” she asked innocently. “What is it?”

    Karis turned to Jancis. “Would you leave us, please? I need to talk with my daughter.”

    “Talk? But Father, we’re dressing.”

    “Jancis, go,” said the king. The handmaiden didn’t wait to be asked again. Quickly she left the room and closed the door be-hind her, leaving Cassandra to stare blankly at her father. The ruler of Reec took a step forward, his eyes revealing an inner sadness. Cassandra had expected the visit, and had dreaded it.

    “You’ve seen them from your window?” asked her father. His voice was soft. With her, it was always soft.

    “Yes. That’s why I must dress.”

    Karis shook his head. “No, not yet. I’ll be meeting with them when they arrive, but briefly. Akeela will be tired, too tired for even you to seduce him.” His eyes traced over his daughter. “I want him to be as impressed as I am when he sees you.”

    “Then I won’t be meeting him now?” asked Cassandra.

    “Tonight,” said the king, “after they’ve rested. When we dine, you’ll meet him.”

    The princess drooped. She had waited so long to meet her new husband, and couldn’t bear more delays. But she didn’t argue with her father. Instead she let out a dramatic sigh, going back to the bedside and sitting down.

    “I wanted to talk to you before tonight,” said Karis. He sat down next to her on the bed, then picked up her hand and placed it in his own. His skin was rough against her petal-soft fingers. But his eyes were soft and affectionate.

    “A father shouldn’t have favorites, I know,” he said. “But I’ll tell you something now, Cassandra. I’ve loved you best of all.”

    “I know,” said Cassandra. “You don’t have to say so, Father.”

    “I want you to understand why I’m doing this,” he said. “You do understand, yes?”

    “For peace,” Cassandra replied. It was what her father wanted to hear. “For the good of Reec.”

    “And everyone in it, including all your sisters and their children. And even for my own good.” Karis squeezed her hand. “This is a great favor, daughter. Perhaps I’m selfish to ask it. So let me give you one last chance to refuse me. If you don’t wish to marry this Lьrian, say so now, before I make the offer.”

    Cassandra squirmed. Her father didn’t know how she really felt, because she hid it so well. “You would think less of me if I refused now, Father.”

    “Never. I could never think less of you.” He looked deep into her eyes. ”The truth, Cassandra. There’ll be no going back for you, not once the offer is made. And life in Lьria will be hard for you.“

    “Not so hard, probably.”

    Karis chuckled. “Ah, you don’t know yet, daughter. You think only of being a queen. But we don’t know this man, not nearly as well as we should. He may breed you like a bitch, one pup after another. Lьrian men can be brutal.”

    “He is kind,” said Cassandra. “You said so yourself. Only a kind man would offer peace, you said.”

    “True,” admitted Karis, reminded of his words. “But it won’t be a fairy tale. You know that, don’t you?”

    “Father, what is this?” Cassandra asked, laughing. “Now you don’t want me to marry him?”

    Karis’ face was firm. “I want you to be sure of your decision, because it is your decision, not mine. I have no greater gift to give this king than you, Cassandra, but you are no slave. Say no to me now, and there will be no harm to it. I’ll find another way to seal the peace.”

    For a moment, Cassandra almost told her father the truth. She almost confessed her great desire to leave her city and country behind, to finally be her own woman and not just one of Karis’ daughters. But she didn’t tell her father that, because it would have broken his heart.

    “You said that Akeela is special,” Cassandra reminded him, “and that any woman would be lucky to be his queen. I believe that it is so, Father.”

    Karis studied her with a grin. “You parse words like a barrister, Cassandra. Don’t do this thing just to spare my feelings.”

    “Father, I am Reecian,” said Cassandra. “If Akeela will have me, then I will marry him, because I love you and I love our land.”

    It wasn’t really a lie, and it made her father’s face shine. Karis patted his daughter’s hand and said, “You’re special to me. You always will be. And you will always be my daughter, even when you are a queen.” The king rose from the bed, straightening his stunning tunic. “Rest for now. Tonight, when the banquet begins, I will send for you. You will dance for King Akeela, and he will fall in love with you.”

    Cassandra smiled. Since she had blossomed into womanhood, every man seemed to love her. It gave her power, the taste of which was sweet.

    When her father left the chamber, Cassandra rose from the bed and went back to the window. Outside, she could see Akee-la’s little army, now just outside the city gates.

    he Reecian capital rose in a splendid arc before them. Lukien had never been so close to the city before, and as he rode beside Akeela, nearing the tall iron gates, he marveled at the simple, natural architecture and the grace of his enemies. Hes wasn’t like Koth, Lьria’s capital. It was smaller and had fewer tall towers, so that light fell easily on its white and brown cement, giving it a shimmering appearance. As the sun dipped down, the city came alive with candles, blinking in the round windows and lending the place an orange sheen. Lukien slowed his column as they neared the city gates. The dentate portals were opened wide in welcome. Beyond them, mounted soldiers sat at attention, their swords sheathed and their shoulders rigid. A procession of Reecian citizens stretched out behind them, disappearing down the avenues and watching the newcomers in silent awe. Lukien heard music, the brassy parade tunes the Reecians favored. An uneasiness grew in his stomach. Despite the obvious welcome Hes was giving Akeela, the Bronze Knight cringed inwardly. In the five years since becoming a full-ranked Royal Charger, he had clashed with these people dozens of times.

    “You see?” said Akeela. “They welcome us. As I told you they would.”

    The king rode a bit faster toward the waiting city. Lukien spurred his horse to keep up.

    “Slowly, Akeela,” he warned. He brought his chestnut charger to a trot beside his king, steering the beast toward its brother to block its stride. “Let me go first.”

    Akeela relented, checking his eagerness. He brought his horse to a halt. The winding column behind him stopped. Lukien waved his lieutenants forward, and Trager and Breck trotted out of the mass.

    “We’ll go first,” he told the pair. “The king will follow.”

    Breck nodded his red head. Trager’s face didn’t change. The two rode beside each other but behind Lukien, ready to lead their king and his procession into the city. As he turned back toward Hes, Lukien noticed a group of well-dressed nobles at the gate’s threshold. Karis’ counselors wore red and gold tunics and uneasy smiles on their bearded faces. One of them, taller and more regal than the others, stood a pace ahead of his companions, a black cape around his shoulders and sword at his side. The smile on his face twisted when he noticed Lukien coming toward him, and soon the contagion spread through the others. The soldiers along the avenue cocked their helmeted heads; a murmur rippled through the crowds.

    The Bronze Knight had come.

    Lukien squared his shoulders. He was Akeela’s herald, and that meant he needed to be fearless. His armored horse snorted its disdain, and Lukien rode across the threshold of Hes, into the midst of his enemies. The music grew as the musicians lining the avenues strummed their guitars and blew into their horns, and the red flags of Reec were everywhere, hanging down from apartment windows and held aloft by proud teenagers. Yet to Lukien’s surprise the Lьrian flag was displayed too, held by a Reecian honor guard resplendent in crimson tunics and white gloves. As Lukien approached the nobles just inside the city, the foursome bowed deeply, putting their hands over their hearts and lowering their eyes to the cobblestones. They did not lift themselves until Lukien’s shadow fell upon them.

    “I am Lukien of Lьria,” he declared. “Herald of King Akeela and Captain of his Royal Chargers.”

    The four noblemen raised their eyes to Lukien. The tall one’s smile was inscrutable.

    “Welcome,” he said. He spread his arms wide, looking past Lukien to where Akeela waited behind Trager and Breck. “I am Earl Linuk of Glain. On behalf of King Karis and all of Reec, I welcome you.”

    “Thank you,” said Lukien. He remembered the name Linuk, sure that he had faced the Reecian in combat before. As Earl of Glain, Linuk ruled one of Reec’s largest territories and was one of Karis’ closest advisors. Akeela had expected him at the meeting, but his presence distracted Lukien nonetheless. Hurriedly he spun his horse around to reveal his king. Trager and Breck parted, and Akeela rode forward. Again the four noblemen bowed, honoring the young ruler.

    “My lord Akeela,” said Linuk. His voice rang with awe. “This is a great honor for us. We welcome you to Hes, and grant you all our city has to offer.”

    Akeela looked regal atop his horse, and his expression warmed with good humor. “Earl Linuk, the honor is mine. Rise, please.”

    The earl did as Akeela commanded, and Akeela surveyed the soldiers and citizenry that had gathered to meet him. Except for the music the huge crowd was remarkably quiet. Even the children hanging out of the nearby windows were silent. Akeela cleared his throat, then raised a hand to them all, just as he had practiced. He declared, “Thank you all for this warm welcome. I am truly glad to be here, and to be honored by you. This will be a great day, a great moment in history for both our nations.”

    And with that, the crowd erupted. The people clapped and the children shouted, and the musicians played louder to compete with the clamor. Earl Linuk and his fellow nobles beamed at Akeela, looking relieved. Lukien felt a sudden calm. If this was a trap, it was ridiculously elaborate. He glanced back at his friend Breck, who gave him a wink, then at Trager, who simply looked disbelieving. The second-in-command of the Royal Chargers spun around toward his men, signaling them to enter the city, and slowly the column of horses came forward, led by a wooden wagon covered with a white tarpaulin and flanked by four armored chargers. As the wagon rolled forward, Akeela pointed at it.

    “We bring gifts for your king, Earl Linuk,” he said. “May we present ourselves to him?”

    The earl nodded. “King Karis awaits you at his castle, my lord,” he said, then gestured toward the center of the city. There, °n a hill of green lawns and fruit trees, stood Castle Hes, a twin-towered citadel of gray stone slicing across the sky. The castle dominated the capital, throwing its two shadows down upon the baroque city. The main road from the gate seemed to lead directly to the castle, and the entire way was lined with onlookers and more of the ubiquitous musicians.

    “It’s been a long ride,” said Akeela, “and I would like to meet your king as soon as possible. I think our gifts will please him, as will our news.”

    “The king wants nothing more than to speak with you, my lord, I assure you,” said Linuk. “If you’ll follow us, you will see him presently.”

    “Then lead on, Earl,” chirped Akeela.

    Linuk and his courtiers turned and went to their horses, a group of brawny beasts with crimson blankets waiting at the side of the avenue. At the earl’s command the Reecian soldiers prepared to fall in line behind the Lьrians. Akeela brought his horse forward, waving to the eager crowds. Lukien hurried alongside his king, followed directly by Trager, Breck, the wagonload of gifts, and the forty Royal Chargers accompanying them. The gates closed silently behind them, and Castle Hes beckoned them forward. Lukien looked about, spying the Reecians lining the street. All met his eyes with a distinct scorn. Though they loved Akeela, apparently, they hated his herald. The knight leaned toward Akeela.

    “You were right,” he confessed. “Look at them. They adore you.”

    “They adore the thought of peace,” said Akeela, his lips barely moving as he continued to smile and wave. “They are as weary of war as we are.”

    “We?” chuckled Lukien. “You, perhaps.”

    “All right then, me,” said Akeela. “You’re not king, Lukien. If you were, you’d feel differently.”

    Lukien decided not to ruin the moment. Of all the Chargers, only he himself craved war, because it defined him and because he knew nothing else. He said, “I’m happy for you, Akeela. I’m happy you’re right.”

    “Be happy for Lьria,” said Akeela. They were passing a crowd of young children, all boys, all excited and pointing at them. “Look there, you see those boys? They would have all grown up to be Reecian soldiers, with nothing more to look forward to than war. But they can have a future now. They won’t have to face you on the battlefield.”

    Akeela’s logic was flawless and cruel, and it made Lukien stiffen.

    “As I said, I’m glad you were right.”

    The two rode in silence for minutes afterward, Akeela enjoying the crowds, Lukien enduring their stares. Earl Linuk and his party had brought them to the very edge of the castle hill, to another open gate leading to the outer ward of the citadel. Here, the crowds of citizens thinned, replaced by more soldiers and servants of the king. Stableboys and milkmaids had gathered in the yard, and the wide portcullis of Castle Hes had been raised, bidding them enter. The long columns of horsemen snaked into the ward, where Linuk and his men dismounted, handing their steeds off to waiting grooms. Akeela glanced up at the two towers, impressed by them. They were suitably grand, and the lichens climbing up their walls made them look ancient. Now that the sun was nearly down, the palace was lit with braziers. Grim-faced guards with feathers in their helms flanked the portcullis. Lukien waited for Linuk to fetch them. He dismounted, along with Trager and Breck.

    Earl Linuk stepped forward and carefully took Akeela’s reins. “My lord, if you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to King Karis. He’s in his throne room, waiting for you.”

    Akeela dismounted, eager to follow the earl. “Will, see to the wagon, will you?”

    Lieutenant Trager said, “Yes, my lord,” and went to work. Like Lukien, he had known Akeela for years, and hated being ordered about. But he always did as ordered, and with Breck’s help pulled back the tarpaulin from the wagon. Atop the wagon’s bed was an iron chest with stout rivets and a padlock. Akeela gestured to it, asking Linuk if he could bring it with him to the throne room. The earl agreed without hesitation, but when Linuk called some of his men forward to carry it, Akeela said, “Don’t bother, Earl. My lieutenants will see to it,” then followed the earl through the portcullis. Lukien hurried after him.

    “Breck, Trager,” he ordered, “bring it along. The rest of you, stay behind.”

    Quickly he caught up with Akeela, falling in step behind him. The earl’s men surrounded them, talking idly about how pleased they were to have Akeela in Reec. The young king nodded and smiled, well suited to his first diplomatic mission. Lukien was proud of him, the way an older brother would be proud of a younger sibling. They had talked about this moment for months, and all the while Akeela had fretted about the task. Yet the new king seemed every bit as polished as his late father.

    The halls of Castle Hes were marvelous. High ceilings swallowed them, decorated with mosaics of colored marble and gilded glass. Huge windows revealed the night outside as it came alive with stars, and glowing torches stood like sentries along the walls. The stableboys and milkmaids had gone, and now only well-dressed nobles greeted them, bowing to Akeela as he passed. Lukien caught the eye of a comely noblewoman just in time to see her snicker. He sighed and looked away. Just ahead a pair of carved oak doors hung open on iron hinges.

    “The throne room,” said Linuk. He paused outside the chamber, stepping aside and gesturing for Akeela to enter. Akeela took a breath, then turned toward Lukien, giving his champion a nervous smile. Lukien encouraged him with a wink. Then, with Akeela leading the way, the two Lьrians stepped inside.

    The throne room spread out before them, high and barrel-vaulted, with stout iron chandeliers and grand tapestries and a formidable dais at its far end. On the dais was a throne of ebony, with carved runes through its form and feet like the paws of a lion. Perched on the throne, his eyes as hard as diamonds, was King Karis of Reec. Akeela and Lukien took careful steps toward him, not averting their gaze. Karis’ face was emotionless. He studied the pair dispassionately, barely twitching his ringed fingers. Two more Reecians, dressed similarly to Linuk, stood on the dais beside him. Lukien guessed they were Raxor, the king’s war minister, and Arnod, the Reecian treasurer. Raxor was the king’s brother, and the family resemblance was striking. To Lukien’s eye, they could have been twins. Not so with Arnod, who was much shorter than Raxor and fair-haired. Both advisors were quiet as Akeela approached, waiting for their king to speak first. An anxious silence filled the chamber.

    Then, unexpectedly, Akeela dropped to one knee before the Reecian king. He bowed his head, put an arm across his knee as if being knighted, and said, “Great King of Reec, I am Akeela of Lьria. By accepting me into your home, you honor me.”

    Lukien couldn’t believe the sight, nor could Karis. From the way the Reecian’s eyebrows lifted, he seemed stunned by the greeting. Noticing that Lukien was still standing, Akeela casually reached out for his hand and gently dragged him downward. Reluctantly, Lukien joined in the bow, keeping his eyes on Karis. The King of Reec looked first at his advisors, then back at Akeela.

    “King Akeela,” he said finally, “Thank you.”

    Akeela and Lukien rose. The young king offered his host one of his warm smiles, which the Reecian did not return. Karis merely studied them. Thinking the stillness of the chamber would suffocate him, Lukien nudged Akeela to say something. But the king remained silent.

    “You’re very young,” said Karis.“My advisors tell me you are twenty-four years old. Is that so?”

    “Your advisors are accurate, King Karis,” said Akeela. “I am twenty-four.”

    “How many years have Reec and Lьria been at war?” pressed Karis. His tone was featureless, neither threatening nor mild. “Do you know?”

    “Since before I was born, my lord,” replied Akeela. “For twenty-eight years, since the battle of Awalak.”

    “That’s right,” sighed Karis. “A very long time, your whole lifetime and more. So tell me then why a scholar like yourself is so anxious to end a war his father loved, so soon after taking his place.”

    Insulted, Lukien stepped forward. “You presume a great deal, King Karis,” he said. “King Balak never loved war. To say so is to slander him.”

    “Lukien,” said Akeela, taking his shoulder. “Be easy.”

    King Karis rose from his throne. For the first time, anger flashed in his eyes. “You are the Bronze Knight,” he declared. “Butcher. I should warn you to be silent, Lukien of Lьria. You are not so welcome here as your king.”

    Lukien wanted to speak but Akeela’s insistent grip on his shoulder stopped him. Akeela stepped forward, saying, “Lukien is my champion, my lord. I go nowhere without him, and you’ve already agreed to let him accompany me.”

    “Yes,” said Karis. “I did agree, because I wanted to speak with you, King Akeela, and to hear your offer.” His eyes went to Lukien. “But I warn you, Bronze Knight—I tolerate you only for the comfort of your king.”

    Akeela said calmly, “And I should warn you, King Karis, that Lukien was as close to King Balak as a son. Speaking against my father will invite his ire. And mine.”

    Karis grunted suspiciously. “You are brothers, then?”

    “Of a kind,” replied Akeela.

    “All right, then,” agreed Karis. “We are here to talk peace, after all.”

    Before Akeela could respond, a clamor sounded in the doorway. Lukien turned to see Trager, Breck, and four others of their brigade toting the iron box. Earl Linuk was before them, smiling at his king.

    “My lord, forgive me, but King Akeela has brought this for you.”

    Karis looked perplexed, and also strangely pleased. He stepped down from his dais just as the sweating men dropped the chest to the floor with a thud.

    “What is it?” Karis asked.

    “Gifts,” said Akeela brightly. “From Lьria to you, King Karis. I think you’ll like what we’ve brought you. In fact, I have something very special to give you.”

    Lukien bristled, realizing what Akeela meant. But Karis seemed intrigued. Instantly he had lost his dispassion toward Akeela, and now seemed to share the young man’s exuberance. Raxor and Arnod gathered near him as he peered at the box. To Lukien, they looked like a bunch of children waiting for Akeela to open a toy chest. Then, as if he’d suddenly come to his senses, Raxor put out a hand.

    “Wait, my lord,” he told Karis. His eyelids narrowed on Akeela. “Tell us first what is in there.”

    “Raxor . . .”

    “Brother, it could be dangerous,” advised the war minister.

    “I’m sorry to say this in front of our guests, but they are Lьrians, after all.”

    The king flushed. “Forgive my brother, King Akeela. He means no offense, I assure you.”

    Akeela produced a shiny silver key from beneath his cape. “I promise you, my lord, there is no danger in the box. Only good things. May I proceed?”

    “Of course,” said Karis, ignoring his brother’s concern. He stepped closer to the box in a show of goodwill. Raxor stood beside him, but Arnod kept back a pace. Curiosity got the better of Earl Linuk, who came to stand next to his king, and as Akeela clicked open the padlock and tilted open the iron lid, the faces of the Reecians took on an amber glow, bathed in the reflected glow of the contents. Nearly everything in the box was gold; coins and candelabras and carving knives, rings and plates and picture frames, all shimmering in the chest. It was more than a fortune, more than a king’s ransom, and it made Karis’ jaw drop. The Reecian king hovered over the box, dumbfounded. Akeela swelled proudly.

    “For the people of Reec,” he said. “From the people of Lьria. There’s something in here from nearly every citizen of Koth, my lord. These are not only valuables from my own coffers, but from farmers and blacksmiths, even from my own soldiers, here.” He gestured to Lukien, who himself had tossed a gold-hilted dagger into the chest.

    Karis could barely speak. “They did this for you?” he asked.

    “They did this for peace,” said Akeela. “Not for me.”

    “My king is modest,” said Lukien. “They would not have done this for any other ruler, not even his father.”

    King Karis shook his head in disbelief. “In Lьria they call you Akeela the Good,” he said. “I know this. And now I know why.”

    “It is the people of Lьria that are good, my lord. I asked them to contribute and they did so willingly.” Akeela brightened. “But that’s not all. Look closer at the chest, my lord.”

    Puzzled, Karis did as asked, staring into the box and its lustrous contents. “Yes?”

    “That bunch of cloth. Pick it up.”

    Laying atop the golden heap was a piece of blue linen, wrapped securely around a hidden item. Karis reached out and plucked it from the pile, holding it carefully.

    “What is it?” he asked.

    “Go ahead, unwrap it,” urged Akeela. Lukien cringed. Like Trager, he had dreaded this moment. It was the one thing he and his lieutenant agreed upon. He watched Karis peel the blue linen back until its contents was revealed—a little crystal bottle filled with clear liquid. Karis held it up to the light. His advisors gathered around to see it.

    “Forgive me, King Akeela,” said Karis, “but your gift is ...

    baffling.“

    “That’s water from the river Kryss,” said Akeela. His voice quavered, and Lukien knew he was nervous. After this, there could be no going back. “It’s yours, my lord.”

    Karis looked at him, not quite understanding, or not daring to believe.

    “My lord, you said it yourself,” said Akeela. “Since before I was born, Reec and Lьria have battled, and all because of a river. We’ve always thought the Kryss was ours, and you’ve always thought it belonged to you. I don’t know how many people have died for that bloody stream; I don’t think anyone could count. But I’m king now, and I won’t let it go on.” He shrugged, and for a moment he looked more like a boy than a monarch. “The river Kryss is yours. If you’ll allow Lьria free trade on the western side, we will quarrel with you over it no more.”

    King Karis of Reec blinked, mute with surprise. He didn’t move, but merely stared at Akeela with his mouth open. “Fate above,” said Linuk. “Do you mean this?”

    “Everything my king says is the truth,” said Lukien. “Akeela the Good does not lie.”

    “You would give us the Kryss?” asked Raxor. The war minister seemed dazed. “Just like that?”

    “No,” said Akeela sharply. “Not just like that. For peace, and peace only. That’s the price for these gifts. You may keep all this gold, but if you break this pact there will be bloodshed again. And I’m gambling that none of us wants that. Do you want war, King Karis?“

    Still Karis didn’t reply. Clutching the bottle of river water, he climbed back to his throne, seating himself. Lukien knew Akeela’s gift had astonished him. After nearly thirty years of war, the Kryss was suddenly his, and now he didn’t know what to do with it.

    “Do you know the cards of Noor, King Akeela?” he asked.

    Akeela nodded. In Lьria, fortune cards were common, just like all other arcane trappings. “I know of them, but that is all.” he replied.

    “When your father died, I read the cards,” said Karis. “I wanted to know what kind of man was succeeding him. The cards told me that you were a man of peace. It was the first time I thought they were lying to me. Now it seems the cards have shamed me. I should have listened.”

    Akeela stepped toward the throne. “We have an agreement, then?”

    Karis gave a huge grin. “Oh, young king, we have so much more than that. We have peace, for the first time in my memory. You have made an old man very happy.”

    The Reecians in the room cheered, and Akeela and Breck joined them. Even Lukien grinned. Akeela clapped the shoulder of Earl Linuk, then embraced Raxor and Arnod in turn. Finally, he climbed onto the dais to take Karis’ hand, but Karis rose instead, took Akeela’s hand in his own, and placed a gentle kiss on it.

    “Tonight we will celebrate,” he declared. “There will be music and we will feast. All your men must attend, and we will show you how Reecians celebrate!”

    “Thank you, my lord,” said Akeela. To Lukien, he looked gigantically relieved. “Then we will see you tonight. And if you have rooms for us, we would be grateful. ‘Twas a long road from Lьria.”

    “Rooms are already prepared for you,” said Karis. “Earl Linuk will escort you, and my servants will see to your needs. Rest well for tonight, King Akeela. You are not the only one with gifts.”

    Akeela squinted at him. “My lord?”

    Karis laughed and released his hand. “You’ll see what I mean. For now, just rest and enjoy my home.”

    A, .keela had been given chambers in the south tower of Castle Hes, overlooking the city and its vast marketplace. They were well appointed rooms, fit for a royal visitor, furnished lavishly with silk and tapestries. A cavernous collection of hallways connected the rooms, so that Akeela not only had a bed chamber, but also a dressing room and a separate room for bathing. A huge bed of iron and brass decorated with plush pillows had been prepared for him, along with a platter of fresh breads and cheeses. Earl Linuk, who had escorted Akeela to the rooms, had told him to rest and make ready for the banquet being prepared for him. Linuk had seen to Akeela personally, while Karis’ servants tended to the other Lьrians, finding them rooms on lower floors. Linuk had not expected Lukien to insist on sharing the rooms with Akeela. Cordially, Linuk explained that he had prepared a nearby room for the king’s “bodyguard,” but Lukien had ignored him, choosing instead to remain with Akeela.

    Lukien was always with Akeela.

    Sometimes, it seemed to Lukien that he had been with Akeela his whole life. They were nothing alike, really, but over the years they had become like brothers, and had even been raised as such by Akeela’s father, Balak, who adored Lukien. Abandoned by his father and orphaned by the death of his mother, Lukien had lived in the streets of Koth, with only his ten-year old wits to protect him from the big-city predators. He had been a thief, stealing what he needed to survive or working for pennies in the slave-like conditions of smithies. By eleven he was emaciated from this grueling life, but by thirteen he was becoming a man, and life in the smithies had strengthened his body and hardened his heart. Then, at fourteen, he had met Akeela.

    Akeela, who was three years younger than Lukien, had been touring the Lьrian capital with some of his father’s advisors. A contingent of guards had accompanied them, but Akeela, curious about things even then, had wandered off to explore on his own, blundering into the alleys Lukien called home. It hadn’t taken long for the roughs in the area to find the well dressed stranger. Even for his age Akeela was short, but he had defended himself against the youths that had robbed him, swearing when Lukien found him that he’d bloodied the noses of two of them. Of course it was Akeela who was truly bloody. Thoroughly drubbed by the boys, Akeela needed help finding his way back to his royal guardians. And when they had located the guards and gotten Akeela safely into his carriage, the boy-prince had told his protectors not to go looking for the youths that had robbed him, because they were poor and knew no better.

    In all the years since then, Lukien had never forgotten that moment. Had he been the victim, he would have tracked the rabble down and killed them, but not so this forgiving youngster. Instead, Akeela had insisted that Lukien return to the castle with them, to get some clean clothing and a good meal, and to meet his father, the king. There, the young Lukien was greeted as a hero for helping the prince, and King Balak had practically adopted him. He hadn’t left the castle since; as he had never left Akeela’s side, because the young prince needed him.

    But Lukien always remembered the hard-won lessons of the street, and he had never forgiven his drunken father for leaving him, nor his mother for dying. Those were burdens he carried ^[th him everywhere, even onto the battlefield, and it was an unfortunate enemy indeed who came upon the Bronze Knight ^and his unwieldy emotions. In Koth’s castle he had grown to manhood, had studied in the Lьrian war college, and graduated the top of his class. He had become the paragon of a horse soldier, rising to command the Royal Chargers. Still Lukien brooded as he recalled his miserable life on the streets of Koth.

    All these things Lukien considered as he sat by the window overlooking Hes’ marketplace, absently chewing an apple. From high in the tower, Hes looked much the same as Koth, and the similarity triggered unpleasant memories. Lukien stretched out, holding back a sigh. Inside the dressing chamber, Akeela was i preparing for the celebration. Lukien himself had already dressed, choosing a tunic of plain brown and some stiff black j boots that Karis’ servants had provided. Already Lukien felt himself growing anxious. He didn’t like the idea of eating with Ree- : cians, or of spending the evening being stared at. But Akeela was i in a fine mood, for he had brokered his peace with Karis and was j ready to celebrate. As the young king readied himself in the | nearby chamber, Lukien could hear him whistling.

    Whistling. Lukien couldn’t help but laugh. At twenty-four, Akeela still resembled the boy he had rescued in the alley.

    “Akeela the Good,” he whispered, shaking his head. An apt name for such a blameless man. Suddenly, Lukien was pleased with his life as Akeela’s champion. Sometimes brothers are less than friends, he knew, but that didn’t mean there was love lost. Putting aside his half-eaten apple, he got out of the chair and strode toward the dressing chamber. “Almost ready?” he called. “They’ll be expecting us.”

    Akeela stepped out of the small room, his hair shining with oil, his blue tunic stunning. Across his waist rested a silver belt with a small, ceremonial dagger, while on his feet were a pair of thigh-high boots, polished to a gemstone-like luster. “I’m ready,” he declared. “And I’m starving.”

    “Let’s hope these Reecians can cook,” said Lukien. He glanced down at Akeela’s dagger. “You’re taking that?”

    Akeela caught his meaning. The Reecians had requested that Lukien himself bear no arms to the banquet. “It’s just for ceremony,” he explained. “Besides, you’ll be sitting next to me. If anyone tries to harm me, you can grab my dagger and save me, all right?”

    Lukien didn’t laugh. Without his weapons he felt naked. “I think they’d try to poison you first. Not much good I could do you then.“ found a mirror in the hall and adjusted his collar. ”You don’t trust them, I know. But you’ll see. The time for peace has come. The time for a new Lьria, maybe a whole new world.“

    “A grand dream.”

    “Nay, not a dream, Lukien. A plan.” The young king smoothed down his hair. “Shall we go?”

    With Akeela leading, Lukien followed him out of the chambers and into the hallway where two Reecian guards were waiting, ready to escort them downstairs. They explained that King Karis was already in the banquet chamber, and that many of Akeela’s men had gathered there, too. Akeela walked with eager strides as the guards led them down a flight of stairs, then into another hall, wide and tall. The hall was decorated with flowers, and as they neared the banquet room the strains of music reached their ears. Lukien could see Trager and Breck waiting for them just outside the banquet room. Breck wore a grin while Trager was unreadable, but both had dressed for the evening, sporting long capes trimmed with wolf fur. They looked fit, fine examples of Lьrian excellence, and Lukien was proud of them. They bowed to Akeela as he approached.

    “How’s it look in there?” Lukien asked Breck, peering over his lieutenant’s shoulder. The chamber was crowded with people and pipe smoke.

    “You should see the feast they’ve laid out for us,” Breck replied. He was a big man who loved food, and his appetite shone in his eyes.

    “King Karis is already inside, waiting for you, my lord,” Trager told Akeela.

    Akeela nodded. “Go on, all of you, go first.”

    With a shooing gesture he ushered Trager and Breck into the banquet chamber, then asked the Reecians to proceed. Akeela steadied himself with a breath. Then, with Lukien at his side, he Pepped into the tumult of the banquet. Instantly, every head in the chamber turned toward him, and the music grew. A crescendo of applause erupted and the Reecians banged the long banquet tables with their metal tankards and cheered for the for-

    eign king. Servants with platters in their hands stopped in mid-service to gape, and the children of the castle nobles, who had been carefully outfitted in royal finery, pointed and giggled. At the end of the vast chamber, at a raised table against the far wall, King Karis stood and joined the applause. There was a huge goblet in his meaty fist and his beard parted in laughter. Around him were Earl Linuk and a dozen other nobles, while at a table to his left sat a group of lovely women all sharing a striking resemblance. These, Lukien guessed, were Karis’ daughters. He had heard that they were very beautiful, and now he saw the rumors were true. Each wore a long velvet dress and twinkling jewelry, and each had a husband or suitor seated beside her. As Akeela moved into the center of the room, his Royal Chargers, who had already gathered for the feast, gave a large round of cheers, drowning out even the whistling children. The hero’s welcome made Akeela flush. The young king gave a humble smile as he approached the table where Karis waited, two empty chairs directly on his right. Akeela thanked the crowds, trying to speak over the clamor, gesturing for quiet. But there was too much exuberance in the room for that, so he simply made his way to the head table with Lukien. There, with everyone watching, he and King Karis embraced. It was a light embrace, more like a hand- j shake, but the peck the Reecian gave Akeela’s cheek told Lukien it was sincere.

    “A great day!” said Karis over the din. “And now, a great night to celebrate!”

    Akeela swept an arm over the room, moved by the celebration. “This is wonderful, my lord,” he said. “I’m grateful.”

    “It’s well deserved,” replied Karis. “All Reec should celebrate tonight. Now sit, my new friend, and enjoy yourself. Tonight is for getting drunk.”

    Akeela sat down next to the king, then Lukien took his own seat beside Akeela. Trager and Breck, who had been waiting for them beside the table, sat down next to Lukien. A pretty serving girl offered him some ale. Lukien held out his goblet, giving her a wink. Trager noticed the flirting and shook his head with disgust.

    “What?” asked Lukien.

    Trager scowled. “Why would you pretend to want one of these Reecian she-wolves, Captain?“ he asked, careful that Akeela did _not hear him. ”Once she got you in bed she’d emasculate you with her teeth.“

    “Sure,” Lukien scoffed. “And how would you know that? Has a Reecian wench gotten to your stones, Trager?”

    “They’re our enemies,” said Trager simply. “Piss-filled bags of misery, the lot of them. You of all people should know that, Captain.”

    “Times are changing, Trager,” said Lukien simply. “Have some ale.”

    The lieutenant folded his arms over his chest. “I won’t drink with these swine.”

    “Suit yourself.”

    Turning his attention toward the floor, Lukien noticed a clearing between tables. The space just in front of their own table had been left bare, but an instant later an acrobat tumbled into it. As the crowd laughed and clapped, the man somersaulted backwards, landing on his feet again and again. A juggler joined him, then a violinist, and soon the floor was full of entertainers. Lukien settled back to enjoy the show.

    From a tiny alcove just beyond the banquet room, Cassandra peered out from behind a velvet curtain, breathless with anticipation. In a moment the soft music would start and her father would call her forth. Cassandra smiled inwardly. She was a fine dancer, and the dress Jancis had made her was tight in all the right places. Even if Akeela was accustomed to beautiful women, she knew she could seduce him. Men were like that when she danced, so pliable, even the hardest of them. Next to her, Jancis was smiling mischievously, enjoying the excitement. From their place in the alcove they could barely see Akeela past the crowds, catching only glimpses of him and his bodyguard, the Bronze Knight. The Lьrian king was drinking and laughing. He had dark hair, not unlike Cassandra’s own, and his smile was blinding. Cassandra thought him handsome. Not stunningly handsome, but serviceably so, and that heartened her. She had heard too stories of duchesses married to beastly brutes, who did nothing but breed them for sons. From the little she knew of the Lьrian, he didn’t seem that type at all. And, to Cassandra’s great surprise, neither did his knight.

    Lukien of Lьria was easily the more handsome of the pair. He was tall and lean, with the look of a wolf about his sharp face, and his hair was honey-colored, making him seem less threatening than Cassandra had imagined. Like everyone in Reec, she knew the stories of the legendary knight. On this side of the river Kryss, they were evil tales. Yet as she spied him from behind her curtain, Lukien didn’t look evil. He looked remarkably tame.

    “Look,” Jancis whispered, pointing toward the head table. “The tumblers are leaving.”

    As the entertainers left the floor, Cassandra finally got an unobstructed look at her husband . . .

    No, she corrected herself. Not her husband. Not yet. He would have to accept her first, and for that she needed to be perfect. How many women had Akeela been with, she wondered? And she, still a virgin, had to seduce him. The challenge made her pulse race.

    “God’s death, what’s taking Father so long?” she muttered. “Easy,” bade Jancis. “The musicians are coming, see?” Cassandra craned around the curtain and saw the violinists moving toward the floor. When they made their soft music, her father would call her out. She closed her eyes, summoning her skill, and waited for his call.

    JL/ukien watched with interest as the acrobats cleared the floor. He had been enjoying their antics, and they gave the Reecians in the room something other than him to stare at. A group of musicians were taking the floor, a lute player and a pair of violinists. The lute player tested his instrument, plucking off a string of gentle notes. The sight of them made the knight groan.

    “Oh, no,” he muttered softly, prepared to be bored.

    Next to him, Akeela still had a smile plastered on his face. He was talking to King Karis, but when the musicians came forward their conversation abruptly stopped. Karis seemed distracted.

    “More music, my lord?” Akeela asked him. Strangely, the room had quieted. The violinists drew their bows across their strings, readying themselves.

    “King Akeela, I have a special treat for you now,” said Karis. “The sweetest date in my orchard—my daughter, Cassandra.”

    “Daughter?” said Akeela. With his chin he gestured to the nearby table. “Aren’t those your daughters?”

    “They are. But there is one you haven’t met yet.” The monarch’s face glowed with pride. “She is the most special thing I have, King Akeela. Now she will dance for you.”

    Before Akeela could reply, Karis clapped his hands loudly. The violinists began to play, drawing out a soft melody. The lute player joined them, plucking slowly on his strings, and the music they made was beautiful. Lukien felt suddenly calmed. Like candlelight, the music bathed him. Even Trager was pacified. The glower on the lieutenant’s face melted away, replaced by a blank-ness. Akeela looked around the chamber, wondering where this prize daughter was hiding. Then, from behind a velvet curtain, she emerged.

    Gliding into the center of the chamber came a lithe and delicate figure with raven-black hair and a twirling dress of green and crimson. She floated, barely grazing the floor in her passage, her face lightly flushed, her dark eyes lustrous. Lukien slowly lowered his goblet, his eyes narrowing. She was a vision. Perfect in every way. The folds of her dress wrapped around her flawless figure, showcasing her hips and perfect breasts, and as she spun slowly toward them her hair twirled in seductive ribbons about her face. The music drew her nearer, filling the room, and every eye watched her, admiring her grace. Lukien glanced over at Akeela and saw his king mesmerized. He too had lowered his goblet, and now was clutching the arms of his chair, entranced by the lovely girl.

    “Cassandra,” Karis whispered. “My youngest daughter.”

    Akeela nodded dumbly. “Cassandra.”

    The music grew. The dancer drifted closer. As the rhythm quickened so did she, her movements bewitching. Soon other instruments joined the song, another lute and a flute player. Cassandra tossed her body into the music, twirling and falling and throwing back her head as though an unseen lover caressed her.

    Lukien swallowed hard, unable to take his eyes from the girl. She radiated beauty, and her seductive turns made his blood race. She was very near their table now. Lifting her face toward them, she gave Akeela the slightest smile. The gesture made the young king swoon. He tilted toward Lukien slightly, whispering in a starstruck voice, “Look at her. She’s beautiful.”

    Lukien nodded. In that moment, Cassandra of Reec was the fairest thing he had ever seen. Her seductive movements touched something primal in him, something dark and carnal. And, to his surprise, something gentle stirred within him too, longing for the love of a woman. He sank back in his chair, and suddenly he was on the streets of Koth again. Alone and afraid, he could never hope for a woman like this. Princesses were the purvey of princes. Lukien picked up his drink and sipped at it distractedly. He had bedded beautiful women before, but never a royal one. Close as he was to Akeela, he was still kept from such finery.

    “Oh, she’s lovely,” said Akeela. This time, he was speaking to Karis. “Such a fine dancer, my lord.”

    “My daughter dances constantly,” said Karis. “It is a gift she has.” He gave his guest a curious look. “You like her?”

    “Like her? She’s a treasure. Your daughter—all your daughters really—are lovely.”

    Karis moved in closer. “Ah, but Cassandra is the fairest of them all, don’t you think?”

    “She’s splendid,” agreed Akeela, then said no more, concentrating instead on the dancer and letting the world fall away around him.

    Cassandra danced until sweat fell from her brow and her long hair straggled across her face. She twirled and twirled without end, and when the music finally climaxed she collapsed to the floor in a dramatic finish, tossing back her head and panting, a giant smile on her face. Her eyes locked with Akeela’s as the room came alive with applause. Akeela’s gaze lingered on her. Lukien sighed breathlessly.

    “Beautiful,” he whispered.

    Akeela rose to his feet. “Beautiful!” he echoed, clapping for the girl. His approval made Cassandra glow. Still on her knees, she tilted her head to the Lьrian king.

    “Thank you, my lord,” she said. Out of breath, her voice was soft as a breeze.

    “Rise, daughter,” said Karis.

    Cassandra did as her father commanded, getting to her feet. She did not look away from them as Lukien expected, but rather faced them head on, still looking at Akeela. Then, oddly, her eyes flicked toward Lukien for a moment. The gesture startled Lukien and it was he that looked away, but by the time he looked back her gaze had returned to Akeela.

    “You are a very fine dancer, Princess,” said Akeela. “The finest I’ve ever seen, I’d say. Wouldn’t you agree, Lukien?”

    Lukien said, “I would, my lord.”

    “Good!” said Karis. “Then you will be pleased with what I have to tell you. Sit, my lord, please.”

    They all returned to their chairs, and while Cassandra stood before them, Karis picked up a pitcher of ale and began refilling Akeela’s goblet. Akeela put up a hand to stop the king.

    “No, no more for me yet, my lord.”

    “Oh, but we may have something to toast, I think, King Akeela,” said Karis. He filled the goblet to the brim, then sat back. A pensive expression crossed his face.

    “My lord?” Akeela probed. “What is it?”

    “King Akeela,” began Karis, “you have given all of us a great gift. You have brought gold to us and the goodwill of your people, and have given us the river Kryss to use as our own. Most of all you have brought us peace, a thing I had never expected to see in my lifetime.”

    Akeela shifted, embarrassed by the praise. “Thank you, my lord.”

    “You are remarkable, King Akeela. For such a young man, you very wise. So different from your father.”

    “Please, my lord . . .”

    . let me say this,“ Karis interrupted. His face was grave.

    lever met your father, not even on the battlefield. But I know i my advisors that he was a brutal warrior and a hater of • and I think it’s extraordinary that a man like that could - such a wise-hearted son. You are remarkable, King Akeela, and I have almost nothing of equal value to match the gifts you have given me.“

    “I ask for nothing in return, my lord Karis,” said Akeela. “Just the chance to rule Lьria in peace.”

    Karis nodded. “I believe that. I know you want nothing from us but peace. And to seal that peace, I offer you the greatest thing I possess, something that means more to me than anything.” He pointed at the waiting Cassandra. “I give you a queen. M* daughter, Cassandra.”

    Akeela’s ubiquitous smile faded. “How’s that?”

    “A wife, King Akeela. To seal the peace between us.” Lukien was stunned. Akeela looked at him for an explanation but the knight merely shrugged. Before them, Cassandra wore ‘ confident smile.

    “A wife?” blurted Akeela. “For me?”

    “You are surprised, I know,” Karis admitted. “But you are! young, and unaware of how we do things in Reec. Peace is made in such ways, my lord.” “Yes, but. . .”

    “She is the greatest gift I can give you,” said Karis. “And if I you accept her, she will please you. She will give you children as I beautiful as herself, and a link to Reec, so that we will never war I again. Isn’t that what you want, my lord? Peace?”

    Unable to speak, Akeela looked at Cassandra. She was still breathing hard from her dance but met his gaze head-on. Akeela chewed his lower lip, overwhelmed by the offer. Lukien put a hand on his shoulder.

    “It is a great gift, my king,” he said diplomatically. “But a surprising one. And surely you will need time to think on it.”

    “Yes,” agreed Akeela quickly. “Time to think on it, consider i things.”

    “Of course,” said Karis. There was a trace of disappointment in his voice. “Such a union shouldn’t be entered lightly, and while you’re my guest you can think on it.”

    “It really is a great gift, King Karis,” said Akeela. “Truly, I am humbled. But what does your daughter think of this, I wonder?” He turned toward Cassandra. “Princess Cassandra? Do you agree to your father’s proposal?”

    The questions shocked Lukien. Was Akeela actually consider-. _tne offer? He kept his hand on Akeela’s shoulder, giving it a autionary squeeze. Surprisingly, Akeela shook it off.

    “My father is very wise,” said Cassandra. “And I don’t object to his offer. If you will have me, King Akeela, I’ll be your queen.”

    Akeela grinned. “Very well, then. I will think on it. Thank you, Princess. And thank you for your beautiful dance.”

    Cassandra curtsied and dismissed herself, disappearing back behind the curtain. Akeela watched her go, admiring her all the way. Once again Lukien put his lips to the young man’s ear.

    “Steady,” he whispered. “She’s just a girl.”

    Akeela shook his head. “Not just a girl, Lukien. Perhaps the girl.“

    “You’ve had too much ale,” said Lukien. The music had started again, and the servants went back to work, delivering steaming platters of bread and meat. Akeela’s eyes lingered on the velvet curtain. Lukien sighed. “Fate above,” he muttered. “What have we gotten into?”

    If Akeela heard him, he didn’t show it.

    Night fell on Koth with a hammer-blow of rain. Wind from a summer squall shook the panes of glass in the single window of a tiny bedroom. And Beith Toms, in her thirteenth hour of labor, turned her eyes toward the storm outside and began to sob.

    “Easy, now,” said the midwife, Gwena. The old woman’s hands touched Beith’s thighs, massaging the aching muscles. Next to her, Beith’s friend Meri squeezed her hand, so hard that Beith thought her fingers would crack. But that pain was nothing compared to the agony inside her. Beith choked back her tears and concentrated on Meri’s earnest face and the rain pelting hei window.

    “Oh, yes,” said Gwena. The old woman was peering betweei Beith’s legs as if looking at something fascinating. “Not mud longer, girl. Push now!”

    “I can’t!” groaned Beith.

    “Yes, you can. Do it now. Not much more.”

    Beith shut her eyes and tried to expel her infant, wailing with the effort. For thirteen hours she had been like this, first losing her water, then crying for Meri and Gwena while the contractions overtook her body. Eventually, they had come like the storm, quickly and with unexpected fury. Beith bit down hard as she gave the infant another push. Sweat fell from her face. Meri put a cool cloth to her forehead, wiping away the perspiration. Her friend was smiling, but Beith could tell she was afraid. These H’s Beith recognized fear easily. It always stared back at her from mirrors.

    “All right, breathe now,” directed Gwena. She nodded, satisfied with Beith’s effort. “Not much longer.”

    “You keep saying that,” gasped Beith. “For god’s sake, how much more?”

    “Not much more.”

    “Argh!”

    “Be easy, girl,” said Gwena. She had a towel in her hand that had once been white but was now stained with blood. The sight of it made Beith queasy and she looked away, back toward the window. The hard rain frightened her—she wished it would stop. She wished the baby would come out and stop torturing her, and she wished that her husband were with her, but he was dead. Meri kept squeezing her hand, but Beith felt profoundly alone. She had no one else now that Gilwyn was gone, and she wondered if King Akeela would let her remain in the castle. Her child was being born fatherless, and that was the greatest pain of all.

    “Damn it!” she cried.

    Old Gwena ignored the outburst. She had been the castle’s midwife for years and had heard far worse from her charges, even from the royal ladies she tended. Beith wasn’t royal but she could swear like a devil, and as a contraction seized her she let out a string of curses. Her emotions were galloping in all directions. Gilwyn’s face came to her every time she closed her eyes. He had been a good man and had died too young, and some were saying his death had sparked Akeela into talking peace with the Reecians. He had been one of Lukien’s best. Lukien himself had brought her the terrible news, which had shattered the pregnant Beith and drove her to depression. But Akeela had promised her she could remain in the castle, and Akeela was a good man, wasn’t he?

    ‘I don’t know,“ moaned Beith, tossing her head back. She felt -lirious, and didn’t care what she said or who heard her.

    “Beith, stop now,” said Meri. Her friend wiped her face, blot-^ung up the perspiration. “You’ll be all right. It’s all going well, ⁿght Gwena?”

    “It’s going perfectly,” said the old woman. “This child’s sliding out smoother than the devil in velvet trousers. It hurts, I know, but this is nothing. I brought King Akeela into the world, you know, and if there was ever a child that didn’t want to come out, it was him. Twenty hours of sheer agony . . .“

    “Gwena!” snapped Meri. “Watch what you’re saying!”

    For the first time in hours, Beith laughed.

    “Don’t laugh, breathe!” the midwife commanded. Once again she tucked down to inspect the birth. Beith could see the top of her head bobbing. “Yes, it’s good. You’re doing well, child. That’s it, now. Keep helping it along.”

    Beith strained to breathe the way Gwena had taught her. She saw a flash of lightning outside the window, then felt the room shake with thunder. Outside, the rain had smothered the moon and stars, so that only torchlight lit the chamber. She could smell her own foulness, the stench of blood and sweat and effort. Every breath was laborious.

    “I want a boy,” she gasped. “You hear, Gwena?”

    The midwife scoffed. “That’s not what I do.”

    “A boy,” Beith insisted. “So I can name him after his father.”!

    “And if it’s a girl?” asked Meri.

    “It won’t be a girl,” snapped Beith. “God owes me. He’s taken‘. everything else from me. The least He can do me is this favor!”

    Another contraction came. Beith gasped, feeling her birth! canal move within her and the awful pain of the insistent child. She clutched at the stained sheets, gritting her teeth.

    “All right now, this is it,” said Gwena. She put her hands between Beith’s legs. “Give me another push, girl. One more big one.”

    Beith clamped down on her pain, banishing it from her mind. As thunder crashed outside the tower she let out a determined cry, focusing on expelling the child from her womb. The pain was enormous, and the simples Gwena had given her had done little to ease her suffering. Now it had all come down to this final, monumental effort. But she was nearly done now and she knew it, and that gave Beith strength. With all her waning energy, she pushed.

    “Yes!” urged Gwena. “Yes, yes!”

    It will be a boy, Beith told herself. And he’ll be handsome and irons Me his father, and he’ll be a great knight for Akeela. He will be!

    Even through the pain, a little smile curled the girl’s lips. There would be some reward for her loss, after all. When this was done she would have a wonderful little child. Beith kept her eyes closed and summoned the image of her husband. She had loved Gilwyn Toms with all her heart, and now she would pass that love to their offspring.

    “There’s its head,” said Gwena. “You’re doing perfectly, girl. Keep it up now.”

    “It’s coming, Beith,” said Meri. She peered over Beith’s belly and let out a delighted yelp. “I can see it!”

    The last moments were hellish. Beith held her breath, using all the air in her lungs to expel the baby, and as it slipped out of her, inch by torturous inch, the final contraction came.

    “Oh, lord,” Beith wheezed. “Come on, please!”

    Heaven heard her prayer. The baby that had racked her body dropped out in a sudden burst, right into the waiting hands of Gwena. The pain slackened, and Beith’s body seemed to shrink, sore but wonderfully lighter.

    “Beith, you did it!” cried Meri. The girl was staring at the infant, her eyes wide with wonder.

    “I did it,” Beith sighed. Suddenly she laughed. “I have a baby!”

    Gwena’s next words were like a miracle. “It’s a boy, Beith. A beautiful boy.”

    “A boy?” Beith struggled to sit up. “A boy!”

    Gwena lifted the baby toward Meri. “Take the child,” she ordered. Meri stepped to the foot of the bed, then Gwena set to work tying off the umbilical cord. The exhausted Beith caught her first glimpse of her infant. Smothered with afterbirth, he was nonetheless astonishing. As Gwena clamped and severed the ord, Meri held the child carefully, wiping away its slick coat and :oomg to it gently. When the cord was cut, Gwena took the baby quickly tapped its bottom until the smallest noise issued from it—its first astounding cries.

    Beith brushed the sweat-soaked strands of hair from her • The crying infant mesmerized her, cradled in old Gwena’s capable arms. The midwife’s proud smile lit the room. “Ah, look at you, little soldier,” she sighed. “How many is this for me now? You are my hundreth, at least!”

    “Let me hold him,” Beith implored. “Please.”

    Gwena was about to bring the child around to Beith when suddenly her expression dimmed. Her eyes narrowed on the infant, studying him. Beith’s heart tripped.

    “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

    Gwena didn’t answer. She picked up the baby’s tiny hand, cocking her head as she inspected it.

    “Gwena, what is it?” Beith demanded. “What’s the matter?”

    “I don’t know,” replied the midwife. She brought the baby closer to its mother. “Look at his hand.”

    Beith leaned forward, focusing on the boy’s little appendage. At first she could see nothing wrong, it was so tiny. But looking closer revealed an oddity in its fingers. The thumb was strangely close to the index finger, and both seemed shorter than normal. Beith reached out for the little hand. Studying it, she discovered that the thumb and finger were fused together.

    “Oh . . .”

    Baby Gilwyn, as he had already been named, began to cry again.

    “His foot, too,” said Gwena. She looked worried, even pale. “It’s the same.”

    Beith looked and found that his left foot was indeed the same, slightly clubbed and curled into a ball. The two smallest toes were together, merged by shared flesh. Beith felt her world collapse, and suddenly a dire future flashed before her eyes for the child she had birthed. In Lьria, as everywhere on the continent, cripples were usually beggars.

    “Oh no,” said Beith. “Please . . .”

    “Beith, don’t worry,” said Meri quickly. “He’s newly born. I’m sure it’s nothing.” She looked at Gwena for support. “Right?”

    The midwife grimaced. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t know what it means. Maybe— ” Abruptly she stopped herself. Beith looked up instantly.

    “What?”

    Gwena glanced down at the child and sighed. “It may not just be his foot and hand. It could be worse than that.”

    “What? What could be worse?”

    “Beith,” said Gwena gently. “It could be his brain. He may not be ... normal.”

    “Don’t say that!” railed Beith. “Don’t you dare say that!”

    “I’ve seen it before, girl. Sometimes a deformed child has other problems, problems with his mind. Your little one here could be like that.”

    “He isn’t!” snapped Beith. She sat bolt up, ignoring her nakedness and the filth of the bed. “Gilwyn’s fine,” she insisted. “He’s going to be a Royal Charger, like his father. He’s . . .”

    Her voice constricted and she couldn’t speak. Withered and drained, she reached out for her child. Gwena handed him over carefully. Beith took him in her arms, holding him close to her breast. She smiled at the child. He was so beautiful, even with his clubbed hand and foot. But she worried, too. What life could there be for a crippled boy? She had seen them in the streets, how they begged for food because they couldn’t work or support themselves. Her little boy—her new Gilwyn—might become a wastrel.

    “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I won’t let that happen to you.”

    “Beith, give me the child,” said Gwena. She reached out for the infant but Beith pulled him away.

    “I want to hold him,” said Beith.

    “He needs to be cleaned,” said Gwena. “He’s filthy, and so are you. Give him here. Let me wash him. I’ll bring him right back. Meri, clean up Beith, will you?”

    Beith agreed, reluctantly, and handed her newborn over to Gwena. She was exhausted and her body ached; even talking was a chore. Gwena took the child in a clean wrap and left the room. Beith leaned back, not caring how soiled the sheets were.

    i began dipping towels into a basin of water and dabbing the |bric between her thighs, cleaning off the worst of the after-‘th. It might have been embarrassing, but Beith was a thousand miles away, fretting over her infant’s fate.

    “Don’t worry, Beith,” said Meri as she worked. “You need to rest. Gwena will see to the baby. You should try to sleep.”

    Sleep. It sounded wonderful to Beith, but she was sure her slumber would be filled with nightmares.

    “Meri?”

    “Yes?”

    “What if Gwena’s right? What if the baby isn’t normal?”

    Meri smiled, trying to cover up what she really felt. “We don’t know that.”

    “But his hand, and his foot. They’re . . .” Beith could hardly bring herself to say the word deformed. “What if his brain is like that too?”

    “Beith, he’s too young. No one can tell by looking at him, not even Gwena.”

    “But if he is? What then?”

    “Then you will raise him, and you will love him as if nothing is amiss. He’s your son, Beith.”

    Beith nodded. Already she loved little Gilwyn, and he wasn’t yet an hour old. But love couldn’t move mountains as the poets said, and she couldn’t save him from the cruelty of the world. If her child was simple, only the king’s grace could help him.

    “Akeela is a good man,” she told herself. “He will have a place for Gilwyn in the castle. I know he will.” She glanced at Meri. “Right?”

    Meri wrung a dirtied towel into the basin. Her face was serious. “Akeela is a good man, that’s what everyone says. He was a good prince, and he’ll be a good king.”

    “Yes,” agreed Beith. “Even if Gilwyn can’t be a soldier, Akeela will find a place for him, don’t you think?”

    “Beith, close your eyes now. Rest.”

    Beith knew she’d get no answer from her friend. Succumbing to her exhaustion, she closed her eyes and let Meri freshen and comfort her, wondering what would become of her son in the world the new king of Lьria was making.

    T hree days after coming to Hes, Akeela had made his decision.

    It was a warm day in the Reecian capital, perfect for proposing marriage. The marketplace on the south side of the castle was teeming with people and livestock, and the streets were filled with children and cats, which to Lukien’s surprise were everywhere in Hes. The sky was perfect, blue and cloudless, and the rains that had soaked the city the day before had utterly vanished. Over the balcony, Lukien could see Hes stretching out for miles. He could see the city gates and the long, winding road that would eventually lead him home to Lьria. Lukien gazed at the eastern horizon, longing for home. For Akeela, their trip to Hes had been a complete success, but for Lukien it had been surreal. Things had moved too quickly, and too many decisions had been made. Decisions, Lukien believed, that Akeela had made hastily.

    Together they waited on the balcony for Princess Cassandra. It was a meeting King Karis himself had arranged, and they were very early. Even if she were on time, Cassandra wouldn’t arrive for another half hour. But Akeela had wanted Lukien to come to the balcony with him, because the young king was nervous. He had also claimed the need to explain his bold decision. Yet now that they were together, Akeela wasn’t talking. Like Lukien, he stared out over the city, lost in thought.

    Lukien didn’t blame Akeela for wanting to marry Cassandra. She was beautiful, after all, and Akeela himself was less than beautiful. What Lukien hated—what he had protested for days-was the suddenness of it all. Cassandra had merely danced, and her movements had bewitched Akeela so that he had forgotten all propriety. He didn’t know that there were many women in the world, and that as king he could have his pick of them. Or, if he knew this, he simply didn’t care. Lukien stole a glance at his king, watching him furtively. Akeela was young, and woefully inexperienced. He had spent too much time with his nose in books and not enough chasing kitchen maids, and Lukien regretted that. He was angry that old King Balak hadn’t insisted his son become a soldier after graduating war college. If he had joined in at least some campaigns, then perhaps he would have known what it was like to be with a woman, and he wouldn’t be so enamored of the first one to flutter her eyelashes at him.

    But no, that wasn’t right, either. Lukien knew he couldn’t blame Balak for Akeela’s lovesickness. Balak had been a good father, wise enough not to push his bookish son into a military life. And that wisdom had paid off handsomely for Lьria, because her new king was cultured and committed to peace. That he was starry-eyed was simply an offshoot of his goodness, the very thing that made him special. Lukien sighed, shaking his head. Akeela heard the lament and glanced over at him.

    “What’s wrong?” he asked.

    “Nothing is wrong,” lied Lukien. “I was merely thinking.”

    “Thinking about me?”

    Lukien nodded. “That’s right. You’ve given me little else to think about these past three days.”

    The young king crossed the balcony to stand beside his champion. It was a huge balcony, just off a conservatory decorated with tall plants and cracked plaster statues. Several bird cages hung nearby, their occupants serenading the two men. The balcony afforded them a flawless view of the city, but Akeela had lost interest in the view.

    “I know you don’t approve,” he said. “But at least try to understand.”

    “I have tried. And I still can’t understand.”

    “Then you haven’t tried hard enough,” said Akeela. He was agitated; his left eyelid twitched slightly. “Look at me, Lukien.

    _r not like you. I’m not tall or handsome, and I’m certainly o hero. You’ve always had your pick of women, while I’m still // •a Akeela hesitated, and Lukien was glad that he didn’t say the word.

    “It takes more than a strong jaw to win the love ol a woman, Akeela,“ said Lukien. ”You think I’m some great lover because I tell tales about the harlots I’ve been with, but I’m just a braggart. And I leave out the sordid bits, like all the lice-ridden beds I’ve slept in.“

    “So?”

    “So you can have any woman you want. Not some whore, either, but a good woman, one with breeding.”

    Akeela laughed. “One like Cassandra, you mean?”

    “No, not like Cassandra. Someone you love. And someone who loves you. Haven’t you wondered why the princess wants to marry you?”

    “I know why,” argued Akeela. “For peace.”

    “No,” said Lukien ruthlessly. “Because she is a woman and her father wills it, that’s why. And because she has the chance to be a queen. She doesn’t love you, Akeela.”

    “Lukien, this is how royal marriages are arranged,” said Akeela. “If my father were alive, he would have made a marriage for me by now anyway, and probably to someone far less beautiful than Cassandra. He would have given me Dralla of Marn or some other girl that looks like a warthog, because he was too stubborn to consider peace with Reec. But why should I be saddled with a girl like Dralla? Why shouldn’t I have Cassandra?”

    Lukien groped for a good reason. Cassandra’s beauty wasn’t something to be argued over—it was a fact, like the beauty of a sunrise. And it had captivated Lukien just as it had Akeela. Maybe that was why he was opposed to the marriage. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been jealous of his royal “brother,” a brother in small talk only.

    “Can’t you at least wait?” said Lukien. “Just a little longer? ^Let‘s go back to Lьria. Maybe the familiar air will clear your head.”

    “There’s no reason to wait. I’m not going to find a prettier girl, or a better reason to marry. And it would be an insult to King Karis to refuse her. I won’t jeopardize the peace like that.“

    “That’s rubbish, Akeela. Karis wants peace as much as you do. More, even. That’s not why you want to marry Cassandra.”

    Akeela looked at him, surprised at the outburst. “I thought you would be happy for me,” he said. “You of all people know how lonely I’ve been. Why would you keep this from me, my one chance at a beautiful wife?”

    “I . . .” Lukien stumbled over his answer. “I am happy for you, Akeela. I’m just worried.”

    “Well, don’t be. I’m a grown man, Lukien, and I don’t need you to protect me anymore.” Akeela turned and looked out over the city. His hands gripped the stone railing of the balcony hard, turning his knuckles white. “I think I’d like to be alone now,” he said.

    “I can stay with you,” said Lukien. “She won’t be here for a while yet.”

    “Yes, but I need time to think, to consider what I’m going to say.”

    “What’s to consider?” said Lukien. “She’s been offered to you, and all you have to do is take her.”

    “Oh, yes, that’s very romantic,” replied Akeela dryly. “Look, don’t try to help me with this, all right? Just let me think.”

    Lukien turned to go, angry at being dismissed. But before he took three paces, Akeela called after him.

    “Wait, I forgot something.” He wore a sheepish grin. “A favor, actually.”

    Lukien scowled. “What?”

    “If Cassandra accepts my proposal, I’m going to be leaving for home at once. I want to prepare the castle for the wedding, and I won’t be taking her with me.”

    “So?”

    “I’ll need someone to look after her, someone to escort her back to Koth for me.” Akeela’s eyes twinkled as if nothing had just happened. “Would you do that for me?”

    The question astonished Lukien. A little voice warned him to refuse, but instead he said, “If that’s what you want . . .”

    “Yes,” said Akeela. “You’re the only person I trust. Who better to look after her than you?”

    Lukien hedged, saying, “She may not like my company. To her I’m still the Bronze Knight.”

    “Don’t worry about that; I’ll explain it to her. I want her to have the best, and you’re the best soldier I have. You’ll protect her, I know.” Akeela’s smile was all-forgiving—and terribly naive. “Thank you, Lukien. You’re a good friend.”

    Friend. Were they friends, Lukien wondered? At times like this, when Akeela was his most petulant, it was hard to believe they truly loved each other. Giving his king a half-hearted nod, Lukien turned and left the balcony, hoping Princess Cassandra refused her royal escort.

    Cassandra moved through the hallways of Castle Hes, floating with anticipation. It was nearly time for her meeting with Akeela, and Jancis had told her that the Lьrian was already on the eastern balcony, waiting for her. Because the balcony was very large and studded with statues, Jancis had been able to spy on Akeela quite effectively. Apparently, he had been waiting for her for some time now, first talking with his bodyguard Lukien, then pacing nervously among the statues. According to Jancis, he had even been talking to himself. Cassandra slowed her pace as she neared the balcony, taking the time to smooth down her dress and adjust the braids in her hair. She wore a velvet gown of midnight blue and just the right amount of make-up to highlight her eyes, and she already knew from the way the young king had stared at her that he was attracted to her. He had done a very poor job of hiding his attraction, in fact, but Cassandra was flattered. Soon she might be leaving Hes behind. She would be the first of her sisters to become a queen.

    Queen Cassandra. Cassandra tried the title on and liked the way it fit. And she had a thousand questions for the Lьrian king. She wanted to know everything about Lьria, about its people and customs, and she wanted to know what her new home, Akeela’s castle, was like. Was it tall, she wondered? She had heard everything in Lьria was tall, so much the opposite of squat and stubby Hes. Supposedly, Lьrians were great architects. Their culture had influenced much of the eastern continent. Once, Cassandra had considered that a terrible thing. But now she was about to marry a Lьrian, and she hoped they were the most powerful, most renowned nation in the world.

    Cassandra paused in the middle of the hallway and looked around. Castle Hes wasn’t spectacular, but it was home and she would miss it, and the realization startled her. She had been too busy planning her escape to appreciate her home, because for too long the castle had simply been a prison. Under her sisters’ shadow and father’s watchful eyes, there had been little freedom here. Now, she would be totally independent, or at least subservient only to Akeela.

    “What will that be like, I wonder?” she whispered. She ran her hand along the rough stone of the wall, sliding a finger into the joints between bricks. Karla, the maid who looked after the upstairs rooms, rounded the corner and spotted her.

    “My lady?” the maid asked, her round face concerned. “Are you all right?”

    Cassandra nodded. “I’m fine, Karla. I’m just. . . thinking.”

    “Well, there’s a lot of that about, my lady.” She looked over her shoulder, then whispered, “Your young man’s been very pensive, too.”

    “You mean Akeela?”

    “Aye, King Akeela. I spotted him near the conservatory.” The maid smiled as if she had a great secret. “He seems lost in thought.”

    The princess laughed. Was everyone spying on poor Akeela?

    “Thank you, Karla,” said Cassandra, then hurried past her toward the balcony. The balcony where Akeela waited was at the front of the castle, in the southern tower. In less then a minute Cassandra was there, arriving in the vast, rounded conservatory boasting plants and birds from across the continent. One huge birdcage rose up out of the center of the room, reaching the ceiling. Cassandra stalked toward the birdcage, then peered around it to see out to the balcony. The balcony shutters were all open wide, and she noticed Akeela standing outside, sunlight striking his dark hair. He had dressed for their meeting, which pleased Cassandra, and his spotless tunic shimmered with golden trim. For the first time, she got an uninterrupted view of him. She lingered near the birdcage, watching him. A curious canary inside the cage hopped onto a branch beside her face and studied her, then let out a surprisingly loud song. Cassandra stepped back from the cage, startled, just as Akeela heard the commotion and turned around. Their eyes met. Cassandra smiled sheepishly.

    “Umm, hello,” she said.

    Akeela stood motionless. For a moment he seemed not to recognize her, but then he righted himself by stepping forward, and said, “Princess Cassandra, hello. I... uh, you startled me.”

    His voice was very light, nervous but melodious. With his sweating forehead and shaking voice, Cassandra thought him sweet-looking.

    “Forgive me, my lord,” she offered. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

    “Frightened? Oh, no, I wasn’t frightened—not at all. The bird surprised me, that’s all.”

    The bird continued to sing. Cassandra moved away from the cage, going to the balcony to stand before Akeela. She noticed with satisfaction the way his eyes moved along her body. She took the opportunity to study him as well. He was shorter than he’d seemed at the banquet table, about her height, and despite his fine clothes he didn’t look like a king at all. In fact, he could have easily passed for a squire. His unimposing appearance made her comfortable at once.

    “My father said you wanted to speak to me,” said Cassandra. She gave him an encouraging smile. “I was happy to come.”

    “Yes, thank you for that,” said Akeela. “I thought it would be best if we could talk alone, without others eavesdropping.”

    Instantly Cassandra thought of Jancis, wondering if her friend was somewhere in the conservatory, listening. “No one can hear us out here, my lord.”

    Akeela turned toward the city. “Yes, we are rather high up.” He looked over the stone railing, down at the people milling below. “Your father’s castle is beautiful, my lady. As is your city.”

    “I’m pleased you think so, my lord.”

    The young man heard the uncertainty in her voice. “Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

    “Yes,” replied Cassandra. “Yes, I do.”

    “Hmm. I wonder then what you would think of leaving it.” Akeela looked at her hopefully. “Am I making myself plain, my lady?”

    Cassandra understood perfectly. “Is this a proposal, my lord?”

    “Would you accept if it were?”

    “I would. But I don’t understand why you would ask, when I have already been given to you. It is your choice to accept or decline, not mine.”

    Akeela said, “I want a wife, not a slave. I want you to enter this marriage willingly, or not at all. I want to hear the words from you.”

    “Do women decide such things for themselves in Lьria?” asked Cassandra. Because she was a princess, and her father’s favorite, he had given her a choice. But that wasn’t always the case in Reec. Her country had a long tradition of bartering women away.

    “In Lьria people don’t always have choices,” said Akeela. “There are barons and dukes that make decisions for them, who decide where they will work and how much wheat they’ll produce. It’s been that way forever, I think.” He came closer to her. “But I’m going to change that, Cassandra.”

    “Are you? How can you?”

    “I’m serious,” said Akeela. A strange light came on in his eyes. “I’m going to reform Lьria. I’m going to make it the greatest country on the continent.”

    Cassandra grinned. “Ah, you want to be a great king.”

    The Lьrian shook his head. “No, that’s not it at all. I don’t care about myself or what history will think of me. I care about changing things, the entire social order. Why should a woman marry a man she doesn’t love? And why should a man work a field his whole life, just because a baron says he should? I’m talking about freedom, Cassandra. The ability to do whatever you want. Do you see?”

    It was a difficult concept for Cassandra. What good was freedom without food? Someone had to work the fields. But she was intrigued by the man and his bold ideas, and wanted to hear more.

    “How will you do this?” she asked. “How will you make these changes, my lord?”

    “It won’t be easy. There will be people who oppose me, strong landowners mostly, and old aides of my father who think things should stay the same. There were many who didn’t even want me to make this peace with Reec. They said it couldn’t be done, but I’ve proven them wrong. And I will prove them wrong about all my ideas.” He rubbed his hands together, satisfied with himself. “I have dreams for Lьria, Cassandra. Great dreams.”

    She closed the gap, the last few inches separating them. “We all have dreams, Akeela,” she said softly. “Tell me yours. What will you do in Lьria?”

    Akeela loved being close to her. She could sense it in him. “There is one thing,” he said. “My biggest dream of all. My Cathedral of Knowledge.”

    “Cathedral? You mean a temple?”

    “No,” laughed Akeela. “That’s just what I call it, my Cathedral of Knowledge. I’m talking about a library. The biggest, most extensive library in the world!”

    Cassandra frowned, confused. “How will that help Lьria, my lord?”

    “Don’t you see? It’s knowledge that changes things, Cassandra. How many people in Hes can read and write? Not many, I’d bet. Probably half the servants in this castle have never even held a book. That’s just plain wrong; it’s keeping them ignorant. They need to be educated. Knowledge gives people power.”

    The idea was scandalous. “My lord, knowledge is a dangerous thing. If all the commoners had knowledge, what would they need with kings and queens? Such ideas are for the royal, surely.”

    “Why? Why should you and I and our privileged families be the only ones to read and write? Why can’t a farmer become a teacher if he wishes to?”

    “Because . . .” Cassandra fumbled for a reply. “Because it’s the way of things, that’s why.”

    Akeela’s smile grew sly. “Ah, that’s the very thinking I’ll have to battle, Princess. The thought that just because things have always been one way, that they won’t be better another. But my library can change that. When it’s done, it will be filled with books and scrolls from all over the world. Then people will come to Lьria, making pilgrimages to study there. They’ll bring more new ideas with them, too, and then there will be knowledge for everyone. And when that happens, all Lьrians will have opportunities they can barely imagine!“

    Cassandra chuckled, struck by his fantasy. Even if he built his library, there was no way it could have its intended impact. He was just a man, more like a boy really, and his youth had clouded his judgement. For a moment, Cassandra wondered if she really did want to be queen to Akeela’s king. Instead of setting Lьria on a brave new path, he might be herding it toward chaos.

    “I think your dream is very grand,” said Cassandra. She smiled, not wanting to hurt his feelings but not wanting to encourage him too much, either. He sensed her elusiveness at once.

    “I’m not naive, Cassandra,” he said. “I know that changing things won’t be easy. I’ll have a great deal of opposition. But I’d like a queen that can share my dream, at least a little.” He stayed close to her, looking into her eyes. “Tell me what you dream,” he asked.

    The question was too probing for Cassandra. How could she confess her dreams? Compared to Akeela’s, her own seemed so greedy. She replied, “I want peace for my people and a good life for myself. That would satisfy me.”

    “That’s it?” pressed Akeela. “Nothing more?”

    Cassandra thought for a moment. She decided to confide in him, just a little. “What would you say if I told you I wanted to be free of this place, my lord? How would you feel if you knew I was anxious to see new places?”

    “And new people?”

    Cassandra gazed out over the city. “Yes,” she sighed, brooding over a world that had become too familiar.

    “I would say that you and I are not so different,” said Akeela. “You see? You were right—everyone has dreams, Cassandra. The people of Lьria have dreams, all of them. I will help them meet those dreams. And as queen you will help me.”

    “You are going to be a very odd king, my lord,” said Cassandra. “I wonder what kind of queen I will make in a land of scholars and wise men.”

    “A fine one, I’m sure,” said Akeela. “Having you for my queen is part of my dream now, Princess. You’ll love Lьria, and my people will adore you. And you’ll see—this isn’t some delusion. I’m going to build my library, and I’m going to change Lьria forever.”

    It was a frightening thought, but it was also compelling. Compared to her stagnant life in Castle Hes, with its suffocating walls and tiresome chatter, Cassandra’s new life in Lьria might be magical. She would be wife to this good man, and she would be happy.

    She hoped.

    “I want to be your wife,” she said without thinking. “I want to marry you and go to Lьria and be away from Reec forever. And I want to go now, my lord.”

    Akeela was stunned by her forwardness. “Are you sure? I mean, have you really thought about it?”

    “I have thought about little else since your messenger came with your peace offer. I have made my decision, and I know I won’t regret it. If you’ll have me, I will be your queen.”

    “Oh, my lady,” sighed Akeela. “You’ve made me very happy. I promise you, you will adore Lьria.”

    It sounded dreamy, almost too perfect. “Yes,” Cassandra agreed. “We can marry as soon as you wish. I’m anxious to see your country.”

    “Good,” said Akeela. “Then I will leave at once and prepare a place for you.”

    “You’ll leave?” asked Cassandra. “But won’t I be going with you, my lord?”

    “Eventually, of course. But not right away. I have a wedding to plan. I have to ready the castle, send invitations—the list is endless, really. Oh, but don’t worry, Princess. It won’t take more than a month, I shouldn’t think.”

    Cassandra was crestfallen. “A month? That long?”

    “Well, three weeks at least. Then you can come to Lьria, and all the capital will be ready for you. And you’ll have a contingent of Royal Chargers with you, my lady.“ Akeela smiled proudly. ”Lukien will be your escort.“

    The princess’ eyebrows went up. “That one? Oh, no, my lord. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

    “Lukien is my best knight, my lady,” said Akeela. “He’s the only one I trust to protect you.”

    “We have plenty of soldiers in Hes that can escort me,” Cassandra argued. “I don’t need your infamous knight to keep me safe.”

    “I’m sorry, my lady, but it’s already arranged,” said Akeela firmly. “I’ll feel better knowing that Lukien is here, looking after you. And the road can be treacherous for a woman. If there are highwaymen about, Lukien will deal with them. Or worse, there may be garmys on the road. They come out in the wet weather.” Cassandra shook her head. “You’re not understanding me,” she said. “The Bronze Knight is an outlaw here, worse than any highwayman. Worse even than a garmy. He may be a hero in Lьria, but in Reec he is a butcher.”

    The young king looked wounded. “Princess, Lukien is like a brother to me. He is my brother, really. My father took him off the streets and raised him as his own. We went to war college together, and we’re rarely apart. Forgive me, but if you’re going to be my wife, you’re going to have to accept him. And I can think of no better way to start then by letting him escort you to Koth.“

    Her argument lost, Cassandra sank back. Riding with Lukien was inconceivable, but losing Akeela’s approbation—that was unthinkable.

    “Very well,” she conceded. “I’ll let your knight take me to Koth, because it’s your wish and because I trust your virtue, King Akeela, not his. But I don’t want him speaking to me. He may escort me, and that’s all.”

    “My lady . . .”

    “Those are my wishes, my lord,” said Cassandra. “Please.”

    Akeela relented without arguing. “Then that is how it will be,” he said. “I’ll leave for Koth the day after tomorrow, and will send word when I’m ready to receive you. Until then, Lukien and some others will stay behind in Hes.”

    Cassandra nodded, hating the idea. “Will I see you again before you go?”

    The young king came closer, his eyes jumping. “I’d like that very much,” he said. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he kissed her. Cassandra was startled by the gesture but didn’t resist. His soft lips brushed her own, and the sensation was sweet, almost too gentle for the kiss of a man. When he was done, he leaned back and smiled at her. “Your father will want us all to get together before I leave,” he said. “I will see you then.”

    “Yes,” agreed Cassandra. “All right.”

    He left without another word, departing the balcony and disappearing through the conservatory. Cassandra’s eyes lingered on him for a long moment, then she turned toward the city and the eastern horizon. Somewhere out there, beyond the city walls of her gilded cage, Lьria beckoned. The old enemy of her people, with all its myth and fantasy. In a month she would finally be there. She would emerge from under her sisters’ shadows, the queen of a fabled land. Suddenly she felt like dancing, and turned in a pirouette on the balcony, laughing. When she did the smallest movement caught her eye, something unseen in the conservatory. Cassandra stopped twirling.

    “Jancis?” she called. “Is that you?”

    There was no answer. Cassandra squinted, sure that someone was watching. She took a step forward, enough to startle the intruder, and for a moment caught a glimpse of Lukien peering at her through the foliage. The Bronze Knight’s face was blank, unreadable. When he realized the princess had seen him, he backed away quietly, then turned and left the conservatory.

    A chill passed through Cassandra. She thought of pursuing him, but didn’t. She thought of telling Akeela about the intrusion, but knew she wouldn’t. She simply stared at the place that Lukien had been, enchanted by his strangeness.

    A, _ral Vale sat alone in the corner of the Red Lion, staring at his reflection in a tankard of ale. It was his third drink, at least, and the liquor embraced him warmly, like a lover. Outside, night had seized the city, suffocating all sound. It was well past midnight, and the inn had lost most of its patrons to sleep. Now it was very quiet, the way Aral needed it. He supposed his wife would be worried about him, but he didn’t really care. Presently, Aral Vale cared about very little. He had his ale to keep him company and a gallery of ugly images in his mind, and all he could do was focus on the dreadful reflection in his ale and remember the grievous thing he had done.

    Being a farmer wasn’t easy. That’s what Aral’s father had told him. It had been intended as a warning not to leave the family coopery in Marn, but Aral hadn’t listened. His father was a drunk and Aral had been anxious to be rid of him, and when he had learned that a parcel of inexpensive land had opened up near Koth, he had snatched the opportunity eagerly. Aral smiled forlornly. It all seemed like a very long time ago. In the intervening years he had married and poured his heart into his little farm, only to have weather and pests eat his profits. He had dreamed of being a landowner, like the Duke of Marn, but his land had given him precious little, mostly calluses. Worse, his wife had been as barren as his farm, giving him one stillborn child after another. She was only twenty-four now, still young enough to bear children, but she was cursed, and that was the truth of it.

    “Cursed,” Aral whispered. “Like me.” He picked up his tankard and drank a deep mouthful, enjoying its soothing burn. In a minute the beer was gone. Aral fished into his threadbare trousers and pulled out another coin. Slapping it down loudly on the table, he called for the barman to bring him another. The fat proprietor obliged, eager to keep his only customer drinking, and set a fresh tankard with a foaming head down in front of Aral. He took the coins and, at no extra charge, gave the young man a sympathetic look. Aral scowled at him.

    “Something you want to say to me?”

    The barman replied, “I’m sorry about what happened to your newborn.”

    Aral looked down, ashamed to face the man. “It’s the way of the Fate.”

    The barman sighed. “It’s a shame, though. She finally carried this one the whole way. To have it die so suddenly ...”

    “It’s over,” snapped Aral. He felt his face redden suddenly, not with rage but with guilt. “There’s nothing to be done about it now.”

    The barman went back to work, leaving Aral sulking at the corner table. Aral watched him suspiciously. He didn’t suspect anything, did he? The idea made his heart race. And anyway it was hardly murder. More like a mercy killing, really. For farmers like Aral, having a girl child was disappointment enough, but having a blind one was unthinkable. Just another mouth to feed, and no help tending the crops. Vara, Aral’s wife, had insisted that she could be taught to clean house when she got older, but what kind of daughter was that, banging around blindly with a broom? He needed sons. Or at least daughters with open eyes.

    Aral picked up his mug and found that his hand was shaking. With his other hand he tried to still it.

    “Damn it,” he hissed. “Damn everything.”

    He went back to drinking.

    A minute later, the door of the Red Lion opened, letting in an unwelcome gust of wind. On the threshold stood two figures, one a giant, tall and wide, the other a woman, short as a child. Aral blinked at the sight of them. The woman wore a long coat of patchwork leather, colorful and dramatic. She stood barely four feet tall in her tiny shoes, and her eyes lit the room with cold radiance. The man towered over her, a great brute with a bald head and broken teeth that hung over his slack jaw in an over-bite. Aral had never seen anything like him, or his miniature friend. Neither, apparently, had the barman. The sight of them made the proprietor drop a glass, sending broken shards skimming across the bar. The little woman took notice of his shock and smiled.

    “Oops! Careful now,” she chirped.

    She had a dazzling smile, unnaturally bright. The many colors of her coat seemed to move around her. Aral shook his head, sure that the drink had gotten to him. He suddenly felt nauseous. He pushed aside his drink, watching as the tiny woman and her beastly companion entered the inn. The giant stayed a pace behind the woman, his wide shoulders hunched, his broad back slightly curved. The little woman walked lightly toward the back of the inn, near the fire. Of all the empty tables, she chose the one next to Aral. She and her companion each pulled out chairs and sat down. The barman stared at them. “I... uh. . . . Can I get you something?” The woman looked over at Aral’s table and gave him the most disquieting grin. “We’ll have what he’s having.”

    Aral’s head continued to swim, yet he could not bring himself to look away from the strangers. The woman was remarkably small, with long white hair and a peculiar face set with elfin features. Two bewitching eyes looked back at him, deep and uncannily black. As the barkeep brought them their drinks, Aral finally managed to pull his gaze free of the pair. He stared down at his drink, hoping the woman wasn’t watching, but when he lifted his head again he discovered those mocking eyes, studying him. “What?” he asked defensively. The woman didn’t answer. Her monstrous companion hardly stirred.

    “Please,” Aral said. “Stop staring.”

    But the woman didn’t stop. Instead she casually opened her patchwork coat, revealing a curious amulet around her neck. Hanging from a chain of braided gold, the amulet blinked like an monstrous eye, its ruby gemstone twinkling in the firelight. Aral stared at it, mesmerized. His nausea left him immediately, replaced by a sudden warmth. It was the drink, he told himself. Good, soothing ale.

    “Yes,” said the woman. “It’s the drink.”

    Aral puzzled over her statement. Had he spoken? He hadn’t thought so.

    “Aral Vale,” the woman whispered. “That’s your name?”

    Aral nodded. Somehow, she knew him.

    “Oh, I know a great deal about you, Aral Vale,” said the little woman. Aral could barely hear her. Her words were soft, like a breeze, sounding only in his head. He wondered if the barkeep was listening. Remarkably, the woman answered his query.

    “He can’t hear us,” she said. “I’m talking only to you.”

    She was talking, yet she wasn’t talking. Her lips moved as if by illusion. Aral watched the amulet around her neck. It was pricelessly beautiful. It seemed to pulsate as she spoke, echoing her words. He suddenly felt giddy, completely unafraid. They were an odd looking pair, but he didn’t feel threatened by them—not the way he had when he’d first seen them. The woman had a gentle look about her and the man, if that’s what he could be called, never said a word.

    “Trog doesn’t speak,” the woman explained. She continued to scrutinize him, her eyes narrowing. “You have been here a long time, Aral Vale. You were difficult to find. But then, men who are hiding are often difficult to find.”

    Aral stiffened. “I’m not hiding.”

    “You have a wife at home who worries over you.”

    “That’s none of your business. I just want to be alone. To think.”

    The little woman’s black eyes flared. “Yes. You have much to think about, don’t you?”

    Aral’s puzzlement grew. He lifted his gaze from the amulet, back toward the stranger’s face. Her mute companion brooded over him, his jaw slack, his breathing raspy. Aral noticed the barkeep across the room absently cleaning glasses with a rag, pretending not to be listening.

    “Who are you?” Aral whispered. “How do you know me?”

    “It’s not important,” replied the woman. She sat back and closed her coat, shutting away the amulet and its radiance. Instantly, Aral grew alarmed as reality snapped back into focus. He coughed, shaking his head, sure that the ale had sickened him. The woman was no longer staring. Instead she and her companion sipped their drinks, ignoring him. The woman made small talk, chuckling convivially. Aral loosened his collar. The room was very warm and he felt flushed. He tried to relax and catch his breath.

    “Barkeep,” called the woman. She banged her tankard on the table. “Another, please.”

    The proprietor drew another ale and brought it to their table. As he set it down, the woman said to him, “You have a nice place here.”

    “Thank you,” replied the man suspiciously.

    “Koth is very nice.”

    “Yes.” He shrugged. “It is nice here.”

    Aral couldn’t help but overhear their strange conversation. He toyed with his drink, pretending not to care.

    “Such a tragedy at the castle, though,” the woman continued. She spoke too loudly, deliberately raising her voice.

    The barkeep frowned. “Tragedy? What would that be?”

    “Hadn’t you heard? The castle has a new baby. One of the king’s servants gave birth just the other evening.” The woman shook her head as if it were the saddest thing in the world. “Deformed.”

    “Is that right? I wouldn’t know much about the castle folk.” The barkeep laughed. “They don’t come in here much! How do you know about it?”

    The woman slowly turned toward Aral. “Oh, I make it my business to know such things,” she said softly.

    The barman shrugged and strode away. Aral swallowed hard under the woman’s accusing gaze.

    “What are you staring at?” he demanded. His tone finally got the big man to stir. The woman held up a hand to keep her companion down.

    “No, Trog, it’s all right,” she said. Her expression lost all its prior grace, and her little mouth curled back in a snarl. “Like I said, I make it my business to know things about the children born around here. And I know what you did, Aral Vale.”

    Aral could bear no more. He rose from the table, shoving back his chair so hard that it tumbled over, and headed for the door. He was eager to be away from the bizarre woman, eager to escape her incriminating gaze. Pushing open the door, the night and its cold air swallowed him instantly. He took a deep, cleansing breath, then ran down the abandoned street, fleeing the Red Lion and its freakish patrons.

    /Vral walked for an hour more, ignoring the chill and the lateness of the hour. A breeze blew down the avenue, sending bits of rubbish tumbling toward him, and the candles in the windows above had all been snuffed out long ago, lending the street an eerie stillness. In the distance, Akeela’s castle rose above the common housing, sending a moonlit shadow over the city. Aral considered the castle. He was sick with himself, sick with what he had done, and he thought about the words of the odd woman in the inn, and how a deformed baby had been born within the castle’s walls. An epidemic of bad luck had hit the city, apparently, and he wondered what the parents of the newborn felt. Rage? Enough to drive them to ...

    “Forget it,” he growled. It was done, and he wouldn’t torture himself about it. It was time to go home.

    He rounded a corner and headed to the south side of the city, where he hoped to catch a carriage home to his farm. He was far too tired to walk the whole way again, and he had just enough money left to pay the fare. Moving quickly, he went the way most familiar to him, heading for the alley that would shorten his time. He was in a bleak part of Koth, where the buildings were close together and smelled of decay. As he reached the alley, the slime-covered walls of the structures rose up around him. He closed his collar around his throat and decided to hurry. The alley was long and narrow and spattered with garbage. The rain barrels along the gutters gurgled with filthy water from the rooftops after last night’s downpour. Aral quickened his pace, but before he took another step he saw something up ahead, a shimmering along the left-hand wall. His heart began to pound. Out of the wall, or emerging from its shadow, stepped the woman from the Red Lion. Her patchwork coat writhed around her, changing colors, mimicking the alley. She stepped out into the center of the street, facing Aral, and once again the fractured smile appeared. “You left before we finished our conversation.” Aral panicked. He whirled to dash away, but discovered the monstrous bald man behind him, blocking his path. The behemoth stalked toward him, his arms outstretched. Aral stumbled backward. The woman remained in front of him. Determined to push her aside, he turned and started toward her—until she opened her coat.

    The amulet around her neck glowed furiously. Aral’s feet stuck to the floor, glued in place by its compelling aura. A strangling terror seized him. He tried to scream but couldn’t, and soon the big man was upon him, wrapping his massive arms around his chest and pulling him from the ground. Aral struggled but his attacker was impossibly strong, and his iron grip squeezed the air from Aral’s lungs. He lifted Aral effortlessly, hauling him toward one of the rain barrels. The little woman scurried alongside them, looking up at Aral as he squirmed.

    “You shouldn’t have done it,” she said. Her face was set with sad anger. “There was no reason to kill her.”

    Aral finally found his voice. “I had to!” he screamed. “Please!”

    “Had to? An infant?”

    “Yes! She was blind! She would have been nothing!”

    “She would have been your daughter,” snapped the woman.

    They had stopped near one of the rain barrels. Aral lay pinned over the giant’s shoulder, unable to break free. His terror peaked.

    “Don’t do it!” he pleaded. “Don’t!”

    The tiny woman sighed dolefully. “People like you make my work so much harder,” she said. “Now you will learn a lesson, Aral Vale. We are all beautiful in .”

    With a small nod from his mistress, the giant took hold of Aral, inverting him and plunging him headfirst into the barrel. Cold water rushed down his throat; blackness enveloped him. He screamed, releasing a stream of bubbles. The giant’s viselike grip held his legs, driving him again and again against the bottom of the barrel. Aral felt his lungs exploding, then watched an image of his wife flash before him, cradling their newborn daughter.

    It was the last thought he had before dying.

    A, .^fter a week of easy travel, Akeela arrived home to Koth.

    The capital city of Lьria gleamed like a white diamond at his homecoming, the spring sun setting it alight with the pure glow of morning. It had been an uneventful journey for the young king and his party of Chargers, except for a minor detour forced by the swelling river Kryss. The solitude had given Akeela time to consider things, too, like his peace with Reec and his perfect new wife. For the first time Akeela could remember, his life was flawless. He missed his father, but that emptiness was ebbing fast, filled by the day-to-day burdens of kingship. Now he reveled in his title and in the sweeping changes he intended to make. He had daydreamed throughout his entire journey home, whistling while he rode with his comrade and soldier, Breck, and staring up at the stars at night, looking for Cassandra’s face. But he had never really found her in the heavens, because she was more beautiful than that, and no constellation could rival her. He was already lovestruck and he knew it, and despite Lukien’s warnings, he planned to give his love to Cassandra completely.

    As Akeela approached Koth, his heralds rode forward to the castle, informing them of his arrival. He had a huge staff in Lion-keep, just as his father had before him, because Lьria had interests varied and wide, and there were always civil servants needed to attend the minutiae of government. Akeela sat up in his saddle—as tall as he could—as he entered the city. Beside him, Breck’s face shone with pride, an emotion reflected by all in their company.

    “You’re a hero, my lord,” said Breck. “It took your father years before anyone called him that, and you’ve done it in mere months.” The cavalryman raised his face to the sun, now almost hidden behind the alabaster structures of Koth. “It’s good to be home.”

    “Home is always the best place,” agreed Akeela.

    Koth had not yet fully awakened. An hour past dawn, the city was only now rubbing sleep from its eyes. Shopkeepers began opening their doors, dragging tables of linens and other wares into the avenue, and a spring breeze sent the signs of the inns and taverns along Capital Street swinging. Early rising bankers rode in carriages from their posh homes on the west side for the money-lending south district, where the bulk of crucial commerce took place. It was the bankers who had donated the lion’s share of gold to Akeela’s gift chest. Eager to open new avenues of trade, they were among the new king’s most ardent supporters. As Akeela and his men rode into the city, he watched as the carriages and their well heeled occupants stopped to wave at him. Like all of Lьria, they had heard the news of his success in Hes and were overjoyed. Akeela smiled and nodded at them, careful not to seem too boyish. The bankers, his father had always said, couldn’t be trusted when the money dried up.

    Aside from the carriages and shopkeepers, Capital Street was mostly deserted, affording Akeela’s company ample room to maneuver their armored horses and wagons. The street fingered off in all directions, leading to the affluent west side and the squalid northern districts, and, most importantly, to Chancellery Square. There, in the center of the city stood Lionkeep, Akeela’s residence. And around the royal castle, circling it like vultures, were the Chancelleries. Here the countless ministers and bureaucrats bickered and bartered and supposedly made Lьrian life easier with their logjams. It was where the War Chancellery stood in a stout building of brick and black iron, and where the Chancellery of Treasure towered nearly as tall as Lionkeep itself, an edifice of gold leaf and marble gargoyles. Next to the Treasury stood the House of Dukes, a five-storied fortress of quarried rock and the home of Baron Thorin Glass, the House’s minister. There, huddled around tables of oiled oak, the landowners of Lьria drank expensive wine and occasionally made important decisions. The sight of the House of Dukes soured Akeela’s good mood. Baron Glass had been his major critic since he’d ascended the throne, always opposed to the changes Akeela wanted to make.

    But today, Akeela wasn’t interested in the bold baron. He kept his eyes locked on Lionkeep. The royal residence had housed his family for more than a century, and had been built when Lьria was young, carved from the continent by wars and treaties. Koth, having been the only town of real consequence, had been named capital of the new nation, and Lionkeep had been constructed shortly thereafter. For the people of Lьria, who worshipped many gods and so had no national temples, Lionkeep was something of a church, a holy relic to be revered. Unlike Reec or Marn or Lьria’s other neighbors, the Lьrians were a mixed bag of peoples. When the nation was new it had attracted tradesmen and pilgrims from across the continent, promising a good life away from the wars plaguing the world. In the dreams of its founders, Lьria was to be a place of peace and opportunity.

    Akeela’s mood continued to slip as he rode toward Lionkeep. His forefather kings hadn’t fulfilled the vision of the founders. For them, it wasn’t long before the good days of peace were replaced by war. Constant border skirmishes and broken treaties had turned Lьria into little more than its neighbors, one more country struggling toward the future. The thought made Akeela grit his teeth.

    “Breck,” he said. “I’m going to change this land.”

    Breck smiled. “Yes, my lord, you’ve told me.”

    “A dozen times at least,” Akeela admitted. “But I mean it. Things are going to be different.”

    “Things are different,” Breck said. He was soft-spoken for a career soldier; had been since their war college days. And he always had a reassuring word for anyone who needed it. “You’ve made peace with Reec, my lord. I’d say that’s a good start, wouldn’t you?”

    “A good start,” agreed Akeela. “But not enough.”

    Breck looked forward, considering the mass of government buildings in the distance. “It won’t be easy,” he sighed. “Even your father had trouble dealing with the Chancellers, and they feared him.”

    “And they don’t fear me,” said Akeela. “I know that. But I don’t want to rule out of fear, Breck. I want the ministers to follow me willingly, because they believe in where I’ll take them.” He gave his horse a commanding spur, urging him forward. “Come. I’m eager to get to the castle.”

    The column rode for long minutes more, filling the echoing streets with the noise of their homecoming. Windows opened at the sound of the horsemen and the people of Lьria leaned out of their homes, eager for a glimpse of their king. An occasional woman blew Akeela a kiss, which made him blush. Finally, they passed the open-air market and entered Chancellery Square, where the Chancelleries loomed and Lionkeep’s shadow darkened the avenues. The streets were narrow and cramped, jammed full of carriages and civil servants rushing to their jobs. At the Chancellery of Treasure a pair of long-robed ministers stopped in mid-argument to notice the king. They bowed with big, inscrutable smiles. Akeela nodded politely but hurried along, urging his horse toward Lionkeep and the hill holding it aloft. The gray wall of the fortress rose up around him, comforting him. He heard the familiar sounds of castle life from the battlements above. The main gate had been raised for his arrival, its spiked portcullis hanging open like the jaws of a shark. Hanging lanterns lined the way, still glowing orange in the growing light of day.

    Akeela looked past the gate to the courtyard. It was practically empty save for a few young pages walking and brushing horses. The castle doves, which were everywhere in Lionkeep and were treated like royalty, hobbled along the yard in search of food, clawing at the green grass. At the top of the hill a contingent of Lionkeep’s Wardens waited, rigid in their uniforms of gold and crimson. Unlike the Royal Chargers, who were under the command of Lukien and who fought Lьria’s wars, the Lionkeep Wardens were autonomous troops from the Chancellery of War. Their sole responsibility was the protection of the castle and its royal inhabitants. As usual, the halberdiers were stiff at attention as Akeela approached. At the front of the guardians stood Graig, a welcoming smile stretched across his face. The Head Warden had obviously received Akeela’s heralds and had arranged the guard to greet him. Graig was an old man but his eyes still twinkled, and he still looked daunting in his crimson uniform.

    “Ho, Graig!” Akeela called. The king trotted forward and dismounted. A page appeared instantly to take care of his horse. Akeela ignored Craig’s ceremonial bow, taking his hand instead. It was the usual ritual since Akeela had become king, and it was over in an instant. They shook, then embraced. “Good to see you,” said Akeela.

    “Ah, good to have you back,” laughed Graig. He slapped Akeela’s shoulder, then kissed his cheek. “You’ve done well! I’m proud of you!”

    “We’re all proud of the king,” said Breck, bringing up his horse. “You should have seen him, Warden. He dealt with Karis like an old hand.”

    “I always told your father you’d be a diplomat.” The warden spied the line of Chargers curiously. “Where’s Lukien?”

    “I had him stay behind with Trager and some others,” said Akeela. He smiled slyly. “They’re looking after something for me. You’ve heard about my other good news, I suppose?”

    The old man guffawed. “Yes, you’re a rascal now I hear. You’ve fallen into the wrong crowd with these Chargers!”

    “You’ll love her, Graig. Cassandra’s a real beauty. Isn’t she Breck?”

    “My lord could have done worse,” Breck replied with a smile.

    “Well, when do I get to see her?” asked Graig. “Why the wait?”

    “Because I have a wedding to plan, you romantic old fool,” said Akeela. “There’s a lot to do, and I want to get this place ready for her.” He rubbed his hands together. “But first, I’m starving. Did you consider my need for breakfast, by any chance?”

    “I’ve got the kitchens on it already,” smiled Graig. Then he shrugged, adding, “I’m still your houseboy, as usual. Come . . .” He turned and headed toward the gate, then shouted at the pages to attend the soldiers and their horses. Akeela followed him, but Breck remained behind, seeing to his men and mounts. The courtyard was quickly coming to life at the king’s arrival, and the warming sun felt good upon Akeela’s face.

    “So?” he asked as they moved through the courtyard. “What news since I left? Nothing too bad, I hope.”

    “Bad?” scoffed Graig. “I’ve had this place running like a timepiece. Not even a leaky roof to worry about.”

    “And the chancellors? What of them?”

    “Behaving themselves. Baron Glass has been making some noise, but nothing unusual.”

    “That’s good news,” said Akeela. They passed under an archway and into a hall heading toward the kitchens. The smell of frying bacon made Akeela’s stomach rumble. “You did a fine job looking after things, Graig. Thank you.”

    “I wish it could all be good news,” said Graig.

    “Isn’t it?”

    “No, I’m afraid. Beith had her baby.”

    Akeela stopped walking. “Stillborn?”

    “Gods no, nothing like that,” said Graig. “Just, well, deformed. Bad hand and foot, like this . . .” The warden made a crumpled ball of his fist. “Clubbed, I guess you’d call it. And Beith’s all upset that it might be more.”

    “More?”

    “You know,” said Graig. He tapped his skull. “Its mind. The child might be simple.”

    All the levity went out of Akeela’s face. Beith had already lost her husband, and Akeela knew how much she was looking forward to her baby. Like the midwife Gwena had said, it was going to fill her ‘empty spaces.’ “I should go to her,” said Akeela. He glanced around, unsure what to do. “Is she up yet?”

    Graig grinned. “I don’t make a habit of calling on her, my lord.”

    “We’ll talk later, Graig,” said Akeela, then dashed off in the direction opposite to the kitchens. Breakfast could wait; he needed to see Beith.

    He hurried through the halls then up a staircase, dodging servants and taking the steps two at a time. Beith had a chamber on the third floor of the main keep. She had shared it with her husband, Gilwyn, and together they had planned for their infant’s arrival, gathering blankets and baby clothes from the women in Lionkeep and decorating a corner of their tiny apartment with toys. Gilwyn had been Lukien’s friend, mostly, but on the few occasions that Akeela visited the apartment he had always found it cheery. He supposed it would be appallingly cold now. Reaching the third floor, he braced himself as he entered the hall. Most of the doors were closed. Beith’s room was at the far end. Akeela went to it and listened, but didn’t hear anything. Unsure if he should interrupt, he went ahead and knocked.

    “Beith?” he called softly. “Are you awake?”

    There was a stirring behind the door. Akeela fixed a smile on his face.

    “Who is it?” called a voice. It was hoarse from lack of sleep, but Akeela recognized it.

    “Beith, it’s Akeela.”

    After a hesitation, the startled voice returned. “The king?” There was more fumbling behind the door. Akeela imagined Beith smoothing out her night clothes. “My lord Akeela, a moment, please . . .”

    Akeela waited patiently until finally the door opened, revealing Beith in a disheveled robe and unkempt hair, her red eyes rimmed with sunken bags. She forced a sunny smile, stepping away from the door so he could enter. Quickly she dipped into a curtsey.

    “My lord, this is a surprise. Forgive me, I wasn’t expecting you. My appearance—

    “Is perfectly fine, Beith, don’t worry.” Akeela stepped into the room. As expected, the apartment’s cheerfulness had fled. “I apologize for bothering you, but I’ve only just arrived home. I’d heard . . . well, that you’ve had your child.”

    “Yes, my lord,” said the woman. She wrapped her robe about herself, obviously embarrassed. Since he’d become king, Akeela had noticed the way ordinary people squirmed around him.

    “Please,” he implored. “Be at ease. I just wanted to see you, and your little one.”

    Beith brightened. “You’ve come to see Gilwyn?”

    “Gilwyn?” laughed Akeela. “Is that his name? I didn’t even know you’d had a boy! I know you wanted one.” He looked around the room and spotted the crib beneath the room’s only window. Sunlight poured onto its whitewashed wood; a cottony blanket fell over its rim. “Ah, that must be him.”

    “Yes, my lord,” said Beith. Pride crept into her tone. “He’s sleeping, I think.”

    Akeela tiptoed toward the crib. “May I see him?”

    “Certainly,” answered Beith. “But he’s . . .” Her voice trailed off.

    “I know about his problems, Beith. Warden Graig told me. I’m sorry.”

    Beith said quickly, “Oh, but he’s a beautiful baby, my lord. He’s got his father’s eyes. And he’s smart! He can already tell when I say his name.” Beith moved toward the crib. “Here, let me show him to you.”

    “If he’s sleeping . . .”

    “No,” said Beith anxiously. “I want you to see him.”

    Akeela followed her to the crib, watching in fascination as she lifted the little bundle out of the blankets. Baby Gilwyn squirmed in protest at being awakened. Beith’s expression lightened as she held out the baby for Akeela to inspect.

    “Ah,” said Akeela, enchanted. He stuck his face closer to the child, amazed by his smallness. Little Gilwyn fixed his bleary eyes on the king and gave a tiny cry.

    “No, don’t cry,” said Beith, bouncing the baby in her arms. “That’s the king!”

    Akeela put out a finger, touching the baby’s stomach. Gilwyn reacted by wrinkling his nose, which made the king laugh.

    “He’s beautiful,” said Akeela. He noticed the clubbed hand but pretended to ignore it. “Congratulations, Beith. If your husband were here, he’d be very proud.”

    “Yes,” said Beith sadly. “I wish he could see him. But Meri says he’s here in spirit, watching.”

    “And perhaps he is,” said Akeela, not believing a word of it. Like some in the castle, Meri believed that the dead lived on as spirits, walking among the living. It was just one of the varied religions represented by Lionkeep’s staff. “Like I said, Gilwyn would have been proud of this little soldier.”

    Beith blanched. She hugged the baby a little tighter.

    “Oh, blast,” said Akeela. “I’m sorry, Beith. That was stupid of me to say.”

    “No, it’s all right,” said Beith. “But I don’t think he’s going to be the little soldier. He won’t ever be a Charger like his father.”

    “No,” Akeela agreed. With the baby’s infirmities, being a soldier was impossible.

    “But he’s smart, my lord,” Beith insisted. “He’s not slow or simple. Gwena says he might be, but I just know he’s not.”

    Akeela nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

    “He’ll be able to do things, my lord. He won’t be a burden to anyone.” Beith was looking at Akeela fretfully. “I swear, I’ll teach him to take care of himself. He’ll be a good member of this castle. I mean, if you’ll allow it.”

    Suddenly Akeela understood her fears. Her eyes reflected her dashed dreams, and her motherly concern for a son that might grow up a beggar.

    “Let me hold the baby,” said Akeela. Carefully Beith handed the infant over. Akeela, who had seldom held children before, cradled the child in the crook of his arm. Little Gilwyn squirmed but was silent, looking up at him. For Akeela, it was like holding a miracle, just like Gwena had always described. The warm little body curled in his embrace, enjoying the safety of the king’s protection.

    “He likes you,” said Beith. She glanced up at Akeela hopefully. “See? He already knows what a good king you are.”

    “Beith, stop. There’s no need.” Akeela kept his gaze on Gilwyn. “I would never abandon this child to the streets. I don’t care if he’s simple or a genius. Lionkeep is his home. As long as I am king, it always will be.”

    “Really?” asked Beith. “Will you promise me that, my lord?”

    “I promise,” said Akeela. He leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on the infant’s forehead. “And not just to you, but to this little fellow here. He will always have a place in Lionkeep.”

    Beith could barely find her voice. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you.”

    Akeela took the baby over to a nearby chair. He sat down and rocked the child, loving the paternal feeling. Gilwyn’s little mouth turned upward. Akeela took the gesture for a smile. He cooed to the baby, speaking softly.

    “Little Gilwyn, Lьria is going to be a great nation. I’m going to make it special, the way the founders intended. There will always be a place for you here, and for all the other children, too. And you’re going to grow up strong and smart, and whatever you can dream, you can be.”

    J5eith spent the rest of the day feeling lighter than air. The good news Akeela had given her put a smile back on her face, and she bragged to Meri and her other friends about the king’s promise, and how her son would grow up in Lionkeep just as she and her dead husband had always planned. For Beith, who hadn’t known real joy since her husband’s death, the lightness in her heart felt wonderful. Now, with her baby safe, she could begin mourning her beloved properly, without fretting over the fate of her newborn.

    That night, Beith slept sound and deeply. She had retired early, putting Gilwyn to bed in his crib and taking a cup of tea before drifting off to sleep. For the first time in weeks, her dreams were unpolluted.

    Then she awoke for no apparent reason. Her eyes fluttered open to catch moonbeams slanting through her window. The mist of sleep was on her, and for a moment she couldn’t place the time. It was very late; dawn was still many hours away. Realizing this, she listened for Gilwyn. He was a good baby and surprisingly cooperative about sleeping, but she knew it was time to check on him. Desperate for the pillow, she nevertheless rose from the bed and started toward the door, shambling through the darkness in a groggy haze. Then she saw the figure in the threshold.

    Beith stumbled backward, about to scream, before an amazing calm overtook her. Unable to move, she merely stared at the figure, enchanted by a strange light emanating from its chest.

    “Don’t be afraid.” The figure took a tiny step forward.

    Everything about it was tiny, in fact. Beith had never seen anyone like her, not outside a carnival. She realized that the stranger was a woman, and that the woman was a midget.

    “Who are you?” Beith asked. “What are you doing here?” The woman smiled. Beith could see her impish face in the red glow of her necklace. “Fair questions, Beith,” she said. “But first, your child is safe. Do not be afraid for him.”

    To her surprise, Beith wasn’t afraid. She knew—somehow— that no harm had come to Gilwyn. She squinted at the little woman and saw her multicolored coat swirling as if it were alive. “Are you magical?” she asked.

    The question delighted the intruder. “Why, yes I am.”

    “I’m not afraid. But I should be. Am I under a bewitchment?” The woman floated closer, until she and Beith were standing face to face. Only they weren’t really, because Beith towered over the stranger. The woman looked up at Beith. She seemed to be studying her.

    “Let us talk.” She gestured toward the bed. “Sit.” Beith heard the warnings in her mind, telling her to run and to rescue Gilwyn, yet the voices were very faint, pushed way back in her brain. So instead of running, Beith obeyed the stranger, sitting down at the edge of the bed. She noticed the amulet around the woman’s neck, glowing ruby red. The remarkable coat she wore no longer swam with life, yet Beith knew she was in the power of a magician.

    “Why are you here?” she asked again.

    The woman replied, “For the sake of your child, Beith. I can help him.”

    “Gilwyn? Gilwyn needs no help.”

    “Does he not?” asked the woman. “I have heard about him. He is deformed, quite probably crippled. He is not well, dear Beith. But I have a safe place for him.”

    “No,” said Beith. “Lionkeep is a safe place for him.” A sympathetic expression lingered on the stranger’s face. “If only that were so,” she sighed. “Your child is not like others. He may not be safe here in the castle, or anywhere in Lьria. But I know a place where all like him are safe. I can take him there.”

    “What is this place?” Beith asked. Vaguely her memory returned, recalling a story she had heard as a little girl.

    “It is a secret place, far from here, far across a desert. There are people like me there, and people like your child.”

    “Magical people?”

    The woman’s smile dimmed. “Yes, all right. Magical people.”

    Suddenly a memory bloomed in Beith’s mind. She gasped, “You’re the Witch of Grimhold.”

    “No,” said the woman. “I am no witch.”

    “You are,” Beith insisted. “My mother told me the story, when I was very young.”

    “Your mother was mistaken,” said the woman. She closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to be concentrating. The awesome calm within Beith increased. As quickly as she had recalled the old legend, she forgot it.

    “Now, tell me,” the woman continued. “Will you let me take your child? I will look after him for you. I will take him to a place where no one will harm or ridicule him.”

    Beith struggled to stay awake. “There’s no need. Gilwyn is safe here. The king has promised it.”

    “The new king?”

    “Yes, Akeela. He’s told me this very day that Gilwyn is safe here. He will always have a place here in Lionkeep. It is the king’s promise.”

    For a moment the woman said nothing. She turned away, considering the moon outside the window. “I have heard about your new king,” she said at last. “I have heard that he is very good; very wise.”

    “He is good. And he has been kind to me and my baby.”

    “And he will look after your child, even when he is grown?”

    “He will.”

    “Even if he is crippled?”

    “Yes.”

    “And simple?”

    Beith hesitated, but only for a second. “Yes, even then.”

    There was no sound from the stranger. The light from her amulet lit her face, revealing concern. Beith, still in the hold of the bewitchment, couldn’t help but smile at the tiny figure who for some reason was concerned about her little boy. She reached out for the amulet around her neck, but the little woman pulled gently away.

    “What is that you wear?” asked Beith.

    The woman smiled down at her amulet. “This is Inai ka Vala,” she replied. “You would call it the Eye of God.”

    “God? What god?”

    “You are full of questions, Beith.” The tiny woman studied her. “I think your son will be like you—inquisitive.”

    Talking to the woman was like floating in a dream or on a gentle lake of calm water. All the fear had left Beith now, so that there were only questions.

    “Will you tell me your name?” she asked.

    “Minikin,” replied the woman.

    “Minikin?” Beith chuckled. “Your name is Minikin? That’s funny.”

    “Yes,” said the woman. “The people who named me that thought so, too.” She turned from the window, heading for the door. “Follow me.”

    Once again Beith obeyed, following the woman out of her bed chamber and into the main room where Gilwyn’s white crib rested in the moonlight. The woman hovered over Gilwyn, her thoughts unfathomable.

    “Very well,” she said. “I will trust your new king to help this child.” Then she bent over the crib, giving Gilwyn a kiss and speaking a single remarkable word.

    “Grimhold.”

    Wh men Beith awoke the next morning, she remembered nothing of the strange intrusion or of her remarkable conversation with the midget woman. She felt refreshed and hungry, and that was all. She rose from bed at her usual hour and saw at once to Gilwyn’s feeding, sitting down at her chair near the window and putting the baby to her breast. Still feeling wonderful over Akee-la’s acceptance of her child, she laughed as her son fed, loving the communion of nursing. Gilwyn fed hungrily but gently, latching on without discomfort to his mother. The morning sun was bright and warmed the room. Beith considered what a fine day it would be.

    “Oooh, you’re a hungry little scholar this morning, aren’t you?” she asked.

    Gilwyn kept feeding. For some reason, seeing his earnest face reminded Beith of a story she had heard when she was younger. She puzzled over the memory, trying to recall it clearly, deciding to entertain herself with the tale.

    “There’s a story my mother told me once,” she began. She then proceeded to tell Gilwyn about Grimhold, a place where monsters live, led by a witch who steals children.

    -L/ukien sat at the end of a pond, absently tossing stones into the water. The sky was bright but his mood was heavy, and as the ripples disappeared he watched them pensively, his mind a hundred miles from his halcyon surroundings. Not far away, Trager sat on a blanket on the green grass, sipping a drink and picnicking on the pheasant Earl Linuk had provided. With him were Durwin and Benn, two Royal Chargers who, like Lukien and Trager, had been left behind in Reec to look after Princess Cassandra. Both men wore broad smiles and greasy smudges on their shirts. Trager was talking and laughing too loudly. The lieutenant had been over-enjoying his wine; Lukien had seen him empty more than one bottle over the course of the afternoon. The Bronze Knight suppressed a sigh and flicked another stone into the lake.

    For two weeks now he had been in Reec, missing home and enduring Trager’s company. He had been treated well by his Ree-cian hosts, but he longed to return to Koth, and every day he waited impatiently for word from Akeela, summoning him back. So far, word had yet to come. Akeela had warned him that it could be at least a month before he would return, and the wait was interminable. Castle Hes had been a prison for Lukien, a very pleasant place to die slowly. With only Trager and a handful of Chargers for company, Lukien had been forced to bear the stares of Reecian soldiers and stableboys and the whispers of the castle gossips. Worse, he had been too close to Cassandra. Since Akeela‘’s departure, the princess had occupied his every thought, and his proximity to her was irksome. Because he was her bodyguard, he was never very far from her, accompanying her to knitting sessions and tea with her sisters and other mind-deadening activities, all the while trying to avert his eyes from her flawless face and figure. Cassandra had remained aloof, mostly, yet she had insisted that he perform his duties as her protector, making sure he was always nearby. From the moment Akeela had gone, they had shared Castle Hes like two uneasy house guests.

    But now they were no longer in Castle Hes. They were in Glain, the seaside estate of Earl Linuk. Princess Cassandra, evidently a spoiled brat, had wanted a last holiday. She had left behind her overprotective father for the watchful eyes of Linuk, whom Lukien quickly discovered was something of an adopted uncle to the girl. Linuk doted on Cassandra, opening his house to her and her handmaidens and providing them with all the splendor of Glain in springtime. Of course, Lukien had been given no choice in accompanying Cassandra to Glain. Earl Linuk had made it clear they were all going to spend a week at his estate, and Lukien’s protests had fallen on the earl’s deaf ears. So he had relented, and now sat in warm sunshine as Cassandra indulged herself with a picnic and Linuk’s musicians entertained them. It would have been a good day for Lukien if they were in Koth, if Trager was somewhere else, and the music was Lьrian. If Cassandra wasn’t so near.

    Lukien lifted his gaze from the pond. On the other side of the water, past the narrow bridge that spanned it, Cassandra was with her friend Jancis. The princess had set up an easel and was painting, enjoying the light of the sun. She seemed to be hard at work, occasionally stepping back from her masterpiece and cocking her head, then lifting her brush again to make corrections. She wore a white dress that caught the sun and contrasted with her raven hair. She had dressed well for their picnic and that surprised Lukien, and occasionally she stole glances across the pond. He watched her for a long moment, and when she discovered him staring at her, the princess frowned. Quickly she returned to her painting.

    I To Lukien, Cassandra was an enigma. She was barely more than a child, but she had the body of a woman and a keen look in her eyes that belied her innocence. In his many campaigns, he had met women like Cassandra before, those with iron under their soft skin, who longed for a wider role in life. Cassandra was like that, Lukien guessed. After only two weeks with her he knew why she had accepted Akeela’s proposal. She was bored with life in Castle Hes. She was tired of being King Karis’ daughter. The princess wanted to be a queen.

    “And of course she will be,” muttered Lukien. That was how it was for royalty—they always got what they wanted. Akeela had blundered into a beautiful wife, and Cassandra, not satisfied with one castle, would soon have two to call home. Lukien leaned back on his palms, a scowl forming on his face. Why was it then that men like him desired things they couldn’t have? Being called a “brother” by Akeela simply wasn’t enough. Women of refinement—women like Cassandra—were kept from him.

    “Captain?”

    Lukien heard the word as soon as the shadow crossed his face. Over him stood Trager, looking down with a queer smile. The lieutenant had a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. It was plain from the dullness in his eyes that he was drunk.

    “You haven’t eaten anything,” said Trager. He handed the plate down to Lukien. “I thought you might be hungry.”

    Lukien hesitated. Taking the plate might invite Trager to sit down. Since he was indeed hungry, he took his chances by accepting the food—and lost the gamble. Trager sat down immediately, letting out a giant sigh as his rump hit the grass.

    “Two glasses,” he called to one of Earl Linuk’s servants.

    “Just one will do,” said Lukien.

    The servant hesitated. Trager smiled wickedly, then held up two fingers.

    “You heard me,” he said.

    The servant scurried off. In a moment he returned with a pair of crystal goblets, which he handed to Trager before quickly dis-appearing. Trager didn’t thank the man but commenced pouring. Lukien glanced down at his food, his appetite gone.

    “You’ve been very quiet today, Captain.” Trager handed him a glass of wine. “Are you unwell?”

    The question irritated Lukien. “I’m fine,” he replied.

    “Then why not enjoy the day?” Trager gestured to their beautiful surroundings. “I know you don’t like this duty, but there’s nothing we can do about it, so why be bothered? There’s wine, music . . .” He glanced across the pond. “And pretty ladies to enjoy.”

    Lukien looked up. “What does that mean?”

    “It’s just a pretty day, that’s all.” Trager sipped at his wine. He let out a grotesque belch and leaned back on his elbow. “Eat, Captain,” he urged. “It’s very good. Earl Linuk certainly knows how to care for his guests.”

    “I thought you said you wouldn’t drink with Reecians,” Lukien reminded him. “Or have you changed your mind?”

    Trager shrugged. “Change of heart, I suppose. Free food and drink. Only a fool would pass that up.”

    The answer reminded Lukien why he disliked his lieutenant so much. Inwardly he cursed Akeela for leaving Trager behind with him. He was a jealous, petty man, and had been since their war college days. He held grudges longer than anyone Lukien had ever known, too, and had never really forgiven Lukien the good fortune of being King Balak’s favorite. Though they had graduated together, posting almost identical grades, Lukien had become Captain of the Chargers. Some, like Trager, thought it was because of his closeness to the king. To be honest, Lukien suspected there was some truth in that theory. But it was also because he was the best soldier the college had ever produced, and because he had proven himself in battle many times. But Trager never considered that.

    “It’s very nice here, don’t you think, Captain?” Trager continued to sip his wine as he studied the area, swaying to the strains of the music.

    “Yes, it is,” Lukien conceded. He began picking at the food on his plate, nibbling at the meat of a pheasant joint.

    “I’m grateful to be out of Hes,” said Trager. “The castle air was getting stale.“ He took a deep breath. ”This is how a man should live. You can smell the sea here.“

    “Very nice.”

    “It will be good to get back home to Lьria, though. I miss it.”

    Lukien nodded. Trager’s voice was tiresome.

    “I suppose King Akeela’s wedding will be quite an occasion,” the lieutenant went on. “He seemed excited about it. You’ll be there, of course, his steadfast man.”

    “I suppose.”

    “And it will be tournament season. He’ll have it at the same time, I suppose, to celebrate the occasion.” Trager looked at him. “Some jousting perhaps?”

    “Oh, I’m sure,” said Lukien. He returned his lieutenant’s sharp smile.

    “I’ve been practicing, Captain.”

    “Really? Good for you.”

    “In the apple orchard near Lionkeep. Before we left for Hes, I was practicing most every morning. The spring tournament should be enjoyable this year.”

    Lukien laughed. “I will beat you, just as I do every year. And this time everyone at Akeela’s wedding will be on hand to watch you kiss the mud. You’re right—that will be fun.”

    “Big words,” said Trager. “I have the feeling that all this bodyguard duty will make you soft.” He tapped the rim of his goblet, making it ring. “This just might be the year the Bronze Knight shows his glass jaw.”

    “We shall see,” said Lukien. “Just keep practicing, and maybe you’ll have a chance against the squires.”

    Trager’s eyes began to smolder. “I came here in friendship, Captain.”

    Lukien yawned. Friendship was a subject Trager knew nothing about. “Yes. Well then, thanks for the food.”

    But Trager didn’t leave. He merely leaned back again, staring at Cassandra across the pond. A low whistle crossed his bearded lips.

    “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he asked. “Akeela’s going to be a lucky dog when we get back home.” Lukien said nothing.

    Trager leaned in closer. “I wouldn’t mind taking her to my bed, I’ll tell you that.”

    “Lieutenant,” began Lukien coldly, “you’ve had too much to drink. She’s to be the king’s wife, remember.”

    Trager grinned. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed her, Captain. I’ve seen you looking at her. You’re like a bitch in heat when she passes by.”

    “That’s enough,” Lukien snapped. He snatched the wine bottle from Trager’s hand. “Go dry out, Lieutenant, and I’ll try to forget that insult.”

    For a moment, Trager didn’t move. His eyes kept a challenging watch on Lukien. Then he smiled again and rose from the grass, letting the goblet drop from his hand. It shattered when it hit the ground.

    “You know, Captain, you’re a very arrogant man,” said Trager, then turned and walked off.

    Lukien watched him go, his heart racing. He suddenly felt sick. Had his attraction to Cassandra been so obvious? He hadn’t thought so, but now he wasn’t sure. He gazed across the pond again to where the princess was painting. The music of the lutes surrounded him. She was very beautiful, and he simply couldn’t look away.

    V_/n the other side of the pond, Cassandra played with her paint pots, pretending to ignore the strange knight across the water. It was a perfect day and her holiday from Castle Hes had been delightful, yet still she was restless, unable to get Lukien out of her mind. She glanced past her easel, moving only her eyes. He was alone again. The sharp-tongued one, Trager, had left him. Now he was sipping a glass of wine. He looked pensive, as if he was staring at nothing in particular. But Cassandra knew better. The Bronze Knight had been watching her since they’d met, rarely taking his eyes off her. In every sense of the word he had become her bodyguard, and to her dismay she liked the way he coveted her. Her stomach fluttering, she returned to her painting, using a dull yellow to complete his uniform. He wasn’t in his armor today but she liked him best that way, and since no one but Jancis had come across the bridge to disturb her, she had painted what she desired, without fear of being discovered. With a thin brush, just a few horse hairs thick, she detailed his brilliant, bronze armor. The sun shone on his golden hair. To Cassandra, he was strikingly handsome.

    “He’s looking at me again,” she whispered. A few yards away, Jancis sat on a blanket, knitting absently. Her friend’s observation made her raise her head. “No, don’t stare,” snapped Cassandra. She kept her eyes on her painting. “Trust me, that’s all. He’s been looking at me all afternoon.”

    Jancis, who was appalled by Cassandra’s painting of the knight, made a disgusted sound.

    “If anyone sees what you’re doing . . .”

    “No one will see,” Cassandra chuckled. “It’s private here. That’s why I wanted to come. At least I don’t have my sisters looking under my bed.”

    “But the earl, Cassandra. This is his home.”

    “So? He doesn’t care what I get up to just as long as I’m happy, the old dear.” The princess smiled at her painting. It was very good considering her amateurish skill, and she was proud of the way she had captured his expression. Earnest, with just a touch of danger.

    “You should be painting your new husband,” Jancis chastised. She lowered her knitting angrily. “And just what will you do with it when it’s done? Give it to Lukien?”

    “Don’t be silly.”

    “Me?”

    “Yes, you. Stop fretting now, I’m trying to work.”

    Cassandra stole another glance across the water. Lukien had looked away again, which deflated her. She frowned. Another of his men came to join him, not Trager this time but the one called Benn. He sat down next to Lukien and the two began talking.

    “He’s not at all what I expected,” said Cassandra finally.

    Jancis rolled her eyes. “I can see you won’t let me get any of my knitting done today.”

    “He is though, isn’t he, Jan? Handsome, I mean?”

    “Stop being wicked,” said Jancis. She looked around for unwelcome ears. “You’re engaged, Cass. Have you forgotten?”

    Cassandra hadn’t forgotten. In fact, she kept drawing comparisons between Lukien and her husband-to-be. Akeela was sweet and charming in his own nervous way. And he was a great man, at least that’s what everyone was saying. She knew she was lucky to have him. But he was also bookish and overly polite, with none of Lukien’s roughness. All her life Cassandra had been surrounded by people like Akeela. She realized suddenly how tired she was of men with breeding.

    “It’s nice to daydream,” she said softly. She put down her brush, plainly staring now across the water. Benn and Lukien were laughing and sharing some cheese. A lute player was nearby, as were several of Linuk’s friends. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the picnic—except Cassandra. It wasn’t the pain in her stomach that bothered her anymore. Since coming to Glain that had mostly subsided. Now it was a different ache that seized her, much less physical than the one that had kept her on the chamber pot.

    “I want to go riding,” she decided suddenly. “With Lukien.”

    “What?” Jancis put down her knitting and stood. “Cass, don’t.”

    “Why not? It’s my only opportunity. No one here will care.”

    “What about your father?”

    “My father’s twenty miles from here.” Cassandra pulled the canvas over her painting, hiding it from prying eyes. “I want to talk to him.”

    Jancis huffed forward. “That’s why you wanted to come here, isn’t it?” she asked. “You just wanted a chance to be alone with him.”

    When Cassandra didn’t answer, Jancis sighed.

    “Please, Cassandra, don’t be stupid. Just forget it, all right?”

    “I don’t want to forget it,” said Cassandra. “I want to find out why he’s been staring at me.” She looked at her friend imploringly. “I want to find out about him.”

    Jancis shook her head in resignation. Cassandra gave her a smile.

    “You’re a dear. Look after the painting for me, will you?” she said, then started back across the bridge. Lukien noticed her at once. He stood up, as did the others, bowing his head in greeting.

    “I want to go riding,” Cassandra declared. She looked at Li-nuk’s servants. “Fetch me two horses, please.” Then she looked at Lukien. “You’ll come with me.”

    The knight’s face drained of color. “What?”

    “You’ll ride with me, keep me safe. You’re my protector, aren’t you?”

    “Yes, but—

    “Then protect me. My father wouldn’t want me riding off without you.”

    Lukien swallowed hard. “All right, my lady,” he managed. “I’ll ask some others to come with us as well.”

    “No,” said Cassandra, brushing past him. “I came to Glain to get away from the noise of the city, not to drag it along by the tail. You alone will be quite enough, Lukien.”

    As she passed, heading toward the house to change into her riding gear, she heard Lukien’s astonished gasp. A small, satisfied smile crept onto her face.

    o Lukien’s surprise, Cassandra was an excellent rider. She hadn’t needed his assistance to mount or guide her horse, and in fact she led the way through the rolling hills of Glain, hardly speaking or even turning to regard him. Her silence was a pretense, Lukien knew, and it bothered him. She had surprised him with her request to go riding, then had once again turned into her stony, familiar self. As she rode a few paces ahead, taking full notice of the meadow and none of him at all, Lukien watched her in fascination. He even felt a little nervous. Or was it guilt?

    They were far from Linuk’s house now, far from the other picnickers and servants, in a meadow of swaying grass surrounded by gentle slopes. Lukien could see no one for miles, just the birds and creatures that called the meadow home. They rode at an easy pace, Cassandra occasionally pausing to gaze at the open sky or steal a leaf from a tree. It had been nearly an hour since they’d left the others and her mood had quieted. She wasn’t quite the insistent princess she had been earlier, but she wasn’t a companion, either. It was as if she were riding alone, and Lukien kept a respectful distance, silently spying on her. A warm breeze blew across the meadow, stirring her hair. Cassandra tucked the ebony strands behind her ear, then looked around with a satisfied nod.

    “We’ll stop here,” she said.

    Lukien shifted in his saddle. “Stop? I thought you wanted to go riding.”

    “I want to rest now,” she said as she slid from her horse. She smiled as she surveyed the meadow, enchanted by the sunlight on the grass. There was a patch of buttercups nearby. Cassandra sat down next to it and folded her legs beneath her. She stuck her nose into the flowers, became frightened by a bee, then plucked one of the blooms. Seeing Lukien still mounted, she sighed, “Please come down. I won’t hurt you.”

    Embarrassed, Lukien dropped from his horse and towered over her. “Earl Linuk will be worried about you. We should head back.”

    “We haven’t been gone that long,” said Cassandra. “And I have that old dear Linuk wrapped so tightly around my finger he can barely breathe. I could be gone for a week and weasel my way back into his graces in a minute. Now relax. You’re making me nervous.”

    Lukien remained standing over her, unsure what to do. He felt awkward. He looked around for something—anything—to occupy him. Cassandra noted his nervousness and chuckled.

    “Sit, Lukien,” she said. For the first time she gave him a genuine smile as she gestured to the grass beside her. “Here.”

    Lukien at last sat down. His eyes darted around the meadow, praying that no one could see him. Cassandra gazed across the plain, sighing happily. Her face glowed with sunlight and a look of deep satisfaction. It was easy to tell how much she enjoyed being away from Hes. Without her father or sisters shadowing her, she didn’t seem like a child anymore. Lukien let his eyes linger on her a bit too long.

    “You’re staring at me,” she said.

    Lukien turned his head. “I’m sorry.”

    “You’ve been looking at me a lot, I’ve noticed,” said the princess.

    “Forgive me, my lady. I meant no offense.” Lukien groped for an explanation. “I’m supposed to protect you, after all. It’s hard to do that unless I look at you.” Cassandra’s smile grew sly. “Oh.”

    Lukien picked a blade of grass andtwirled it between his fingers. “It’s my job, you see.”

    “Yes, I see. Thank you for explaining it to me. I was curious.”

    “Well, that’s all right, then.” Cassandra didn’t stop smiling. “Yes.”

    Lukien cleared his throat. For some reason, he couldn’t keep himself from asking, “But you were curious?”

    “Oh, yes,” said Cassandra. She played with the flower in her hand. “I mean, you were staring at me so intently across the pond, I was wondering why. I thought perhaps you found me . . . interesting.”

    A tiny terror seized Lukien. He knew he’d crossed a line suddenly, and didn’t know how to respond. Cassandra was baiting him. Bolstered by the privacy and ignoring his guilt, he said, “You are interesting, my lady. You’re different from most women I’ve known.”

    “Am I? Tell me.”

    Lukien tried a smile. “You are very beautiful and talented, and no man can resist that. But you are also refined.”

    Cassandra laughed. “Oh, but you live in the king’s castle. You are surrounded by refined women, sir.”

    Yes, thought Lukien blackly. Surrounded and doomed to never touch them.

    He didn’t tell Cassandra how he longed to be with a princess instead of a harlot, or how Lьrian women of breeding were reserved for dukes and barons. He said instead, “Still, you are different. You can paint and you can dance. You can even ride a horse. I think you are a mystery, my lady. And that interests me.” Cassandra brightened, not showing the slightest hint of offense. “And you interest me, sir. Here in Reec you are the Bronze Knight.”

    “I’m called that in Lьria as well, my lady.”

    “Ah, but in Lьria you are a hero, while here in Reec you are a villain.”

    Lukien bristled. “I am no villain.”

    “But you kill people. I have heard the stories. They say you are a berserker in battle. My Uncle Raxor once told me that you killed twelve men in the battle of Redthorn, even after he had called retreat.” Cassandra looked at him squarely. “Is that so?”

    “I’m a soldier, my lady. I do the bidding of my king. When there’s war, I fight.”

    The girl’s eyes narrowed on him. “But you love it, don’t you? I can see it in you. You love to fight.”

    “It is what I am best at,” Lukien replied. He studied the blade of grass in his hand, then noticed the flower in Cassandra’s. The comparison made him laugh. He was like the grass—utterly common. And Cassandra was certainly a flower. But he had tried to be more than just a blade of grass. He had tried to distinguish himself through battle. “I won’t apologize for what I am, my lady,” he said. “You are royal. You don’t know what it means to be a commoner.”

    Cassandra seemed perplexed. “But you’re not a commoner. You’re a knight.”

    “I am a knight now, true. People call me ‘sir,’ but it wasn’t always so.”

    The princess leaned closer. “Tell me. I want to know about you.”

    “I was an orphan, living on the streets of Koth. My father abandoned us and my mother died shortly thereafter. I was alone and had to fend for myself. And Koth is a big city, my lady. Bigger than Hes. It’s not a place for a boy to grow up alone.”

    “How did you survive?” asked Cassandra.

    “How does anyone survive on the streets? I stole. And I worked, when I could. The smithies were always looking for boys to exploit. They drove us like slaves. I lived like that for almost four years, all alone.” A smile cracked Lukien’s face. “Until I met Akeela.”

    Cassandra noticed his grin. “You’re very fond of each other, aren’t you?”

    Lukien nodded. Despite all the arguments he’d had with Akeela, he truly loved him.

    “And you are Akeela’s champion? You protect him?”

    “I protect him because I love him, because he is the closest thing I have ever had to a brother,“ said Lukien. ”And I protect him because he is the son of King Balak, whom I adored.“

    “But he is a mystery to me,” said Cassandra. “I know so little about him, and who better to tell me about him than you? Do they really call him ‘Akeela the Good’ in Lьria?”

    “They do,” said Lukien, laughing. “And it’s a name he deserves, believe me.”

    “So he is a good man?”

    “Oh, yes.”

    “And will he make me a good husband?”

    Lukien looked at her again. Her face had changed, set with worry. He told her, “My lady, Akeela is the dearest man I’ve even known. It’s why I pledged myself to him, and why I followed him here to Reec. There is no evil within him. He’s not capable of harming anyone, least of all you. Are you looking for a gentle husband? A man who will honor and worship you, and ask himself every day how best to make you happy? If you are, then you have found him, my lady.”

    Their eyes remained locked, and for a moment they shared a thought, wondering exactly who Lukien had just described. Lukien felt his face grow warm with embarrassment. He looked away.

    “Akeela will be a good husband, and a good king,” he said. “You will be happy with him, my lady.”

    Cassandra was quiet. The flower in her hand had dropped to her lap. Now she was the one who was staring.

    “You are not what I expected,” she said softly. “You aren’t a villain. I think you are . . .” She stopped herself, changing direction. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you, Sir Lukien. You must think me a shrew.”

    “Don’t apologize, my lady. If your Uncle Raxor came to Koth, I’d probably treat him the same way.”

    “No,” said Cassandra. “I must apologize.” She reached out and touched Lukien’s hand. “Since Akeela is so fond of you, then you and I should be friends, too.”

    The touch of her hand was magical. Slowly Lukien let his eyes drift back to her, and saw in her expression something far worse than friendship.

    “Yes, my lady,” he said. “Friends.”

    Cassandra’s lovely face shone, but then went horribly twisted. She jerked back her hand with a cry, putting her hands to her stomach and doubling forward. Startled, Lukien rose and knelt beside her.

    “My lady?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

    The girl let out a horrible gasp. Her eyes were clamped with pain.

    “Princess? What is it?”

    Barely able to put up a hand, Cassandra moaned, “Nothing .. . I’m all right.”

    “No you’re not.” Lukien took hold of her arm. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

    “It’s nothing,” Cassandra insisted through gritted teeth. She was on the verge of tears.

    “It’s . . . my moon blood, that’s all. That must be it.”

    “Your moon blood? No, that can’t be it.”

    “And how would you know about my blood?” she snapped. She rose to her feet unsteadily, pushing him away, stumbling toward her horse. Her face was colorless. Before she could reach her mount she collapsed to her knees.

    “Cassandra!” Lukien rushed forward, putting his arm around her. “God, let me help you.”

    The princess shook her head. “It will pass. It always does.” She took deep, painful breathes, steadying herself. “Please, just let me rest a moment.”

    “What’s wrong with you?” Lukien insisted. “Tell me, please.”

    Cassandra’s expression was poisonous. “There is nothing wrong with me. Just my monthly cycles, that’s all. And don’t you dare tell anyone about this, do you understand? Don’t utter a word of it.”

    “My lady . . .”

    “Not a word,” sputtered Cassandra. She closed her eyes to compose herself. The worst of it seemed to pass as quickly as it had come. Lukien released her, watching her fretfully. Carefully she got to her feet, her head drooping, one hand still pressed against her abdomen. “I must get back to the house,” she said. “Help me to my horse.”

    Unsure what to do, Lukien obeyed, getting the weakened Cassandra into the saddle. He checked her for steadiness, then mounted his own horse. Cassandra found the strength to ride and urged her mount forward, returning the way they’d come. Lukien followed closely, watching her. She was already much better, but her color hadn’t returned and her shoulders remained slumped. He had never seen a moon cycle do that to a woman, and he was sure the princess was lying. But he said nothing as they rode, and eventually they arrived back at the lake where the picnic was still going on. They were on the far side of the water, where Cassandra had been painting. As they neared the gathering, Cassandra straightened in her saddle, putting on a counterfeit smile. Jancis saw them at once and came to greet them.

    “Did you have a nice ride?” the maid asked, taking the reins of Cassandra’s horse.

    “Yes, nice,” said Cassandra. She frowned at her companion. “But I want to go inside now. I’m tired.”

    The worry on Jancis’ face was plain. “Get down,” she ordered, helping Cassandra off the horse. Lukien dropped down after her, shadowing her as Jancis led her away. It was then he noticed the painting, still sitting undisturbed on its easel.

    “Let me get your painting for you,” he said, going towards it.

    “No!” shrieked Cassandra. She wrenched free of Jancis and dashed forward. Lukien had picked up the painting, its canvas cover still draped over it. He looked at Cassandra in shock.

    “What’s wrong with you? Just get inside. I’ll look after this for you.”

    With a lunge Cassandra snatched the painting out of his hands, but it slipped from her grip and fell to the ground—just in time for a breeze to blow off its canvas covering. Cassandra went as still as stone. She glanced down at the exposed painting, then up at Lukien. Lukien’s eyes studied the painting, and for a moment he didn’t recognize himself in the work. But when he did, he gasped. Slowly he knelt down and picked it up. It was him, sitting by the water in his golden armor.

    “Oh, my God,” Cassandra gasped. She put her hand to her mouth, mortified. “Jancis . . .”

    Jancis hurried forward and took the painting from Lukien.

    The knight and the princess stared at each other. Cassandra’s face collapsed with grief.

    “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m . ..” When she couldn’t find her voice, she turned and dashed away. Jancis lingered a moment longer, offering Lukien an apologetic smile.

    “Don’t tell anyone, all right?” the girl asked. “Please, she’s embarrassed enough.”

    “I... I won’t,” Lukien said.

    He watched Jancis go after the princess. Across the pond, Trager was looking at him. But Lukien didn’t care. Something told him his life had just become a lot more complicated.

    .s the morning sun rose over Koth, Akeela walked alone through a field of bricks and limestone, enchanted by his strange surroundings. A mountain of quarried stone lay to one side of him; to the other, a span of earth cleared of trees and grass. The foundation of a tower had been laid, and the outline of a main building could be seen cut into the dirt, a huge, rectangular footprint that could easily swallow most of the chancelleries. Akeela arranged his cape around his shoulders to stave off the morning chill, his chin held high with satisfaction. Not far away, the constructs of Koth threw shadows onto the work site. He could see Lionkeep on its hill, surrounded by the government halls of Chancellery Square, and knew that he had picked the perfect place for his Cathedral of Knowledge.

    “Perfect,” he whispered over the breeze. No one heard him. He had come alone, except for Breck, who was on the other side of the site marveling at the mountain of limestone. It was an ambitious project and Breck had voiced his doubts, but upon seeing the work that had been accomplished in the past few weeks, the soldier was becoming a convert. They all were, even the stodgy lords of the House of Dukes, and that pleased Akeela. His enthusiasm for his library was contagious.

    He strode through the site toward the foundation of the tower. The first inklings of its construction revealed a round base that would one day rise high above the main building, looking down upon the rest of Koth. It would be a symbol to all Lьrians, calling them to knowledge and its bond-breaking power. A thrill went through Akeela as he studied the tower’s base. For a moment he wondered if his father would have been proud of him, then decided not. His father had been a strong king, but not a visionary. The same blindness that had made peace with Reec impossible had also robbed him of dreams. Akeela’s good mood flattened.

    “He would have said this was folly.”

    But it wasn’t. Now Akeela would have to prove it, not only to his father’s ghost but to the entire world. Even to Cassandra. She had laughed at his plans for his library. It had been an innocent chuckle, but it had hurt Akeela. He worried that his new wife would be like his dead father—pragmatic and short-sighted.

    When Cassandra arrived from Hes he would take her here, he reasoned. He would show her the tower being built and the enormous main library, and she would marvel at the number of books it would hold, and realize then that he was building something grand. After years of awkwardness, he was finally becoming an impressive young man. He was sure it was the reason Cassandra had agreed to their marriage so quickly. She had seen the emerging greatness in him.

    “You’re right, my lord,” called a voice from across the plain.

    Startled, Akeela turned to see Breck trudging toward him. “Eh? Right about what?”

    “It’s impressive,” said the soldier. “It will be splendid when it’s done.”

    Akeela sighed, letting his eyes drift over the site. So far it really wasn’t much, just a gaping wound in the earth with some rocks strewn around, but it was huge and had a good view of the city, and that made it impressive. Already it could stir the heart.

    “I wish Lukien were here to see it,” said Akeela. “And Cassandra.”

    Breck looked at him curiously. “When will you be sending for them, my lord? Soon?”

    “In a day or so.”

    “Ah, so you’ve made ready for your wedding then,” said Breck. He gave his king a small smile.

    Akeela laughed, understanding the man’s meaning. “I have to admit I’m a little nervous. But Graig and the others have been making most of the arrangements, so I haven’t been thinking about it. Not about the wedding, anyway. But I have been thinking about Cassandra. I’m going to bring her here as soon as she arrives. I told her about the library when I was in Hes, but I don’t think she grasped it. She needs to see it to understand.”

    “I’m sure she’ll be impressed, my lord.”

    A flash of movement caught Akeela’s eye. He turned toward the city and saw two horsemen riding forward, approaching the library site. The lead man was instantly recognizable. Graig, the Head Warden, wore his typical gold and crimson uniform. He waved to Akeela across the distance. An excited smile bloomed on Akeela’s face.

    “Who’s that with Graig?” Breck asked.

    “That,” said Akeela hopefully, “just might be my new librarian.”

    Riding a pace behind Graig was a man not much his junior, a fiftyish fellow with dark hair and a brightly-colored cape caked with the dust of the road. He had a thin face with darting, eager eyes. The clothes he wore were foreign to Akeela, full of crimson and silk, bespeaking someplace far away. Akeela had expected him to be dressed as a Marnan, but the man was different than he’d imagined, like a mismatched collection of colorful rags. Atop his head was a threadbare hat, wide-brimmed with a golden band, and his cape was fastened around his neck with a be-jeweled clasp that seemed extravagant against his shabby shirt. But most curious of all was the thing on his shoulder. Perched on his right side, its eyes wide with mischief, was a small, sable-haired monkey. The creature’s head bobbed excitedly, taking in the strange surroundings as it chattered in its master’s ear. The man took a nutmeat from his pocket to quiet the monkey, which the creature happily devoured.

    “That’s your librarian?” asked Breck. “My lord is joking, surely.”

    Akeela cringed. This man was nothing like he’d expected. He had come highly recommended by the Prince of Marn. Supposedly, he was a scholar of great renown. But seeing him made that hard to believe. His trampish clothes and silly grin disappointed Akeela. He raised his hand to Graig, beckoning him closer. At least they weren’t late. Graig had promised to bring their guest to the site the moment he’d awoken. When at last the duo reached the waiting king, Graig slid down from his horse and gestured to the stranger.

    “My lord,” he said simply, “this is Figgis.”

    “And friend, apparently,” said Akeela. “Good day, sir. Thank you for coming so far to see me.”

    The odd man surveyed the area as he said, “You’re welcome, my lord. A pleasure, really. Looks like you’ve got something big going on here.”

    Graig cleared his throat. “Fellow, you’re addressing the King of Lьria.”

    Figgis got down from his horse, then offered the king a small bow. “I’m sorry, King Akeela. I’m not accustomed to meeting royalty.”

    “Indeed?” asked Akeela. “Yet you worked for Prince Jarek?”

    “Worked for, yes. Spoke to, almost never. I was his clerk, my lord. That means I spent my days surrounded by books and ledgers. I had very little company. I’m afraid it’s made me a bit unpolished.”

    Breck gave Akeela a sideways glance. Akeela ignored it, trying to smile.

    “Well, you’re here now,” said the king. He looked him up and down. “Your clothes look travel-worn. Didn’t you arrive last night?”

    “I did, my lord, and slept like a baby in your home. Thank you.”

    Akeela’s smile waned. Obviously, Figgis didn’t think much of bathing or washing his clothes. He decided to look at the monkey instead.

    “And your little friend?” he asked. “What’s his name?”

    “This is Peko,” replied Figgis. He put out his hand and let the tiny creature climb on, then watched as it wrapped its long tail around his wrist and fell backwards, dangling like an ornament.

    “He’s charming,” said Akeela, laughing. He came closer, enchanted by the animal. Figgis noticed his interest and held the monkey out for him.

    “Here, give me your hand,” Figgis offered. “He’ll climb right on.”

    Akeela drew back. “I don’t know. His teeth look pretty sharp.”

    “Ah, he won’t bite you, King Akeela. Go on.”

    Akeela did as instructed, putting out his hand for the monkey. Without hesitation Peko leapt forward, grabbing hold of Akeela’s hand and wrapping his quick tail about his wrist. The sensation of warm fur made Akeela chuckle. Carefully he stroked the monkey’s head.

    “He’s so soft. And look at those eyes.”

    The little monkey cocked its head, directing Akeela to scratch its ear.

    “He’s wonderful,” said Akeela. Already he was growing to like the strangers. “Now tell me, Figgis. What do you know of my project here?”

    The man snapped up the brim of his hat and glanced around. “Well, it’s big. But where’s the library going to be?”

    “You’re standing in it.”

    “What, all of this?” Figgis looked aghast. “You mean this whole area?”

    “That’s right,” said Akeela. “What do you think?”

    “Gods above, it’s enormous.” Figgis twirled around to study the site. “This’ll be the biggest library in the world.”

    “Many times the biggest, I should think,” said Akeela. “It will be filled with books from across the continent, a place where scholars can meet and discuss great ideas. And I need someone to run it, someone with brains and vision.” The young king grimaced. “To be honest, I’m not sure you’re up to the job.”

    The man straightened indignantly. “My lord, in Marn I am a renowned scholar and mathematician. I may not look like much . . .”

    “No, forgive me,” said Akeela quickly. “That was rude of me. It’s just that you’re not what I expected. When Prince Jarek wrote to me about you, he left me with a different impression. I was expecting someone . . .” He shrugged. “Well, different.”

    “If you mean my appearance, my lord, I am not offended. I’m often thought of as odd.”

    “Odd? Oh, no,” said Akeela. Then he thought again. “Well, _ves ” He looked down at the creature in his hands. “I mean, after all, a monkey?”

    “A friend,” Figgis corrected. “Everyone needs a friend, my lord.” Figgis put out his hand and whistled, summoning Peko to him. The monkey obeyed at once, leaping between Akeela and its master and scurrying up the librarian’s arm. “Go ahead, my lords,” said Figgis, addressing them all. “You must have questions. Ask me anything. As I said, I’m very good with numbers.”

    “Eighteen times twenty-seven,” said Breck quickly.

    “Ridiculous. A hard one, I mean.” Figgis turned to Akeela. “My lord?”

    Akeela thought for a moment, then challenged, “Six hundred eighty-four times nine hundred twenty-seven.”

    “Six hundred thousand sixty-eight,” replied Figgis.

    The others went blank. Akeela asked Breck, “Is that right?”

    “Oh, it’s right,” answered Figgis. “I assure you, my figures are always accurate.”

    Akeela laughed and said, “So you’re good with numbers. But I need a man of ideas, Figgis. Someone who can fill my library with books. Do you know much about books?”

    “Books?” blurted Graig. “You should see the crates of them he arrived with, my lord. Not a stitch of clean clothes, just stacks and stacks of parchments and scrolls.”

    “My collection,” Figgis explained. “I don’t go anywhere without my books.”

    “You seem quite certain that I’ll hire you, fellow,” Akeela observed. “You came all this way with your things. What makes you think I won’t turn you away?”

    Figgis gestured to their surroundings. “Look at this place. You’re obviously pouring treasure into it. You want the best person you can find to run your library, King Akeela. That’s me.”

    Graig snickered. “That’s a bit cocky.”

    “Not at all,” said Figgis. “I’m accomplished, that’s all.”

    “Tell me,” said Akeela.

    “My lord, before working for Prince Jarek I was head scholar at the College of Science in Norvor. That’s when I began collecting books, and I venture to say I have a bigger collection than you yourself. I have a nose for finding special papers, and I invented my own cataloging system.“

    “So you’re an inventor, too,” said Graig dryly.

    “Yes. I am also an astronomer and can predict the movements of the heavens.” Figgis looked at Akeela. “Science, my lord. Not theology.”

    “I understand,” said Akeela. “Go on.”

    “Well, he’s an expert on monkeys,” said Graig.

    Breck laughed. Figgis scowled.

    “I’m an expert on many things,” said the librarian. “I know cultures and I speak four languages, and I’m an authority on Jador, my lord.”

    “Jador?” Akeela’s brow creased. Jador was a mystery to the rest of the continent, a little known territory across the Desert of Tears. In all Akeela’s life, he had never met a Jadori, nor anyone who had. He was immediately intrigued by Figgis’ claim. “What do you know about Jador? Have you been there?”

    “No, but I have studied it all my life. It’s a passion of mine. I have some Jadori texts, the prize of my collection. And I’ve got some tools from there as well. I even have a Jadori scimitar.” Figgis put up a finger for Peko to grab. “Even my little companion here came from Jador. A breeder I knew in Ganjor gave him to me.”

    “Really?” Akeela was instantly fascinated. As a lover of books himself, he had read many fanciful tales of the Jadori. “Is it true they ride lizards?”

    “They’re called kreel,” said Figgis. “And yes, it’s true. Look at this . . .” He dug under his shirt and fished out a necklace. On it was a serrated tooth, as long as a shark’s. “This is a kreel’s tooth. I got it from a Jadori trader when I was in my twenties.”

    Akeela was wide-eyed. He reached out and ran a finger over the tooth’s edge, feeling its sharpness. Pride flickered in Figgis’ eyes.

    “If I take this position I’d like to continue my study of Jador,” he said.

    Akeela looked up. “You mean if I give you the position.”

    Figgis nodded. “As you say.”

    He was an arrogant man, certainly, and his eccentricities were obvious, yet Akeela was intrigued.

    “Walk with me, Figgis,” he said, then strode away from the others. After a moment he heard Figgis’ footsteps on the gravel, following. Akeela didn’t turn around to summon Graig or Breck; he wanted to talk to the stranger alone.

    “My lord?” asked Figgis. “Where are we going?”

    Akeela didn’t answer. Instead he led Figgis toward the giant heap of quarried stone, which his workmen had been bringing to the site in cartloads. The pile was now well over the height of a house, and would only grow larger as the project continued. Akeela paused before it, considering its enormity.

    “Look at that,” he said. “Figgis, I need someone who can help me turn this pile of rocks into a great library.”

    “I’m not an architect, my lord.”

    “Don’t be obtuse. You know what I mean.” Akeela smiled at him. “You seem like a very learned man. There’s a lot of knowledge locked in that head of yours, and I’m sure it would be useful. But this project will require more than just brains.”

    “What do you mean?”

    Akeela thought for a moment. How could he explain a dream?

    “This isn’t going to be just a library,” he said finally. “I call this my Cathedral of Knowledge. It’s going to be a beacon, a place that isn’t reserved just for scholars and royalty. It’s for the people, Figgis. All the people. I want this library to help me change things. For that I need a man of vision.”

    Figgis gave a wicked grin. “Vision is a dangerous thing, my lord.”

    “So then I need a brave man, as well. Someone who can take the rough weather of politics and not be scared away. I won’t lie to you; there are men in the House of Dukes that will oppose me. But so far they’ve given me the funding I need, because I’ve made peace with Reec and they admire me for that. I don’t know how long their goodwill will last, though. When it fades, I may have to fight them to keep this project alive. And I’ll need someone to stand with me.”

    The librarian removed his hat and ran his fingertips over the brim, considering Akeela’s words. His big bald spot shone in the sunlight. His eyes shifted to his simian companion. Peko seemed to sense his master’s dilemma and began to squawk. Figgis nodded at the monkey.

    “Don’t tell me he’s talking to you,” said Akeela.

    “Let’s just say Peko and I understand each other.”

    “Really? All right, then. What does he tell you to do?”

    Before Figgis could answer, Graig appeared over his shoulder. The Head Warden waved to get Akeela’s attention.

    “Pardon me, my lord, but I think you should be heading back now. It’s almost time for Mercy Court.”

    “I’ll be with you presently, Graig,” said Akeela. He continued to stare at Figgis. “Well, old fellow? What’s your answer? Are you up to the challenge of my library?”

    Figgis put his hat back on and glanced around. “I’ve been a lot of places, my lord. I’ve seen a lot of things and had a lot of jobs. I’m old and I’m tired, and I could be dead by the time this project of yours is completed.”

    Akeela’s expression fell.

    “Still,” Figgis went on, “Sooner or later a man has to settle down and call a place home. Let’s build your cathedral, my lord.”

    IVkeela arrived at the Chancellery of Justice five minutes late for Mercy Court. His small tardiness was punished by a logjam of petitioners.

    Mercy Court was one of Akeela’s first and best accomplishments, a chance for the people to see and speak to their young king and to seek pardons for crimes both petty and large. Since taking the throne a few months ago, Mercy Court had been a weekly ritual for Akeela. He would arrive at the Chancellery of Justice, take his place in the red leather chair usually reserved for Chancellor Nils, and wait for the petitioners to fill the courtroom. It had been a fairly simple thing when it began, never taking more than a few hours. But word had spread quickly of the new king’s benevolence, and now his weekly ritual was an all-day duty. Today, with a huge congregation already gathered outside the chancellery, Akeela knew he wouldn’t return to Lion-keep until sundown. And that was the rule of Mercy Court; that the king would listen to petitions until the sun fell. Those unlucky enough to miss his judgement could return the following week or take their chances with Chancellor Nils and his judges.

    This day, as Akeela made his way through the chancellery, a crowd of Lьrians pushed toward him with gifts and offerings and petitions written on parchment, begging him to listen to their pleas. As always, Akeela told the crowd that they would each be seen in turn, and would receive his fairest judgment. Not wanting to be corrupted, he politely declined the gifts shoved under his nose, even refusing an apple tart an old woman had baked. At the other end of the hall, Chancellor Nils waited, his old, grim face tight with anxiety. Nils was a good man and a fair judge, and he had served Akeela’s father wisely. But like many of Lьria’s chancellors, he had trouble with the new king’s idealism, and he did not like Mercy Court at all. Nils bowed cordially as Akeela approached, then had his gray-robed assistants open the courtroom doors. Akeela pushed his way through the throngs and greeted Nils with a smile. The old chancellor returned the grin crookedly.

    “Another crowd this morning, my lord,” said Nils. He stepped aside for Akeela to pass.

    “Yes. It’s good to see the people coming out, don’t you think, Chancellor?”

    “It’s like bedlam in a broom closet, my lord.”

    Akeela walked into the courtroom. The chancellor’s assistants closed the wooden doors behind him, and suddenly the world went silent. The trial chamber of the Justice Chancellery was a grand, even frightful place. A majestic judge’s bench stood at the far end, looming darkly over the petition box, a small, barred area with a single wooden chair. There were rows of benches for the petitioners to use while they waited, and busts of past chancellors lined the rosewood walls, staring down at Akeela with cold detachment. Akeela made his way to the bench and sat down in the leather chair. He suddenly felt imperious, then remembered why he had begun Mercy Court. In Lьria, men like Nils held all the power.

    “All right, bring them in,” he told the assistants. The men in their charcoal robes opened the courtroom doors again. The petitioners surged forward. They had each been given a wooden tag with a number painted on it, but that didn’t stop them from fighting for the front seats. Akeela settled in for a long day.

    The first hour was unremarkable. Akeela heard the cases of farmers and housewives, coopers and landowners and merchants, all with similar gripes. They were mostly petty squabbles, but Akeela gave them all his full attention, never letting the dullness of their stories make him irritable. He loved the work of Mercy Court and gave out judgements liberally, making sure that no one guilty ever suffered cruelly, or that an innocent should bear an unfair burden.

    But Mercy Court wasn’t all about petty squabbles. There were real crimes to be dealt with, particularly thievery. Just before noon, Akeela heard the case of a man named Regial, who had been convicted of stealing sheep two years ago and had since served in Borior, Koth’s infamous prison. Regial had gone into prison at the age of twenty-three. Now, only two years later, he easily looked Akeela’s senior, with gaunt skin bleached white by prison walls and speckled eyes that searched the courtroom suspiciously. He licked dry lips as he stood before Akeela in the petition box, unable or unwilling to sit down. He had no barrister to defend him, just Assistant Chancellor D’marak, who read all the charges against prisoners and who, presumably from his tone, thought Regial deserving of his steep sentence. Akeela looked at Regial curiously, wondering how such a young man could waste away in prison. His father’s justice had been harsh. He offered him a glass of water.

    “Here,” said Akeela, holding out his own glass. “Drink.”

    But Regial was manacled and couldn’t come forward, so Akeela gestured to D’marak. “Give this to him,” he directed.

    The Assistant Chancellor raised his eyebrows for a moment, then reached up to the bench to take the glass from Akeela. He handed it to Regial, who was barely able to bring the glass to his lips for the cuffs around his wrists. Sloppily, he drank the entire contents, then let D’marak take the glass away. The Assistant Chancellor put the glass down with some annoyance before continuing to read the charges in his book.

    “As I said, my king, he has served two years of his eight year sentence. He’s here because he heard about Mercy Court and wouldn’t give his jailors any peace until he spoke to you.” D’marak scowled at Regial. “Well, you’re here now, thief. Speak your plea.”

    Regial shuffled forward awkwardly. His jaundiced eyes looked up at the bench. “My king, I don’t know what to say. How do I plead for myself?”

    Akeela replied, “This is Mercy Court. Tell me why you deserve mercy.”

    “Because I’ve served two years in Borior,” said Regial. “That should be reason enough to free any man.”

    “Your sentence is eight years,” D’marak reminded him. “Now stop wasting the king’s time.”

    Regial became flustered. He held up his manacled hands. “My king, I am twenty-five years old. I stole some sheep and have regretted it every moment since. But I’m fit and I can work, and I shouldn’t be shut away like some leper.”

    “You stole nineteen sheep, to be precise,” said D’marak. “From the Baron Glass’ own herd.”

    “Ah well,” said Regial with a grin. “Not the smartest move, no.”

    The courtroom laughed. So did Akeela.

    “If Baron Glass found out you’d been freed, he’d demand payment for his stolen sheep,” he said.

    “He got his bloody sheep back,” said Regial. “When I was caught.”

    “Still, you’ve a debt to pay,” said Akeela. “You say you’re able-bodied, and you look fit enough to me. A little thin maybe, but nothing some food and sunlight couldn’t cure.”

    Regial’s face brightened. “I’m free, then?”

    “I see no reason for you to waste away in Borior,” said Akeela.

    Assistant Chancellor D’marak cleared his throat loudly, shooting Akeela a cautioning glance. Akeela looked at him askance.

    “Is something wrong, D’marak?”

    “My king,” said D’marak, “this man is a felon, beyond redemption. He got eight years because he deserves it.” He tapped his book. “It’s all in the records. He made his livelihood as a thief. If you let him go he’ll just steal again.”

    Akeela thought for a moment, leaning back in the big chair. Mercy Court wasn’t supposed to be a mockery, and releasing dangerous men was the last thing he wanted to do. But Regial didn’t look dangerous to Akeela. He looked dirty and that was all, the way Lukien had looked as a boy.

    “Regial,” he said, “Mercy Court means a great deal to me, but it’s also important to all these others. If I release someone who then goes out and repeats the same crimes, it would ruin this court. I’d have to stop granting leniency and hearing petitions, and then everyone would lose. Do you take my meaning?”

    The young man nodded quickly. “I do, my king.”

    “So you won’t return to thieving?”

    Regial crossed his heart. “I promise.”

    “Promise,” sneered D’marak. “King Akeela, please . . .”

    Akeela held up his hand. “It’s done. Release him and take him to Lionkeep.” He glowered at Regial. “We’re going to put you to work in the castle, fellow. I’m going to keep an eye on you. And I warn you—I know every stick of silverware in my home. If so much as a spoon goes missing, it’s back to Borior with you.”

    Regial smiled, D’marak sighed, and the crowd of petitioners broke into murmurs, surprised by Akeela’s trust.

    “Thank you, my king,” said Regial, bowing. “I won’t disappoint you, you’ll see.”

    “See that you don’t,” said Akeela. He was pleased with himself, pleased with the respect he saw reflected at him from the crowd.

    For the rest of the afternoon, the petitioners were ordinary. Two more prisoners were brought in from Borior, but neither of them had stolen from a baron and that made them less appealing to the crowd. D’marak, still stung by Akeela’s refusal of his advice, remained quiet throughout the proceedings, simply reading charges and answering Akeela’s inquiries. Akeela could sense D’marak’s disquietude.

    Finally, near sundown, D’marak called the last number for the day.

    “Forty-three.”

    A man stood up from the crowd, his wooden number tag in hand. He was well dressed and groomed, with shining jet black hair combed carefully to one side and a well tailored jacket around his slim frame. He stepped forward, bowing first to D’marak then to Akeela. He presented himself with an earnest smile and a whiff of nervousness.

    “Thank you for hearing my petition, my king,” he said. “My name is Gorlon, from Koth.”

    “Welcome, Gorlon,” said Akeela. It was late in the day now and he was weary, but he was^ determined to give this last case his full attention. “You look afraid. Don’t be. This is Mercy Court, after all.” He glanced at D’marak. “Assistant Chancellor, what are the particulars?”

    D’marak paged through his book until he came to number forty-three. Half-laughing, he said, “Adultery, my lord.”

    Akeela’s smile waned. “Adultery? Is that true, Gorlon?”

    Gorlon swallowed. “I’m sorry to say so, my lord.”

    In Lьria, adultery wasn’t a crime like rape or thievery, but it was a transgression for which a man could expect restitution. He could put his wife away for it, or demand that damages be paid as compensation for his broken home, if not his broken heart. So far in Mercy Court Akeela had dealt with thieves and whores and even a rapist, but this was his first adulterer. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he disliked the man.

    “I don’t think we should waste your time with this, my king,” said D’marak. “I’m sure Gorlon here is sorry.” He turned to the young man. “My ledger says the offended wants twenty sovereigns for damages. You can pay half that, yes?”

    Gorlon nodded. “Yes, gladly.”

    D’marak made a mark in his book. “Fine. Then we’re done here, I think. My king, if you’d—”

    “Stop,” said Akeela. He looked at D’marak acidly. “We’re not done here, Assistant Chancellor.”

    D’marak blanched, and Gorlon, who hadn’t expected the king’s tone, stepped back a pace.

    “Explain yourself, Gorlon,” Akeela ordered. He leaned forward, gazing down at the man. “I want to hear about your crime.”

    “My king, there’s really nothing to explain,” stammered Gor-lon. “I loved a woman who was married. That’s all. It was my foolishness that brought me to this place.”

    “And your lust,” added Akeela.

    “Aye, and that,” agreed Gorlon. “But I did the lady no harm. She was with me willingly, and has even told her husband so.”

    “No harm?” said Akeela. “You believe that?”

    Gorlon nodded. “Yes, my lord. But I don’t have the twenty sovereigns to pay the man I’ve wronged. If ten is agreed . . .”

    “It is not agreed, sir,” said Akeela. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples against a rising headache. The way this arrogant Gorlon pranced into court. . .

    “My king,” said D’marak. “Why not let him pay the ten sovereigns and be done with it? It’s late, after all. And it’s only adultery.”

    “Only adultery?” Akeela erupted. He stood up suddenly, forcing a gasp from the courtroom. “Adultery is a crime in Lьria.”

    D’marak chuckled. “It’s hardly the same as murder, King Akeela.”

    Akeela turned to Gorlon. “What is marriage?”

    “My lord?”

    “Come on, man, tell me. What is marriage?”

    “It’s . . .” Gorlon searched for an answer. “It’s a union, my lord.”

    “What kind of union?” snapped Akeela.

    Gorlon was lost. “My lord?”

    “It’s a legal union! It’s two people committing themselves to each other before the Court of Lьria. Before me. And it isn’t something that can be broken just because a man feels an urge or a woman agrees to spread her legs.”

    “My lord, I never ...”

    “Quiet.” Akeela turned to D’marak. “What is the husband asking for? Twenty sovereigns?”

    “Yes,” said D’marak. “Quite a bit, actually.”

    Was it a lot, Akeela wondered? How much was a marriage worth? And how much should this scraper pay to repair one?

    Suddenly Akeela didn’t know himself. All the mercy blew out of him like a wind. He saw Gorlon standing before him, prideful and handsome, cocksure that he could come to Mercy Court and bargain a better deal, and Akeela remembered how awkward he had been as a youth. In his mind’s eye, it was all he could see.

    “Right,” he said, nodding. “Gorlon, you will pay the husband you wronged forty sovereigns.”

    “Forty?” Gorlon shrieked. “But my lord, he’s only asking for twenty!”

    “Forty,” Akeela repeated. “And don’t raise your voice to me.”

    Gorlon looked at D’marak for support, but the assistant only stared at the king, his mouth agape.

    “You think I’m being cruel, don’t you?” Akeela asked the petitioner. “You’re lucky I don’t toss you into Borior.”

    “King Akeela, please . . .”

    “Look at you, standing there in your fine clothes with your perfect face. I’ve seen fellows like you all my life. You think that smile of yours lets you get away with anything.”

    Stunned, Gorlon said nothing.

    “Well, not this time.” Akeela rose from the bench. “D’marak, forty sovereigns. Not a penny less.”

    He left the courtroom, suffering the shocked expressions of the crowd.

    /ieutenant Will Trager shook cold rain from his face, cursing his bad luck. The storms that had surged through the valley the past few days had turned the road to muck and swallowed the sun with clouds, and though he suspected it was very near noon, he could barely see the path past the blinding rain. He drew back the reins of his horse, bringing the beast to a stop. A canopy of sable hung overhead, windswept and miserable. Trager’s uniform clung limply to his body, soaked through with rain. Behind him, the muddy road snaked through the forest, back toward his company and the warm fires of camp. Ahead of him lay a fork in the road, both branches leading to darkness. The thick forest weaved a mesh of tangled limbs, warning him away.

    Trager shook his head, muttering to himself and hating Lukien for sending him scouting. The captain and the others were back at camp, enjoying food and the cover of pavilions, while he was out in the storm, enduring the cold and filth. For three days they had traveled, heading west toward Koth, and for three days it had rained, slowing them to a crawl. Worse, the swelling river Kryss had flooded the Novo Valley, forcing them to detour down unfamiliar roads. It had taken a lot of scouting to get this far, and Trager was sick of the duty. He was tired of the rain and the endless mud, but mostly he was tired of Lukien and his orders. Beads of rain fell into his eyes as he considered the forking road.

    “Bloody hell, this figures. Which way now?”

    Only the wind replied, lashing his face. He suddenly felt alone, and the murkiness unnerved him. Again he thought of his arrogant captain, and his patience snapped.

    “God damn it, I’m a lieutenant! Why send me out in this swill?” Then he laughed bitterly, adding, “Because the captain is a bloody bastard, that’s why.”

    He could turn back, he supposed, but then he would have failed in this simple task, and that would give Lukien pleasure. So he squinted through the rain, surveying the routes carefully. Both directions looked equally eerie; not at all hospitable, especially since they had the princess with them. And Lukien had told him to find the safest route. But Trager wasn’t even sure where they were. Somewhere lost in Reec, south of the Novo Valley.

    “Left then,” he decided. It was more southerly and would probably lead them closer to Koth. He urged his mount forward again, his mind polluted with thoughts of Lukien.

    The captain had been very quiet lately. Since leaving Hes, he had hardly spoken at all. He simply rode at the point of the company, occasionally giving orders to the men and checking on Princess Cassandra’s carriage, which rolled along in the middle of the company, comfortably housing the young woman and the maid Jancis. Despite the wind and rain, Trager smiled as he thought about Cassandra. She was comely, more than Akeela deserved, and the image in his mind made him hunger. He didn’t wonder why Lukien was always looking at her—the answer was obvious. The lust in Lukien’s eyes was plain enough for anyone who cared to see it. And Trager didn’t blame his captain for coveting Cassandra, either. He was a man, with a man’s urges. To Trager, that was forgivable. What wasn’t forgivable—what haunted Trager day and night and had for years—was the arrogance with which the captain carried himself. Apparently he thought nothing of craving the king’s property, because he was like a brother to the stupid Akeela and the king was blind to everything. When it came to Lukien, Akeela was like a little boy, hero-worshipping an undeserving bag of pus.

    “It’s time to puncture that bag, I say,” muttered Trager.

    He would do it with a lance. When the spring tourney came, he would be ready for it. Finally, he would tarnish the vaunted knight of bronze.

    Trager rode on, heartened by the image of Lukien dangling from the tip of his lance. Overhead the tangle of branches thickened, blocking out the worst of the rain. He would ride another mile before turning back, he decided. Ahead of him, the forest road widened slightly. Trager congratulated himself for choosing the right direction. Reecian roads were good, at least as good as those in Lьria, but the rainy season turned them all into slop. This year, the rains had come earlier than expected. A slick of mud blanketed the road, making travel hard for his horse. The stallion’s hooves disappeared into the earth with a sucking sound. Trager listened to the noise, wondering if he should stop. Then he heard something else. A hissing sound, very faint. His eyes seized on something dead ahead. Abruptly he jerked back the reins.

    For a moment he saw nothing, then caught a glimpse of something green slipping through the mud. The darkness of the storm and trees shaded the road. He held his breath, afraid to make the smallest sound, realizing that a garmy was ahead, one of the rarest and most deadly creatures that called the forest home.

    The creature lay very still. Trager mimicked its silence, not daring to move. Thankfully, his horse had yet to see the beast. Carefully he scanned the surrounding trees, looking for others, then saw two more pairs of yellow eyes glowing in the thickets. His heart thundering, Trager considered his options. He had to flee, that was plain enough, but garmys could be quick, and might strike if he tried to run. He pretended to ignore the creatures, knowing they would come as close as possible before striking. Predictably, the one in the road began to slither forward.

    It moved like a cat through the mud, its reptilian body barely visible, its spiked tail rising like a dorsal fin above the water. Beneath the filth, two webbed hands pulled it forward. Its head was smooth, covered with scales, and its lidless eyes shone a sickly gold. Each swish of its tail brought its wide mouth closer, while its brothers in the trees watched in silence, ready to spring.

    “Mother of Fate,” Trager whispered. He knew the tales of the armys, how they looked like people and preyed on human flesh, nd how they could hypnotize a man with their preternatural eyes. Now, caught in their watery nest, he believed every word. His horse finally caught the scent of the monsters and began to snort wildly. Trager squeezed his thighs against its flanks to quiet it Only one thought occurred to him—escape.

    “Now!”

    Drawing his sword in one hand, he wrenched his mount around with the other, bringing the stallion snorting to its hinds. The garmy in the road sprang forward; its hideous face filling Trager’s vision. He swung his sword wide, catching the creature’s neck and slicing the head from its sinewy body. A shriek filled the air, then silence. Trager spun his horse around. The garmys in the trees dropped from the branches. Trager heard them sprinting through the mud. But his horse was already bolting away. He turned to see the creatures scurrying over their fallen brother, slowly dropping back. They were monstrously ugly—like monkeys in the skin of snakes.

    “Hurry!” Trager urged his mount, praying his horse wouldn’t stumble and break a leg.

    wo hours later, Trager approached the camp. His ride back had been uneventful, and he had neither seen nor heard anything more of the garmys. He was proud of himself for having slain one of the beasts, and was looking forward to boasting about it when he returned. The fear that had seized him earlier was gone now, and all he could think about was Lukien, and how the captain would look when he told him about the garmys.

    But not far from the camp, Trager remembered how much he hated Lukien, and how unendurable his life had become in the Bronze Knight’s shadow. He remembered also how much Akeela loved Lukien, and how Lukien was a hero in Lьria, something that Trager would never be. And then he remembered how Lukien always took the point when they traveled, careful to protect the king’s new bride.

    When at last he entered the camp, he reported directly to Lukien. He told the captain how he’d scouted the forward area, and that there was no trouble on the roads save for the muck that had plagued them for days.

    He mentioned nothing of the garmys.

    J_he next morning, Lukien gave the order to break camp and led the company once again toward Koth. It was a clear morning, the first any of them had seen in days, and Lukien took the sunlight as a good omen. Now they might finally start making some real progress. As was his custom, he rode at the head of the company, with Trager and the other Royal Chargers behind him. Cassandra’s royal carriage rumbled along in the center. So far, it had been an uncomfortable ride for all of them, and Cassandra’s once lovely carriage was now spattered with mud and windblown leaves. The roads were still soaked with rain, which made traveling slow, but as the sun rose higher the day began to warm and the puddles slowly dried, revealing the road beneath. Lukien kept a relaxed pace, careful not to tax their horses. If they were lucky, they would reach the Lьrian border in a day or so. From there it was at least another full day’s ride to Koth.

    To Lukien, it seemed like a lifetime ago that he had been with Cassandra at the picnic. Since then, he had seen precious little of her. She had been shunning him, and he supposed it was embarrassment that kept her silent. He had tried several times to speak to her while in Hes, but always she had feigned tiredness or some pressing business, and she never seemed to require his bodyguard services anymore, the way she had during their first weeks together. Now she was lost to him, and the loss disturbed Lukien. Soon enough, he would turn her over to Akeela. They would marry, and he would be forever cursed to see her with another man. Irritated, Lukien gave an angry sigh. The sound of it summoned an unwanted visitor.

    “Captain?” asked Trager. The lieutenant rode up alongside him. “Is something wrong?”

    “Nothing’s wrong,” answered Lukien, struggling to be civil. The last month with Trager had been unbearable. “I was just thinking.”

    “You should be pleased,” said Trager. “We’re making good progress. And look at that sky. Not a cloud.”

    Lukien nodded. “Yes. Finally.” He looked over at his lieutenant. Trager wore a peculiar grin. He asked, “What are you smiling at?”

    “The day, Captain,” replied Trager. “That’s all. And I’m glad to be getting closer to home.”

    “Mmm, yes,” agreed Lukien. “But the roads are still bad. We won’t cross the border till tomorrow at the earliest. There’s a fork up ahead, you say?”

    Trager looked around, seemingly puzzled. “It was dark in the rain,” he mused. “I can’t quite recall. But it’s around here somewhere.”

    A few minutes later, they found it. Lukien considered the fork, not liking the looks of either route. Both were canopied with trees and laden with mud. He brought up a hand, calling the company to a halt. Trager relayed the order and watched as the horsemen and carriage came to a stop.

    “All right, we’ll rest here for a spell,” said Lukien. He spied the two lanes, unsettled by them both. “Trager, which way did you take yesterday?”

    The lieutenant didn’t reply. Lukien turned and saw that he had already dismounted and was leading his horse away.

    “Trager,” he called. “Which way?”

    “Captain?” the lieutenant asked.

    “Which way did you go yesterday?”

    Trager thought for a moment, then said “Left.”

    Still atop his horse, Lukien studied the leftward route. It was dim and foreboding, like its twin, and something told him to be cautious. He said, “I’m going to ride ahead and scout it out. Tend to the men and see that they water their horses. Then look after the princess, make sure she’s all right.”

    “Good idea, Captain,” said Trager, then quickly turned and walked away.

    V^assandra sat inside her carriage, absently watching the world through her dingy window. Though Jancis was with her she felt completely alone, just as she had for weeks. The carriage rocked from side to side as it rolled along the muddy roads, slowly pulled forward by a team of horses. The horses had been white when they’d left Hes, splendid looking beasts to herald her arrival in Lьria. Now they were mud covered, like everything else, and they matched Cassandra’s mood perfectly. For days now she had been stuck inside the carriage, only taking breaks when her escorts did, or when she needed to relieve herself. The vehicle’s claustrophobic walls were driving her mad. Jancis, who constantly occupied herself with knitting, made small talk as they traveled, daydreaming about Koth and King Akeela, and what it would be like for Cassandra to be queen. But Cassandra hardly thought about those things anymore. As it had for weeks now, her mind turned to Lukien.

    She had embarrassed herself with the knight, and now could barely face him. She remembered with horrible clarity his expression when he’d seen the painting, and though Jancis had asked him not to tell anyone about it, Cassandra didn’t trust him. She fretted that he had bragged to his comrades about the incident. Worse, she wondered what he might tell Akeela. And though she had desperately wanted to talk to Lukien, to apologize and beg his silence, she could not, for being around him stole her voice. She feared him. Worse, she feared she loved him. She kept reminding herself that Akeela was a good man, and how fortunate she was to have been chosen by him. Any of her sisters would have willingly traded places with her. But the love she had hoped to feel for Akeela had yet to take root, constantly stunted by her infatuation with Lukien.

    Have I ever loved? she wondered as she watched the trees pass by her window. Do I even know what love is?

    She loved her father, but this was different. When she looked at Lukien—or when he looked at her—she felt peculiar, and the feeling was wonderful. None of the boys in Castle Hes had ever stirred such emotion in her, and she knew that was because they were simply boys, while Lukien was a man. He was accomplished and strong, and his skin bore the scars of a life hard-lived. In a matter of weeks he had taken over her mind. That was love, surely.

    “I don’t know,” she whispered.

    Jancis looked up from her knitting, eyeing her friend suspiciously. “What’s that?”

    Cassandra didn’t reply. She merely stared out the window. Jancis laid her knitting aside and leaned forward.

    “You’ve been very pensive lately,” she remarked. “Are you feeling all right?”

    It was the same tired old question. Jancis watched her like a midwife these days.

    “Yes,” Cassandra lied. “I’m fine.”

    “No pains?”

    “No,” said Cassandra. Another lie. “I was just thinking.”

    “Oh, I’m sure. About what? Should I guess?”

    “Don’t be a pest, Jancis,” said Cassandra. But she sighed theatrically, inviting her friend’s attention. “Oh, Jan. I don’t know what to do . . .”

    “There’s nothing to be done, so don’t fret over it. I told you— he’s probably forgotten all about it. And even if he hasn’t, I don’t think he’s going to tell anyone. He’s as guilty as you, Cass. Don’t forget that.”

    “He’s not,” said Cassandra.

    “He is. He was the one looking at you, remember. He couldn’t take his eyes off you!” Jancis frowned. “Bloody wretch, that’s what he is. Going over his king’s wife like that. Maybe Akeela should find out about it, teach him some manners.”

    “I have to talk to him,” Cassandra resolved. She thought for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “Yes. If I could speak to him I could explain things, before he says anything to Akeela.”

    Jancis’ face hardened. “Don’t talk to him. That’s how you got in this mess in the first place.”

    “I have to,” said Cassandra. She gave her maid a sad smile. “I want to, Jan.”

    Just then the carriage came to a stop. Jancis massaged her neck in relief.

    “Thank God,” she said, stretching. “I could use a walk.”

    “We’re stopping,” said Cassandra absently. The seed of an idea began to bloom. She cranked up her courage. “Yes, all right.”

    “What?”

    Cassandra stood up, stooping, and opened the carriage door.

    “Cass, where are you going?”

    “To talk to Lukien,” said Cassandra quickly. “I have to speak to him before we reach Koth.”

    “No!”

    Cassandra hardly heard lands’ plea. She was out of the carriage in a second, her boots splashing into the boggy earth. The entire company had come to a halt, and the men were already dismounting. She strained to see toward the head of the column, searching for Lukien, but he was nowhere to be found. Puzzled, she glanced around. The men were all stretching and seeing to their horses. Jancis jumped out of the carriage beside Cassandra.

    “I don’t see him,” said Cassandra. “Where’d he go?”

    Jancis was relieved. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Now forget about him, will you please?”

    Cassandra had no intention of forgoing her plan. She intended to speak to Lukien now, while she still had the courage.

    “Stay here,” she ordered, then made her way to the front of the company where a number of Lьrian soldiers were caring for their mounts. Noticing her at once, the soldiers stopped working.

    “My lady?” asked one of them, a young man named Tomas. “Can I help you?”

    Cassandra hesitated. “I’m looking for Lukien,” she said. “Do you know where he is?”

    The soldiers glanced at each other. Cassandra tried to look confident.

    “He’s just gone off, my lady,” said Tomas, pointing down the road. “He’s gone to scout the way ahead.”

    “Well, I must speak to him,” said Cassandra. “It’s important.”

    Tomas smiled. “He’ll be back soon, my lady.”

    “No, that won’t do. I have to speak to him now.” Cassandra returned Tomas’ smile, heaping on the charm. “Could you take me to him, Tomas?”

    “Me? Oh, no, my lady. I don’t think I should. He’ll be back presently.”

    “But it’s urgent, Tomas,” said Cassandra. She took a step closer, fluttering her long lashes. “Please?”

    Tomas almost blushed. “I suppose we could ride ahead. He’s nly just gone. It shouldn’t be a problem catching up to him.”

    He gestured to one of the horses. “You can ride, my lady, can’t you Cassandra wasted no time in mounting the horse.

    Irager waited until he had watered and fed his horse before checking on the princess. She was a spoiled brat anyway, so he took his time sauntering to her carriage. When he arrived, he found the princess’ handmaid leaning against the vehicle, her face drawn. He took the time to leer at her before she noticed him.

    “Handmaid Jancis?” he asked.

    The girl jumped at the intrusion.

    “Yes?”

    “Is your mistress about?” Trager asked. “I’m here to see if she needs anything.”

    The maiden blanched. “No.”

    “No, she doesn’t need anything, or no, she isn’t around?”

    Jancis hesitated. “She’s . . . away.”

    “Away? What exactly does that mean, girl?”

    “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” said Jancis, “but she’s gone off after Captain Lukien.”

    “What?” blurted Trager. “Why’d she do that?”

    The girl shrugged. “To speak to him. She—

    “Fate above, I don’t believe this!”

    Trager didn’t spare a moment. He dashed back to his horse, tossed himself onto its back, then raced like the wind after Lukien and the princess. As he galloped past his bewildered men, he sneered, “You stupid brat. I’m supposed to help protect you!”

    T -Len minutes after riding off, Lukien was satisfied the route was safe. He glanced around at the trees, unnerved by their thickness but convinced that they held no dangers. He drew back the reins, bringing his horse to a stop. Ten yards away, the road disappeared under a pool of murky water. Lukien studied it, gauging its depth, and was sure it was passable. Suddenly nothing could spoil his good mood. Lьria was close now, far closer than it had been for weeks, and he was anxious to make up lost time. He spun his mount around to return to the company—and saw Tomas riding toward him. To Lukien’s shock, the soldier wasn’t alone. Riding a pace behind him was Cassandra, her faced fixed with a peculiar grimace.

    “What the . .. ?” Lukien trotted toward them. “Tomas, what’s going on?”

    Tomas held up his hands. “Don’t be angry, Lukien,” he said. “I’m only following orders.”

    “Orders? Whose orders?”

    “Mine,” said Cassandra. She brought her horse up before Tomas‘. “It’s not his fault, Captain. I made him take me to you. I have to talk to you.”

    The princess was resolute. Her forwardness annoyed Lukien.

    “My lady, you’re very foolish,” he said sharply. “Coming out alone like this is dangerous.” Then he turned to Tomas, saying, “And what business have you taking her here, away from the others? What’s wrong with you?”

    “I’m sorry, Captain,” stammered Tomas. “But she insisted . . .”

    “She doesn’t give you orders, soldier. I do!”

    The man lowered his eyes in disgrace. He was one of the youngest in the troop, about Cassandra’s age, and he had obviously been influenced by the princess. Though Cassandra’s pretty face was no excuse for stupidity, Lukien understood its power, and so tried to soften his tone.

    “All right, no harm done,” he said. “Now turn around, both of you. We’re heading back.”

    “What? No . . .” Cassandra protested. “Lukien, I must speak to you privately.”

    “We’ll talk back at camp.”

    The princess’ expression became earnest. “Now,” she urged. “Please.”

    Just as he knew it had beguiled Tomas, Cassandra’s soft voice made Lukien relent. Regrettably, he found her plea irresistible. “All right,” he nodded. “Tomas, give us some privacy, will you?”

    The young man said, “Should I ride back to the others?”

    “No. Just out of earshot.”

    Tomas did as Lukien asked, trotting past him and coming to stop several yards away, near the flood in the road. Lukien looked at Cassandra and spoke in a whisper.

    “My lady, why have you come out here? It’s unseemly for you to come calling after me.”

    “I’m sorry,” Cassandra offered. “It didn’t occur to me what others would think.”

    “Obviously not,” said Lukien. He shook his head and sighed. “You’re very young, Princess. But not so young as to be so silly. You mustn’t ever come after me like this again, do you understand?”

    Cassandra stiffened. “I’m not a child, Captain,” she retorted. “I’m a princess, and soon to be your queen. I will go where I wish, when I wish. And I won’t be ordered about by you. Do you understand?”

    Lukien tried to stay calm. “My lady, why are you here?”

    “To speak with you alone,” replied Cassandra icily.

    “Then speak and let’s be done with it.” Lukien leaned forward and lowered his voice again.“And please, go back to being that lady you were during our ride. I much prefer her to the harpy you’re being now.”

    The sharpness vanished from Cassandra’s face. “All right,” she said. “I wanted to come to apologize. I’ve been dreadful to you the past few weeks, ever since you saw my painting. . . .”

    “Shhh,” Lukien cautioned. He looked over his shoulder at Tomas. Satisfied the man couldn’t hear them, he said, “Keep your voice down, my lady. I haven’t told anyone about your painting, and I don’t want the world finding out now.”

    Cassandra smiled in relief. “I was worried you might have told your men,” she confessed. “Thank you for honoring my privacy.”

    To Lukien’s great annoyance he felt himself smiling. “To be honest, I was flattered. Surprised, but flattered.”

    “It was wrong of me,” said Cassandra. “I shouldn’t have painted you, with or without your permission. But I don’t want King Akeela finding out about it, you see. You won’t tell him, will you?“

    She was dancing around the subject. They both were. Lukien desperately wanted to speak the truth.

    “Tell him what, my lady?” he asked. “That I’ve been staring at you across lakes and meadows? That you’ve painted secret portraits of me?” He let his horse take one step closer to her. “Is that what we should keep from him, Princess?”

    Cassandra nodded. Her eyes were wide with understanding. “Yes,” she whispered. “And more.”

    “What more?” asked Lukien. “What else is there to admit?”

    She watched him, unwilling or unable to speak. Yet Lukien could sense the unspoken words. There was affection in her eyes, plain and true. He wanted to hear its confession. Cassandra opened her mouth to speak . . .

    “Aььeeee!”

    The sound was Tomas, screaming. Lukien saw Cassandra’s eyes widen in terror, then turned as a slimy body rose from the flooded road. Already the creature had one arm twisted around Tomas’ leg, dragging him from his horse. The stallion whinnied, bucking and tossing Tomas from its back, sending him crashing into the water.

    “God!” cried Lukien. He drew his sword and bolted forward. “Cassandra, stay back!”

    The garmy wrapped its arms around its prey. Tomas writhed in its grasp, struggling to lift his mouth from the filthy water. A gurgling scream tore from his throat.

    “Lukien . . . !”

    Lukien rushed toward him, bolting past his frightened horse, desperate to find the garmy in the water. All he could see was parts of Tomas wrapped in reptilian flesh, tossing and splashing as he fought to get free. Beneath him, Lukien’s horse shuddered, refusing to go into the water. Lukien leapt from its back and waded in—then saw the other garmy fall from the trees.

    It was on him too quickly, knocking the breath from his lungs and the sword from his hand. For a moment he saw its inhuman face, hissing, then tumbled backward into the muck, the creature’s arms flailing after him. He felt the powerful limbs seize him, heard the gnashing of teeth again his armor, but he was suddenly blind and realized he was underwater, his face buried in the mud. A cold appendage snaked around his neck; the garmy’s tail. Lukien panicked, found a strength born of terror, and exploded upward with a shout.

    “No!”

    The garmy fell backward, its tail still coiled around Lukien’s throat. The appendage pulled, dragging Lukien after it. He dug desperately into his belt, finding his dagger. As he fell forward he plunged the weapon down. The blow stunned the monster. Lukien drove the blade with all his weight, puncturing the scaly hide and releasing a spray of stinking blood. He was suddenly a savage, a berserker, and the beast bellowed as he thrust the dagger again and again, stabbing it repeatedly. In the distance he heard Cassandra’s voice, calling to him. He heard Tomas gurgling nearby, screaming for help. And then he heard another voice, familiar yet surprising.

    “Tomas! Hold on!”

    A black stallion splashed into the flooded road, madly flailing its hooves. Atop the steed was Trager. The lieutenant’s face was furious. His blade sprang from its scabbard as he searched the foaming water, Lukien saw it as if in a dream. His own fight was almost over. The garmy’s tail slipped slowly from his neck. Now it was the garmy that was desperate to flee. It twisted its wounded body and began crawling away, slashing its spiked tail at Lukien’s face. Lukien grabbed hold of the tail and jerked the creature backward.

    “Come here, you bitch!” he spat.

    The monster’s face turned and snapped at him. He punched his dagger forward, sending it through the garmy’s open mouth. The creature cried in agony, tumbled backward into the mud, then lay there twitching and dying. As Lukien turned to help Tomas, he watched Trager dive from his horse, falling against the last garmy. The creature had risen against its new adversary, bringing up its head and arms even as Tomas dangled from its tail. The young man’s face was purple. He wasn’t moving. Trager’s sword slashed, slicing the garmy’s shoulder. The creature’s arms flew at him, raking his armor with its powerful nails.

    Exhausted, Lukien stumbled forward, his dagger still in hand. The garmy noticed him and let down its guard—a fatal mistake against the skilled Trager. The lieutenant saw the opening and lunged, burying his sword in the monster’s chest. The garmy’s shrill scream tore through the forest. Its arms flailed, its tail slackened, and its yellow eyes dimmed as it collapsed. As he fell from the creature’s grasp, Tomas collapsed beside it. “Tomas!” Lukien cried.

    Trager was already over the man, lifting him from the mud. It was plain that Tomas was dead. His head lolled back in Trager’s arms, lifeless. Lukien stopped mid-step, dropped his dagger, and let out an anguished moan.

    “Oh, no,” he sighed. “Don’t tell me he’s gone.” Cassandra brought her horse to the edge of the water. She looked at the corpse in Trager’s arms. Her face contorted with sorrow.

    “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “Fate forgive me.”

    “No.” Lukien looked squarely at Trager. “It’s not your fault, my lady. It’s the fault of this incompetent fool!”

    “What?” Trager blurted. “Captain, I tried to save you!”

    “Fool!” Lukien said again. “You said this road was safe!”

    “It was safe!” Trager roared. He still had Tomas in his arms. “I didn’t see the garmys yesterday. It was raining. It was dark!”

    “Dark?” Lukien laughed horribly. “You were on scout duty, you ass. What does it matter that it was dark?” He pointed at Tomas. “You killed him, Trager. Not those garmys.”

    “You arrogant bastard,” Trager sneered. He turned and walked off, holding Tomas in a dismal embrace. He passed Cassandra without regard, put Tomas onto the back of the dead man’s horse, then took the stallion’s reins. When he had gathered up his own horse, he led them both away. Lukien watched him go.

    “Lukien?” asked Cassandra. “Are you all right?” Lukien stood in the mud amidst the dead garmys. He closed his eyes, fearing he might weep. “Let’s get back to camp.”

    _o Cassandra, who had never seen a city larger than her home of Hes, the Lьrian capital was a marvel. It was everything Akeela had promised, everything Lukien had bragged about, and it humbled the princess with its beauty. Koth was a hub of activity, a meeting place of businessmen and scholars, its streets filled with carts and carriages, its buildings tall and gilded. Cassandra fell in love with it immediately. After her dreary ride from Hes she was ready for the luxuries of a city again, and so spent her days in the castle with Akeela, preparing for their wedding. Even after a week had passed, there was still more of Lionkeep to explore, still dozens of servants whose names she hadn’t learned. And there were ministers, too, scores of them. They constantly came to the castle to vie for Akeela’s attention, most of them old, somber-faced men with trains of civil servants, their hands nervously scribbling in ledgers. In those first days of her arrival, it seemed to Cassandra that the chancellors of Koth could do nothing without Akeela, for they monopolized him day and night, and even when he was away from them, he was exhausted.

    But Cassandra took it all in stride. She adored the freedom of her new home, and Akeela’s busy schedule gave her time to investigate Lionkeep and to think about what had happened on the road to Koth. She had not seen much of Lukien since their arrival, yet she still thought of him often. True to his word, the Bronze Knight had mentioned nothing of their encounters to Akeela, and for that Cassandra was grateful. Despite the tragedy of Tomas’ death, Akeela had greeted her with a smothering smile, and she knew that he suspected no infidelity of her, not even of the daydreaming kind she had committed. Before her arrival, Akeela had ordered the city gates trimmed with ribbons and flowers and the streets lined with white horses. The chancellors had come out to greet her, filling Chancellery Square and showering her with praise. There had been music, too, with honey-voiced minstrels and a choir of children arranged for her by the one-armed Baron Glass, head of the House of Dukes. Koth had turned out in force to welcome its new queen, and Cassandra had melted at the outpouring of emotion. At that moment, she knew she had made the right choice in accepting Akeela’s proposal.

    Mostly.

    For though she seldom saw Lukien, he was never far away. Akeela had named Lukien her champion. Sweetly, her soon-to-be husband seemed not to notice the way Lukien’s eyes flashed when he was near her. The young king was too preoccupied in exhibiting the sights of Koth. When they had arrived at Lion-keep, he had shown her their apartments, a vast collection of chambers occupying an entire wing of the castle. It was more than anyone should have, even a queen, but Cassandra loved the excess. Afterwards, he had taken her to a ledge of the castle, very high up on the north side, Koth spread out like a blanket beneath their private perch.

    “On the tenth day of spring we will be married,” he had told her. His voice had been as soft as down. “It will be a special day, the kind of wedding you deserve.”

    She had looked at him and smiled, and in the moonlight he seemed a little boy, starstruck. He was lovesick for her, in a way that Cassandra feared she could never return.

    With the tenth day of spring only a week away, Cassandra finally settled into a routine. Because she was not yet married, she had a room of her own in Lionkeep, away from the cavernous wing she would soon share with Akeela; Jancis had a room nearby. The sickness that had plagued her for months continued to trouble her, but she ignored it, confessing nothing of it to Jancis. The handmaid was giddy with the attention the Lьrians showed her. She accompanied Cassandra everywhere, relishing the newness of her surroundings even more than her princess.

    On a perfect morning bright with spring sunshine, Cassandra and Jancis toured the avenues of Koth, conveyed by an opulent carriage and guarded by a host of Royal Chargers. Lukien chaperoned them, pointing out attractions along the boulevards and directing them to the best shops. Because he was away from the castle his mood had improved. He no longer avoided Cassandra’s eyes. Cassandra and Jancis relaxed in the coach, whispering like two conspirators.

    “He loves you, I think,” said Jancis.

    Cassandra nodded. The carriage moved through a crowded street. She could see Lukien atop his horse, proudly ferrying them through the traffic.

    “It doesn’t matter,” she said sadly. “In a week I will have a husband, and it will not be Lukien.”

    “Then forget him, Cassandra,” said Jancis. “Think of Akeela.”

    “I will,” said Cassandra.

    But she knew it was a lie. She would never be able to forget Lukien. He was too close, and he had done something to her. Now when she thought of her impending marriage, she did so joylessly.

    /Vs promised, the wedding took place on the tenth day of spring.

    Neither Cassandra nor Akeela could have asked for a more splendid day. The sun was warm but not oppressive, the sky bright without being glaring. A gentle breeze moved through the city and the lilacs around Lionkeep bloomed. Cassandra wore a dress of white and emerald, was veiled with silk and followed by a long, elaborate train. The dress had been made for her by Akeela’s royal tailor, who had promised the young bride she would look stunning in his creation. As she walked down the aisle of Lionkeep’s throne room, she knew the tailor hadn’t lied. The faces of those gathered reflected her loveliness. At the throne stood Akeela, resplendent in an outfit of black and crimson. Atop his head was his golden crown, still looking out of place upon his ) UHN MARCO young brow. He wore a ceremonial sidearm and a nervous smile. Even from across the chamber, Cassandra had seen him perspiring. Next to him was Lukien. The knight wore his bronze armor, outshining all of them, even Cassandra. She had let her eyes linger on him for a moment.

    After the ceremony, the new bride and groom had gone off to the yard for the tourney. The courtyard of Lionkeep was decorated with flags and colorful pavilions. Hundreds of people, mostly Lьrian nobles, milled through the yard with goblets in their hands, nosing around the tables laden with food and wine. Musicians and jesters entertained the guests while the knights readied themselves for the tournament. Akeela had explained to Cassandra that Lьria had such a tournament each spring, and that it was one of the best times in the city, a sort of holiday for the countless civil servants and their noble masters. All the chancellors had come, bringing their wives and children with them, and had taken seats either near or within the royal gallery, where Akeela and Cassandra sat in the first row, flanked by Lukien and Warden Graig. Cassandra had removed her train and veil and took a seat next to her new husband, eyeing the crowds as they nodded and smiled at her. Before the gallery was the tournament ground, busy with the activity of knights and squires as they prepared their weapons and horses for the show. It was a test of skill, Akeela had told her. The lances and swords were blunted. He had also told her that Lukien was the champion of the tourney, and had been for the past three years. He would be defending the title later in the day, partaking in the jousts against his rival, Trager. Cassandra stole a glance at Lukien. He sat beside Akeela with a goblet in his hand, laughing as a jester told jokes. To Cassandra, he looked remarkably calm. She leaned back and let a servant fill her glass. Next to her, Jancis gave her a nudge.

    “Well?” her friend whispered. “How do you feel, my queen?”

    Cassandra frowned. “Queen.” The word felt strange to her. “It’s all too much, isn’t it?”

    “I don’t think so,” chirped Jancis. She took a sip of wine, happily studying the platters of food. “I think it’s wonderful. Look how many people there are!”

    I But the new queen was unable to brighten, because they were 11 strangers. None of her own family had come, for King Karis _s a private man, and despite the new peace between Reec and ria he still felt unwelcome in the land of his old adversary. Surprisingly, Cassandra missed him. As eager as she’d been to be gone from him, she wished he had seen her married.

    “Look how fat they all are,” she whispered. “These ministers; they are all the same everywhere.”

    “Shhh,” cautioned Jancis. “What’s wrong with you, Cass? You should be happy. This is what you wanted.” Her brow furrowed. “Are you feeling all right?”

    “Fine,” said Cassandra. She didn’t tell her friend about the fire in her bowels. It was making her feel out of sorts. Before she could change the subject, Akeela took her hand.

    “Cassandra?” He gave her a great smile. “What are you two chatting about?”

    The others in the front of the gallery turned to hear her answer. Even the old man named Figgis seemed intrigued, dropping his mutton joint to listen. Cassandra mustered up a beautiful smile.

    “Forgive me, my lord,” she said. “We were merely talking about all the people that have come. It’s quite a crowd of ministers you have. My father didn’t have nearly so many advisors.”

    “No,” agreed Akeela sourly. “Nor all the problems they bring, I’d wager.”

    Cassandra tried to lighten the conversation. “Forget your troubles with the chancellors, my lord. Remember the spirit of the day.”

    “Of course,” said Akeela. Yet his eyes lingered on the second row, where Baron Thorin Glass was seated. The Chancellor of the House of Dukes sat nearby, as his station demanded. With him was his wife, a woman much younger than he, and a gaggle of unruly children. The Baron was a big man, barrel-chested and ruddy, with unkempt red hair and an oiled goatee combed to a sharp point. Cassandra guessed his age to be in the mid-forties. Like all the nobles, he had dressed for the occasion in expensive clothes and jewelry that twinkled in the sunlight. But most remarkable of all was his left arm, which wasn’t there at all. In its place hung an empty sleeve, pinned up at the shoulder. Glass poured himself more wine, and when he noticed Akeela looking at him he smiled and raised his goblet in tribute. Akeela returned the gesture, drinking with the Baron, but Cassandra caught the glare of contempt in his eyes. The emotion looked misplaced in Akeela.

    “My lord,” she said softly, “you could do a better job of hiding your feelings for the baron.”

    Sure that Glass couldn’t hear him, Akeela replied, “The baron knows my feelings, my lady. There’s no reason to hide them.”

    “For the sake of your kingship, then,” Cassandra suggested. “You will need the baron’s goodwill for your many projects.”

    “He opposes me, Cassandra. He makes it plain in the House of Dukes.” Akeela lowered his goblet, his eyes shifting angrily. “Mark me. Before this day is over, he will spoil it with politics and bad news.”

    Cassandra had never seen Akeela so agitated. His mood surprised her. “Akeela,” she said mildly, “this is our wedding day. It’s time to celebrate, not brood.” She passed him a bowl of grapes. “Forget your duties for one day. Enjoy yourself.”

    He chose a grape and popped it into his mouth. Before them, a group of knights and young pages were readying for the first bout. Akeela seemed not to notice them.

    “He is a bitter old fool,” he whispered. “He’s jealous of me because I’m young. Tell her, Lukien.”

    Lukien looked up. “My lord, please don’t make me speak against Glass. You know how I feel about him.”

    “How, Lukien?” asked Cassandra. “Do you know him well?”

    “Yes, my lady,” said Lukien, keeping his voice low. Next to him, Figgis strained to hear. “He is a hero in Lьria. Once he was a great soldier.”

    “A long time ago,” Akeela reminded him.

    “Still, I honor him. As do most of the Chargers. He fought in the war against Norvor, and against Marn. That’s where he was wounded.”

    Cassandra snuck a peek at Glass again, and at the peculiar way his empty sleeve dangled at his shoulder. “Remarkable.”

    “He is remarkable,” said Lukien. “As I said, he is a hero.”

    “Hero,” scoffed Akeela. “You are twice the hero Glass ever was, Lukien.”

    Lukien shook his head. “No.”

    “Yes,” Akeela insisted. “Twice and more.”

    “The king is kind.”

    “I know something of Baron Glass,” said Figgis suddenly. The old man shifted eagerly forward. “I learned about him when I was in Marn, during the war. Sir Lukien is right, my lord; he was a great soldier. And if I’m not mistaken, he served your father well.”

    Akeela rolled his eyes. “You are an expert on too many things, friend Figgis.”

    “Good,” said Cassandra brightly. “Then let us change the subject. Figgis, my husband tells me you are a learned man, a great scholar.”

    The old librarian puffed up at the compliment. “The king does me proud to say so, my queen. But yes, I would agree with his description. I have studied many subjects all my life. Languages, the patterns of the stars, poetry.” He thought for a moment. “To be true, it is hard to think of a subject that bores me.”

    Cassandra laughed. He was a peculiar man, but she liked the twinkle in his eyes. “And Jador,” she added. “The king says you are an expert on that land.”

    “Ah, now you have touched on my greatest passion, my queen.” Figgis’ face lit up. “If anyone can be called an expert on Jador, than I suppose it is I. Since I was a boy the Jadori have fascinated me. When I—”

    “Figgis, stop,” said Akeela, smiling. “Really, the queen was just being polite.”

    The old man looked hurt, but soon found solace again in the food and entertainment. The knights who had taken the field were ready for the first bout. Lukien shoved his plate of pheasant away, sitting up to watch the joust. Behind him, Baron Glass told his children to take their seats as he, too, relished the coming combat.

    T Ihe tournament stretched into the afternoon, as knight after knight took to the field for the honor of the king and queen and the ladies in the audience. There were jousts and archery exhibitions, feats of swordplay and horsemanship, and Cassandra watched it all with disinterest, feeling queasy and exhausted. Then, finally, it was time for Lukien to fight.

    The Bronze Knight had left the gallery an hour earlier, to prepare for his bout. Now he was at one end of the parade ground, sitting atop his charger with his helmet in the crook of his arm. He was splendid in his bronze armor. The horse he rode shared the same bronze outfitting, protected with layers of metal along its breast and flanks and bearing an ominously forged headpiece. A page stood beside him, lance in hand. Akeela had explained that the lance was dulled and tipped with a protective head—a coronal, he’d called it. Lukien reached for the lance and inspected it, then looked over the other weapons arrayed nearby. A mace awaited its use, as did a broadsword. Another page held Lukien’s shield, emblazoned with the crest of Lьria. Lukien nodded to the boys, then looked across the field at his opponent. There sat Trager, his head hidden beneath his dark helmet, the reins of his stallion held tightly in gray gauntlets. Unlike Lukien, Trager wore the traditional silver armor of the Royal Chargers. His helmet bore the likeness of a ram’s head, replete with curling horns.

    “I think neither of them cares for the other,” said Cassandra absently. She remembered Lukien’s rage when Tomas had died, and how he had called Trager a fool. The lieutenant’s face had twisted horribly at the insult. Cassandra was sure he wore the same expression now under his dark mask. Her heart raced with worry. Akeela took her hand, surprised to find it trembling.

    “My lady, you’re shivering,” he said.

    Cassandra frowned. “It is a barbaric sport, and I hate it,” she said. “Look at them, one just as eager to kill the other. I can’t watch this.”

    Akeela laughed. “Ah, but it is sport, as you say. And it’s what these people have come to see—a spectacle. Look, see how they watch?”

    The hush over the crowd was remarkable. Everyone waited for the outcome of the duel, which Trager had boasted he would win.

    “Lukien tells me Trager’s been practicing,” Akeela remarked.

    “We shall see.”

    “Lukien will win, won’t he?” asked Cassandra. “I mean, he won’t be hurt, will he?”

    Akeela looked at her askance, and for a moment she regretted her question.

    “No,” said Akeela. His eyes narrowed. “But your concern is refreshing.”

    Out on the field, Lukien put on his helmet. The officer of the tournament, a plump, middle-aged man, came to stand in front of the gallery and summoned the jousters. Both Lukien and Trager trotted forward, bringing their mounts to stand beside the officer, then removing their helmets as they faced the king and queen. For a moment, Lukien’s eyes met Cassandra’s. He seemed to wink at her reassuringly. Trager’s face was furious, his jaw clamped tight.

    The officer proclaimed, “My King and Queen, these two gentlemen have come into your presence, recommended by your good grace humbly, beseeching you to find the best jouster. To him, a diamond will be the prize. To the second, a ruby.”

    Akeela held out both hands. In the right was a brilliant diamond. In the left, a blood red ruby. He said, “To the best shall go the diamond, and to the second the ruby. And when the tournament is done, we shall retire to the banquet rooms of Lionkeep, and dance and drink.” He handed both gems over to Cassandra. “Who will win the diamond from the fair hand of the queen?”

    Lukien said, “I think we know the answer to that, my lord.”

    The gallery laughed, as did the rest of the crowd. Cassandra saw Trager’s face twitch, and for a moment she pitied him.

    “Sir Trager, good fortune to you,” she said. Then she looked at Lukien. “And to you, my champion.”

    “I will make you proud, my queen,” said Lukien.

    “Then to your stations,” ordered the officer. He watched as both men bowed to the gallery, replaced their helms, and rode back to their positions on the opposite ends of the field. Lukien’s page offered him a lance, which the Bronze Knight tested for balance before tucking beneath his arm. Across the field, Trager did the same. The pages fell away. The combatant’s horses snorted. The officer of the joust stepped off the field, heading to the side of the gallery to stand with Breck and some other Royal Chargers. And Cassandra, sick with anxiety, clutched the gem-stones in her fists until her knuckles turned white.

    Lukien and Trager lowered themselves into riding stances. Akeela raised his hand, held it aloft for a moment, then let it fall. Lukien’s charger bolted forward. Trager raced toward him, his lance aimed. The air filled with clods of dirt and the noise of hammering hooves. The two jousters devoured the distance between them, each pointing a lance at the shielded heart of his opponent. The air sounded with the report of cracking wood. Lukien’s lance drove into Trager’s shield and Trager’s into his, and Cassandra saw her champion’s weapon buckle, sending up shards of wood. The jousters roared past each other, neither unhorsed. The crowd cheered wildly.

    “Another lance!” Lukien cried. He whirled his horse around, anxiously waiting for his pages to bring him a fresh weapon and clear the debris from the ground. From the opposite end of the field, Trager waved at him “Ha!” the lieutenant crowed. “You are clumsy this year, Captain!”

    The folk in the gallery loved the banter. They shouted at the jousters, urging the combat to continue. Lukien fixed his new lance beneath his arm and spurred his horse forward with a cry. Trager matched his moves, bolting forward. This time the clash sent Trager’s lance skidding off Lukien’s shield. Again, neither man went down. Their horses came to skidding stops.

    “Well done, Trager,” called Akeela. He favored the soldier with a smile. “This year you are truly worthy. Will the diamond be yours at last?”

    “It is as good as won, my lord,” replied the knight. He turned to his bronze opponent. “What say you, Captain? Again?”

    “Again,” replied Lukien. He raised a guantleted hand, waving Trager forward. “Now, come and get your lesson.”

    Incensed, Trager crouched and drove his boots into the flanks of his mount, spurring the charger onward. Lukien joined him, racing forward. Again their lances closed, again the crowd was wide-eyed. And this time the Bronze Knight found his mark, burying his lance in Trager’s shield. Trager rose off his horse and tumbled backward, crashing into the ground. The crowd cheered. Without thinking, Cassandra jumped from her seat and joined them.

    Lukien quickly brought his horse around and hovered over Trager. The lieutenant rose unsteadily to his feet.

    “Well?” Lukien asked. “Are you injured?”

    “Sword!” Trager cried, answering the knight’s question. A page hurried onto the field and tossed Trager his broadsword. Lukien laughed.

    “Yield, Trager,” he said. He raised his lance toward Trager’s chest. “You’ve already lost.”

    “No!” Trager swiped at the lance with his sword. “Come down and fight me!”

    Lukien brought his horse forward, pushing the lance into Trager and knocking him over. Again the crowd crowed. Trager scurried backward in the dirt, trying get up, but each time he did Lukien’s horse took another step forward, pushing him back down.

    “It is done!” cried the officer of arms. “Lukien has won.”

    Still on her feet, Cassandra applauded loudly. Akeela joined her, as did the others in the gallery. Lukien dropped down from his horse and stood over Trager, then offered out his hand.

    “Are you all right?”

    “Get away from me!” spat Trager. His pages rushed out, helping him to his feet. When he finally righted himself, he snapped up the visor of his helm and glared at Lukien. All around them the crowds were clapping, but not for Trager.

    “Both of you, come here,” called Akeela. He turned to Cassandra. “My lady, I think you have something for our knights.”

    The officer came forward, escorting Lukien and the disgraced Trager to the gallery, both of whom bowed before the king and queen. Cassandra noticed how Trager kept his helmet on, a breach of etiquette, surely. He couldn’t even look at her, so strong was his shame, so she let the lapse pass.

    Said the officer, “Sir Trager has jousted well, but Sir Lukien has jousted better. So to him goes the diamond.”

    “Sirs,” said Akeela, “These gentle folk thank you for your great labor. Trager, since you are second best, you get this ruby.“ He glanced at Cassandra, nudging her to bring out the gem. Cassandra complied, holding out the ruby for Trager, who took it reluctantly.

    “Thank you, my lord and lady,” he said.

    Akeela continued, “And Lukien, once again you have jousted best of all. Once again, the diamond is yours, my friend.”

    Cassandra needed no encouragement this time. She held out the diamond for Lukien, placing it in his outstretched hand. But before he released her, he bent and gave her hand a kiss.

    “For the honor of my queen,” he said.

    hat evening, the celebration continued inside the halls of Lion-keep. The ladies danced and the minstrels strummed their instruments, and children played beneath the tables with the dogs, enjoying the atmosphere fostered by the king. Festoons of flowers hung from the walls, scenting the air with lilac. Akeela sat with his new wife at a gigantic ebony table covered with platters of game birds and flagons of wine and beer. Out on the floor, Lukien was dancing with the daughter of Chancellor Nils. Cassandra watched them, frowning slightly. Akeela noticed the expression and wondered.

    “You do not eat, my lady,” he said, offering her some food from his own plate. Cassandra turned her nose away.

    “I’ve already eaten enough for a week.”

    “Is the music too loud for you? You look uncomfortable.”

    “I’m fine,” replied Cassandra. Then she smiled apologetically, adding, “It has been an exciting day, that’s all. I’m just tired.”

    “Yes, exciting,” Akeela agreed. “But you don’t look well, Cassandra; your color.” He studied her, wondering why she was so white. “Perhaps you should excuse yourself, get some rest.”

    She shook her head. “It’s our wedding night.”

    “Cassandra,” he whispered, “I’m not going to force myself on a sick woman. If you’re not feeling well. . .”

    “I’m fine.” She smiled weakly. “Really.”

    Before Akeela could reply, Lukien hurried over from the dance floor. Perspiration covered his face. He took up Akeela’s goblet _and drank down its contents furiously, then wiped his hand across his brow.

    “Whew! That girl can dance!”

    Of course, thought Akeela blackly. AH the girls want to dance with Lukien.

    “Sit, Lukien,” he offered. “You look about to collapse.”

    “Indeed I am,” said the captain. He came around the table and fell into a chair beside Akeela. He had doffed his armor once again and now wore a crimson tunic. When a servant brought over a full pitcher of beer, Lukien took it and drank without a glass. He was in fine spirits after his victory in the joust, and wore the diamond around his neck to prove it. Trager, on the other hand, was conspicuously missing from the banquet. His lieutenant’s absence only buoyed Lukien’s mood.

    “So?” asked the knight. “Why aren’t the happy couple dancing, eh?”

    “The queen is tired,” Akeela explained. “The excitement of the day.”

    “Tired?” Lukien looked at Cassandra. “Is that all, my lady?”

    Cassandra grimaced. “Yes,” she said. Yet her eyes seemed to say more.

    “Well, then,” said Lukien awkwardly. “You should rest.”

    “She is resting, Lukien.”

    Akeela and Lukien looked at each other. Lukien’s smile sagged. He nodded and returned his attention to the pitcher of beer, filling Akeela’s goblet again.

    “Good beer,” he said. “Let’s drink a toast to the two of you.”

    “Yes,” agreed a new voice. “Let’s drink to the young lovers!”

    Akeela looked up and saw Baron Glass approaching the table. He had a goblet in his only hand and a smarmy smile on his bearded face. He had left behind his pretty young wife and undisciplined children, and he bowed slightly to Cassandra as he came forward. Cassandra forced a pleasant countenance.

    “Baron Glass,” she said, “you are welcome to drink with us. Come, sit yourself down.”

    “The queen is gracious,” said the baron. He looked around for a chair, then found the one that Figgis had vacated. Coming around the table, he pulled the chair close to Akeela, but before he sat he lifted his glass. “To you both,” he said. “May Fate grant you a long and happy marriage.”

    “Here, here,” toasted Lukien, still drinking from the pitcher.

    “Thank you, Baron,” said Akeela. He took a sip of beer, watching Glass as he did so. If the baron hadn’t been so near, he would have reminded Cassandra of what he’d said earlier— before the day was over, Glass would ruin it with politics.

    “So,” said Akeela cordially, “how did you like the tournament this year, Baron?”

    “Well played, as always,” replied Glass. This time he raised his goblet to Lukien. “Good jousting, Sir Lukien. You are as skilled as I ever was, maybe more so.”

    “Thank you, my lord,” said Lukien. “You honor me.”

    “And the banquet ... so lavish!” Glass looked around the chamber. “To be honest, I had expected a smaller affair.”

    “Oh?” asked Cassandra. “Why is that?”

    Akeela braced himself. Here it comes . . .

    “The expense, my lady,” replied Glass. “With all the projects your husband has been championing, I didn’t think the treasury had enough in its coffers for such luxury.”

    Akeela stiffened. “Baron Glass . . .”

    “It’s a special day,” interrupted Lukien. “And I think it’s worth the expense, don’t you, Baron?”

    “Of course.” Glass grinned. “Tell me, Queen Cassandra, have you seen your husband’s library yet? It’s quite impressive.”

    Cassandra began to answer, but Akeela said quickly, “I’ve taken her there, yes.”

    “Did you think it was very grand?” asked Glass.

    “I think it will be marvelous when it’s done,” said Cassandra. To Akeela’s surprise, she took his hand. “And I think it’s worth any expense to bring light to the world, Baron.”

    “Hmm, Chancellor Sark may not agree with you, my lady. He doesn’t like watching the coffers of his treasury bled dry.”

    “It’s not his treasury,” snapped Akeela. “And it’s not yours or mine, either, Baron. It belongs to the people of Lьria. They want the library. They know it will bring them knowledge.”

    Baron Glass looked down into his goblet, considering his words carefully. “Knowledge,” he sighed. “Knowledge is for men like you and I, King Akeela. Knowledge is for people who can handle it.” He gestured around the chamber. “Look about this room. What do you see here but nobles? These are the elite of Lьria, my lord. They already know how to read and write. They don’t need your library.”

    “Precisely,” argued Akeela. “The library is for all those people who aren’t here; the people left out to celebrate my wedding in the streets.” He smiled slyly at the Baron. “I’m building the library for your servants, Baron Glass, so that maybe they can do something better than swill your pigs and shear your sheep.”

    Glass’ face reddened. “King Akeela, not everyone can be noble. Fate chose my birthright.”

    “Nonsense,” said Akeela.

    “It’s not nonsense,” said Glass. “And the same power that made me noble put you on the throne. Do you think my servants tend my herds because I keep them from something better? No. They tend my herds because they can do no better. It is Fate’s will.”

    The notion incensed Akeela. Like many in Lьria, Glass was Fateist, part of a cult that believed the world controlled by an unseen force, neither god nor devil. It was just one of many faiths accommodated by Lьria, but it was influential in the country, and Glass believed its myths devoutly.

    “Baron,” said Akeela carefully, “this is my wedding day. I don’t want it spoiled by politics and religion, and I don’t want to argue with you.”

    “You should listen to me,” Glass warned. “I am not alone in these thoughts. There are others who are concerned with your ideas, my lord. They think they are dangerous, and so do I.”

    “The people support me,” said Akeela.

    “The people do not run the chancelleries,” Glass countered. “You and I are of noble birth; we know how to govern. At least that’s what your father believed.”

    “I am not my father!”

    The music suddenly stopped. Akeela shrank back in his chair as the eyes of the celebrants fell upon him. Baron Glass smiled, amused, and rose from his seat.

    “No,” he said, “you’re not.”

    Before he could go, Akeela got to his feet. “Wait.”

    Glass stopped and turned around, looking at him questioning-ly. Angry, Akeela decided the time had come to make his statement.

    “Everybody, please listen to me.” He already had the crowd’s attention. “I want to make an announcement.”

    “Announcement?” asked Lukien.

    “Akeela?” probed Cassandra.

    “I’m going away for a while,” Akeela told them. “I’m going on a journey, a goodwill tour, you might say. I want to introduce myself to our neighboring nations. I want them to see me, and know that they have an ally in Lьria.”

    “What?” erupted Glass. “My lord, you’ve only just returned. The ink on the Reecian treaty hasn’t dried yet!”

    “Even so,” Akeela continued, “I’m going. Countries like Marn and Norvor need to know they still have an ally in Lьria. This is going to be the start of a new relationship between our nation and the rest of the continent.”

    The crowd began to murmur. As Akeela expected, the chancellors in the audience shook their heads.

    “My lord,” said Glass, “don’t you think you’re going too quickly? Don’t be reckless. Let us send emissaries first.”

    “Reckless?” asked Akeela. “Like I was in Reec, you mean? Or do you think I was merely lucky on that mission, Baron? More of your Fate nonsense?”

    Glass sighed miserably. “I’m only thinking of your safety, my lord. And the good of Lьria.”

    “Fine. Then we’re agreed that the good of Lьria matters. Therefore, I am going on this tour. It’s important.”

    “King Akeela—”

    “It’s important,” Akeela repeated. He glared at Glass. “Now, make your fellow lords understand that, Baron.”

    Baron Glass was flabbergasted by Akeela’s tone. They stared at one another in challenge, Akeela determined not to blink. Then, the baron smiled.

    “Well,” he said, “perhaps there is more of your father in you than I thought, King Akeela. Excuse me, please.”

    Akeela watched him turn and go, then sat back down. He realized suddenly he was shaking. Lukien hurried a goblet into his hands.

    “How’d I do?” he asked.

    “Drink,” advised Lukien.

    “Akeela?” Cassandra asked. “Are you really going away on this. . . tour?”

    “I’m sorry, Cassandra, I should have told you,” said Akeela. He took a few gulps of beer, steadying himself. Blessedly, the minstrels had started playing again. “But Glass got me so angry I forgot myself. I had to say something to change the subject.”

    “Well, that certainly did it!” joked Lukien.

    “So you’re going?” asked Cassandra crossly. “Just like that?”

    “I must. I’m king.” Akeela took her hand. “Please try to understand. It’s as I told you in Hes—I’m trying to accomplish something. And it won’t be so bad; I won’t be gone that long. You can get things ready for us here in Lionkeep. And Lukien will look after you.”

    Cassandra’s face clenched. Lukien put down his beer.

    “Me?” he blurted. “But. . . shouldn’t I go with you, Akeela? I mean, who’ll protect you?”

    “Come now, Lukien, you’re not the only Royal Charger in Lьria. And you’re Cassandra’s champion now. Your first duty is to the queen.”

    Cassandra pulled back her hand. The expression on her face was dreadful. “I’m not feeling well, Akeela,” she said. Yet as she spoke, she looked at Lukien.“! think I need to be alone.”

    J-he celebration went on for hours more, though Cassandra had retired early to her private chamber, feigning a headache that had become remarkably real. Her private chamber was a very grand room, with silk window dressings and velvet chairs and her own bed for those nights when Akeela didn’t require her. She stared at the bed from one of the plush chairs, listening to the ebbing revelry in the banquet room far below and wondering what it would be like to share her sheets with Akeela. Despite her illnesses—real and imagined—she had promised him his wedding night, and as king he had a right to expect her compliance. She hadn’t thought she would dread the experience, but as the night wore on and the celebration ended, she began to fear the inevitable knock at her door. If she had gone to her window, she would have seen the exhausted nobles streaming out of Lionkeep, their enormous appetites slaked by Akeela’s kitchens and wine cellars. She could hear them faintly though the glass, bidding farewell to friends and enemies they wouldn’t see again for ages, and she knew that her virginity would soon be at an end.

    He’s a good man, she reminded herself. I should be proud to give myself to him.

    But she wasn’t proud at all. Cassandra’s feelings bounced between dread and guilt, because she feared Akeela’s clumsy touch and longed for Lukien’s experienced hands instead. She had hardly been able to look away from the Bronze Knight all day. He was compelling, like the sun, and watching him warmed her soul.

    And she was cross with Akeela, because she thought his plans were stupid and she resented him for leaving so soon. He was a man but he acted like a boy sometimes, and despite the hours she had spent brooding alone in her chamber, she could not understand his desire to tour the nearby nations.

    Or did she simply fear being alone with Lukien?

    Yes.

    The answer cut through her mind, crystal clear. Without her husband close, Cassandra knew Lukien would tempt her. Akeela wasn’t the only child in Lionkeep. She too was like a youngster, accustomed to getting what she desired.

    On the table beside her chair stood a flagon of blood red wine. Cassandra picked it up and poured herself another glass. She had been careful with the wine throughout the night, sipping just enough to ease the pain in her stomach while still keeping her senses clear. There was a point of drunkenness she hoped to reach, though, a point where it would be easy to go naked into Akeela’s arms and feel his hard body atop her. She knew what it would be like; her maids in Hes had warned her all about it.

    Then, at last, the knock came. With it came the voice of one of Akeela’s many stewards.

    “My lady? Are you awake?”

    Cassandra put down her wine glass slowly. “I am.”

    “How does my lady tonight?” came the question through the door.

    Well enough to bed the king. That was the answer the steward sought.

    “I am well,” replied Cassandra dully. “Where is the king?”

    “King Akeela requests your presence, my lady. I am to bring you to him if you are well and willing.”

    Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. Too many men wouldn’t have given her the choice. “Come in, then,” she said and stood up to greet the steward. He was a little man with perfect clothes and a gentle twinkle in his eyes. He smiled at Cassandra, as if to soothe her fears. Cassandra felt at ease with him and returned the smile. She looked down at her dress, which she hadn’t changed, and suddenly hoped she looked all right. But she could tell by the steward’s approving nod that she still was beautiful. Without a word the steward stepped aside, revealing the torchlit hallway beyond her chamber. There was no one in the hall at all, just the soft glow of light bidding her forward.

    There was nothing to be done, Cassandra told herself. And she had so wanted this marriage, and to be away from Hes. It would be well to be Akeela’s lover. He would not hurt her, at least. So she let the steward guide her from the chamber, and not a single word passed between them as they walked the glowing hall. At the opposite end was another chamber, also very grand, with two ornate, rounded-top doors and a pair of brass braziers standing beside them like sentries. Cassandra felt herself flush from the heat of their fires and her growing apprehension. The wine worked on her brain, making it swim. Akeela was beyond those fabulous doors, waiting for her. And she knew that she would not emerge intact, and that a piece of her would be left behind, never to be reclaimed. When the steward paused outside the doors, he noticed Cassandra’s troubled expression and offered her a little nod, the way her father might have done.

    Then he opened the doors. With two hands he pulled both doors open slowly, revealing a chamber awash with candlelight. Much larger than Cassandra’s own private chamber, this one disappeared deep into the keep, with hallways and doors of its own spoking out from the central hub. A gigantic window let starlight into the room, revealing the dark silhouette of a man gazing out over the city, his hands clasped behind his back, the fingers twitching nervously.

    “My lord,” said the steward softly, “the queen.”

    Akeela nodded but did not turn around. Instead he waited for the steward to leave the room, closing the doors again behind him. It seemed to Cassandra that Akeela was preparing himself. She watched his shoulders rise with a deep breath. When at least he turned he had a smile on his face, and she could tell he was afraid. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, she resented his fear.

    “I’m glad you’ve come,” he said. He drifted across the carpeted floor, going to her carefully. “How are you feeling now?”

    “Better now,” Cassandra lied. She glanced around the chamber but saw no bed, then supposed it was in another of the rooms. She had already learned that Koth was a place of excess, and Akeela’s chambers were no exception. But he looked splendid in his royal garb, and it was hard to be angry against his earnest expression. He came and stood before her, and looked into her eyes for a long moment. The longing in his face was frightening. The deepest, angst-filled love burned in him. His eager lips came down to kiss her.

    Cassandra closed her eyes. Like a brave soldier she stood her ground as his mouth glided down her cheeks to taste her neck and his hands came around to encircle her waist and pull her greedily forward. She felt herself stiffen at his clumsiness, begging herself to relax and not offend him, yet he seemed unaware of her dread, so lost was he in his own needs. He took her hand and squeezed it tight, his embrace cool and trembling. Breaking off his kisses, he led her toward one of the archways into another chamber of orange candlelight where a huge bed awaited them, already turned down, piled with colorful pillows and immaculate sheets. One by one Akeela blew out the candles as he forged toward the bed, until only a single light burned by the bedside. Then he sat himself down at the edge of the bed, looking up at Cassandra expectantly.

    For a moment Cassandra hovered there, watching him watching her, adoring and loathing him at the same time. It was supposed to have been so different. She had always dreamed of a lover with skills. All of Akeela’s talents were in his head, though, and she knew his hands couldn’t bring her joy.

    But there was nothing to be done for it. She was his now.

    She smiled, struggling to love him, and reached back to undo her dress. When she was done and it fell in a pile at her feet, Akeela’s hands reached out again and pulled her onto the bed.

    w, ‘ith the absence of King Akeela, Lьria moved quietly into late spring. The king had gone on his goodwill tour weeks earlier, leaving the work of government to his chancellors and the task of protecting his queen to Lukien. To most men, chaperoning Cassandra seemed an enviable task. But for Lukien, whose passion for the young queen had grown insatiable, the duty was hellish. In the days, then weeks, of Akeela’s absence, he spent increasing amounts of time with Cassandra, seeing to her needs and escorting her to courtly functions, all under the guise of the impeccable champion. They were seldom alone, but that didn’t keep the tension from rising between them. Lukien loved Cassandra and now he knew it. She kept him awake at night, intoxicated by the faint smell of her perfume on his clothes, and she was his first thought in the morning. An awful guilt accompanied him everywhere. His love was a betrayal, a corruption of his loyalty to Akeela, yet he could not control it. It wasn’t lust that drove him on—he knew that because he had tried to satisfy it with Kothan prostitutes. There was more than just a manly yearning goading him toward Cassandra. To him, she was perfect. And the fact that she was unattainable only drove him harder.

    Cassandra, too, was burdened by their love. Lukien knew it when he looked at her. Despite a room full of people, she always had a glint in her eyes that belonged only to him. She walked ith deliberate slowness when they were alone, never anxious for their solitude to end, and she seldom spoke of Akeela, himself : _away and unable to watch her. There were dozens of hints that betrayed Cassandra’s love for Lukien, and the Bronze Knight cataloged them all each night, lying awake in his bed.

    But their love for each other remained unspoken.

    And it maddened Lukien.

    Five weeks after Akeela’s departure, Lukien had made a decision. He was desperate to be with Cassandra, to spend at least one hour alone with her. That afternoon he was absent from the training grounds, feigning illness. He remained in his chamber in Lionkeep the entire day, hunched over a tiny table with a quill in his hand. Balls of crumpled paper littered the floor, the half-written remains of a dozen terrible love poems. Somehow, he had to reach Cassandra. He had to convince her to see him, and that his love for her was real. But he could find no words, and his stunted poetry frustrated him. He sighed and leaned back, staring out the window. The days were longer now, growing warm. Eventually Akeela would return. Lukien closed his eyes, summoning words that would not come. He was an artist with a sword, but with a pen he was a buffoon, and he feared that any poem, no matter its sincerity, would make a fool of him.

    “How do I say it?” he whispered. “How . .. ?”

    Unlike Akeela, he had never been a man of letters. He realized suddenly that if he were ever to express his love for Cassandra, it would need to be face to face. So he took up one last sheet of paper and wrote a note instead. And when he was done he folded it carefully, sealing it with wax and placing it in the pocket of his shirt. Then, determined not to waver, he left his rooms in search of Jancis.

    V—assandra was in her bathtub when she got Lukien’s note.

    It had been a long day for the queen, spent listening to the prattle of civil servants and the complaints of kitchen staff. With Akeela gone, she was surprised at how many of his responsibilities had fallen on her shoulders. There were always countless questions to answer and decisions to make, and endless invitations to tea at the chancelleries, where the ministers interrogated her for insight into her husband. Nervous about his costly library and his revisionist views, they were always eager to speak to Cassandra, hoping for some gaffe or juicy bit of gossip to pass her lips. They were always disappointed. Despite her youth and inexperience, Cassandra knew she was loyal to Akeela. At least politically.

    She sunk down into the iron tub, burying her chin beneath the warm water, soap bubbles clinging to her breasts and hair. The room was blessedly quiet, for the wing Akeela had prepared for them in Lionkeep was gigantic, and only certain servants were allowed in its halls. If she listened very closely, Cassandra could hear their footfalls in the distance, tapping on the marble floors. It was a very grand home she had now, and she adored it. But mostly, on days like today, she enjoyed the silence. Too tired to dance the way she had in Hes, she spent a good deal of time in her prized bathtub, letting the perfumed oils draw the knots from her muscles. So when she heard lands’ insistent call, she groaned.

    “Cass? Where are you?”

    Cassandra considered not answering, but it was too late. Jan-cis rounded the corner, peeking her head inside the chamber. A peculiar excitement lit her face.

    “I’m tired, Jancis,” said Cassandra listlessly.

    “Oh, you won’t be after this,” said the girl. She held up a piece of folded paper.

    “What’s that?”

    “A note,” said Jancis. “From Lukien.”

    Cassandra jerked upright, splashing water over the edge. “What?”

    “He just gave it to me.” Jancis hurried over and knelt down next to the tub. “While I was in the kitchen, helping Beith. He called me aside and handed it to me.”

    “Just like that? Did anyone see?”

    “No,” Jancis assured her.

    She gave the note to Cassandra, who took it warily. Cassandra’s wet hands saturated the paper. She looked at it blankly.

    “Open it,” pressed Jancis.

    “I’m afraid,” said Cassandra. “What do you think it says?”

    “How should I know? Find out for yourself!”

    Jancis hovered over her friend eagerly, waiting for her to read the note. Cassandra slid her nail under the wax seal, breaking it, then unfolded the paper. On it was Lukien’s penmanship, broad and rambling.

    “What’s it say?” Jancis asked.

    Cassandra read in silence.

    My Queen, When the dawn is new, look for me at the southern gate.

    It was signed simply, Your Adoring Servant.

    Confused, Cassandra stared at the paper, biting her lip. “He wants to see me,” she said. “In the morning. He wants me to meet him at the southern gate at dawn.” Cassandra let the note drop from her hand and fall to the floor. “Jancis, what am I to do?”

    “I don’t know,” said Jancis blankly. “Cassandra, you’re . . .”

    “Married. I know.”

    It was a miserable prospect, and it made Cassandra sag until her chin was once again in the water. She stared at her knees poking above the bubbles. What was she to do? Lukien had made his move. In a hundred daydreams she had hoped for this moment, and now that it was here she was speechless.

    Dawn, she thought blackly. When no one can see us.

    “What a grand conspiracy I make,” she whispered. “What a terrible queen I am.”

    I, ionkeep slept. A gentle fog hung about the keep, shrouding the bricks and grassy fields. Up in the sky, starlight struggled through the haze. Sounds of wildlife heralded the coming morning, the buzz of insects and the songs of birds. Off in the distance, a sentry called all clear.

    Lukien rounded the corner of the granary house, quietly approaching the gate. The hooves of his horse, Ghost, clopped on the cobblestones. He wore no armor, just a gray doublet and trousers, and he carried no sword at his belt, for he did not wish to look suspicious or arouse a sentry to alarm. As always, the southern gate was unmanned. A winding avenue led to the main houses, up a hill and out of sight in the fog. Past the gate, the avenue fanned out into a green and rolling field, which also disappeared in the mist. Lukien paused just past the granary, staying to the shadows. It was very near dawn, yet he could hear no one else, just his own nervous breathing. He peered toward the gate and the avenue, waiting for Cassandra to appear. Surely she had received his note. But that didn’t mean she would answer his odd request, and her absence worried Lukien. He had taken a dangerous chance in sending his note. The die was cast.

    “Come on,” he whispered. “Please . . .”

    The first rays of sunlight crawled over the keep. Lukien was grateful for the fog. The morning was warm, perfect for spiriting away. But he didn’t intend to ride alone. If Cassandra didn’t show . . .

    He heard footfalls up the avenue, very faint. He cocked his head to listen. Someone was approaching. Carefully he backed Ghost against the wall, enough to still glimpse the gate. Down the hill a figure approached. Small and slight, it moved with grace through the fog, head hidden beneath a shawl. Lukien’s heart leapt. It was Cassandra. She looked around furtively, clasping the shawl around her face, her body dressed in a colorless frock. When she reached the open gate, she paused. Her eyes darted nervously about the avenue. Lukien urged his horse out of the shadows. Cassandra noticed him immediately.

    “Shhh,” he cautioned, putting a finger to his lips. He did not speak again until he was just before her. “My lady, you’ve come,” Unable to control his smile, he beamed. “Thank you.”

    “Lukien,” she sighed. “This is . . .” She shrugged. “Wrong.”

    “I know, but I had to speak to you. I swear, my lady, I couldn’t bear another moment of silence.” He glanced around. “This is no place to talk. Here, take my hand.”

    “No,” Cassandra refused. “I can’t go with you. Say what you must, but say it here.”

    “Cassandra . . .”

    “I am the queen, Lukien. I am Akeela’s wife.” Cassandra’s eyes betrayed her misery. “Will you make a whore of me?”

    The words cut Lukien. He sat up straight, summoning his remaining dignity. “I love you,” he declared. “I loved you when I _saw you in Hes, and I love you now more than ever. And you love _me. I can see it in you.”

    Cassandra shook her head. “No . . .”

    “Yes. It is too plain to hide, my lady. For both of us. Well, I will not hide it from you any longer. I confess it gladly.” Lukien looked at her, waiting for a reaction. All he got was an anguished groan.

    “Don’t make me do this . . .”

    Lukien thrust out his hand. “Take it.”

    “I cannot!”

    “I know you’ve tried to love Akeela.”

    “I do love him,” said Cassandra bitterly.

    “Like a brother,” said Lukien. “Yes, I know what that’s like. That’s not what I mean.”

    She looked up at him, her expression shattered. “If we do this it will kill him. It will, and we will be to blame.”

    Lukien kept his hand outstretched. He had already considered the pain it would cause his king. “He’ll never know,” he said softly. “I would die before letting him find out. Come now, before the light comes.”

    Still Cassandra wouldn’t take his hand.

    “If you don’t come with me, then you’ll be saying you don’t care about me,” said Lukien. “I will tell myself that what I saw in your eyes was an illusion, and I will not come to you again.”

    A terrible expression overcame Cassandra. She took another look around the grounds, studying the fog for unwanted faces. When she was convinced that no one was about—that not a soul could witness her adulterous act—she took Lukien’s hand and let him sweep her onto the back of his stallion.

    T -hey rode. Heedless of the mist, they fled the keep and plunged into the gardens of Akeela’s estate, leaving the avenue for the rolling hills. Cassandra kept her arms wrapped around Lukien, and she did not speak or utter the smallest sound. She could feel the heat coming off his body, the strength of his shoulders as he pushed his steed further into the green fields. Morning was coming, slowly breaking the haze. Cassandra listened to the sound of horse hooves, bearing her away. Lionkeep and Chancellery Square fell off in the distance, replaced by wildflowers and fruit trees. She felt weightless, bodiless, and as Lukien rode she laid her head against his back, smiling. Ahead of them lay an apple orchard, inviting them into its private folds. Lukien hurried toward it. For Cassandra, the rest of the world dissolved away.

    What she was doing was a crime. She knew it and hated herself for it. Now she thought of Akeela, sweetly ignorant and blindly trusting her with Lukien. But he appeared to her as a distant memory, something easily forgotten in Lukien’s embrace. More, she wanted to forget him. Just today; just for this morning. A giddiness overtook her, and she laughed with delight. The breeze struck her face and suddenly the sun appeared, warm and yellow. In the embrace of the apple trees they were alone. For a moment at least, she could be with Lukien.

    “It’s so beautiful here,” she said in his ear. “Let’s stop.”

    Lukien did as his queen requested, bringing his horse to a halt within the orchard. The cessation of riding heightened the silence of the place. Cassandra heard birds in the trees. She took a breath of the sweet air. It smelled of springtime.

    “It’s lovely,” she said. She slid down from the horse, looking around, and all she could see were green fields lined with apple trees, like soldiers stretching out into the morning. Not another soul stirred amid the orchard.

    “No one will see us here,” said Lukien as he got down from the horse. He stood before Cassandra. “Don’t be afraid, my lady.”

    “I’m not,” said Cassandra. She had never been less afraid in her life. She reached out and took Lukien’s hand. “Come,” she told him. “We will. . . talk.”

    Without a word she led him beneath a great apple tree bursting with pink flowers. There she sat herself down on the dewy earth, dragging him down beside her. He yielded to her easily. She saw pain in his eyes.

    “Cassandra . . .” His voice was a whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”

    He didn’t have to speak a word. Cassandra could read it all in his expression.

    “You love me,” she said.

    He nodded.

    “And I you, I fear.”

    Lukien stroked her face. His touch was warm, like the coming sun. Cassandra felt the stirrings in her body, dreading them yet following their lead. She lowered her head in offering.

    “What are we doing?” she asked. “We will be damned for this.”

    “No.” Lukien leaned in closer. “No one will ever know. Not ever.”

    “Just this once, then.”

    He didn’t answer. She was glad he didn’t. Once, she knew, could never be enough.

    Will Trager rode through the field, plagued as always by a black mood. The sweetness of the apple orchard did nothing to soften his expression, for he was possessed this morning of a familiar hatred, one that had dogged him relentlessly since the tournament. He was tired of coming to the orchard in the morning, waking at the crack of dawn to practice in secret. And he was tired of not getting any better, and of losing every joust to his captain. But mostly he was tired of the laughter, still ringing in his ears these many weeks later. The endless chorus of catcalls drove him deeper into the orchard.

    He was alone, as he always was when practicing, but had two horses with him: one, the black charger he always rode, the other a smaller beast of burden, laden with the equipment he would need for practicing. The smaller beast held his lance and jousting armor, and the quintain he would ride against. The quintain had a red target painted on a swing arm; when the target was struck, the arm would whip around, catching him in the back if he weren’t swift enough. Trager was very swift now, and was almost never tagged by the arm. But he wasn’t swift enough. Before the summer ended there would be more tourneys, more chances to best the Bronze Knight. He was determined to be ready.

    The sun was barely above the horizon when he came to his usual practice place, a long strip of flat ground between the sen-trylike apple trees. He stopped his little caravan, dismounted, then took a look around, confident that no one could see him. He was about to unload his equipment when he heard something echoing through the orchard. Trager froze, sure that he’d been discovered. His first suspicion was Lukien.

    “Son of a bitch,” he spat. The captain would just love to see him practicing. The jokes would go on forever.

    Trager tried to locate the sound. For a moment it disappeared, but then it returned, stronger, more urgent. It didn’t sound like a human precisely, more like an animal. A low groan. Trager decided on its direction and took a wary step forward. Sound carried far in the orchard, and the silent morning played tricks on it, making it louder. He stalked through the trees, examining each one, but saw nothing. The sound was louder now, definitely human. Trager recognized the noises of lovemaking. A mischievous grin swam on his face. Very quietly he picked his way toward the unknown lovers, careful to be quiet. He rounded a stand of trees, hid himself behind a stout trunk, and peered with one eye into the distance.

    There he saw them, beneath a tree. Two lovers, more naked than clothed, their arms tangled around each other. The man was on top, his face hidden. Beneath him the woman squirmed, letting out the calls that had summoned their unwanted visitor. Trager snickered, putting a hand over his mouth. He didn’t recognize the man, but he was sure he was from Lionkeep. A Royal Charger, most likely. He thought about interrupting the couple and disciplining the man right there, but then he reconsidered. What harm was there in getting a leg over a kitchen girl?

    He was about to leave when the man tossed his head back. A handsome head, unmistakably blond. A voice pealed from his throat, crying in lust, as recognizable as his pretty face.

    “Fate above . . .”

    Trager staggered back. It was Lukien, and it was no kitchen girl beneath him. His eyes bulged at the sight of Queen Cassandra, chest thrust out, mouth open in passion. The vision burned itself into Trager’s brain. He shook his head in disbelief, but when he looked again the couple was the same.

    As fast as he could Trager turned and went to his horse, mounting the beast and dragging its little sibling after them. He rode quickly but quietly, not wanting to be seen or heard. He had a great prize now and didn’t want it discovered, not until the perfect moment.

    “Oh, Captain,” he chirped gleefully. “You’ve really gotten your hands dirty this time!”

    w.

    ‘hen Akeela arrived home, it wasn’t in triumph. There were no musicians to greet him, no fanfare of any kind. As always, the streets of Koth were busy with commerce, but were almost oblivious to the return of the king. His royal carriage, flanked by honor guards, rolled into the capital without announcement, having sent only one herald ahead to Lionkeep. Akeela himself reclined in his carriage, alone. It had been an exhausting trip and he was glad to be home. To his great surprise, his goodwill tour had been disastrous. He’d been greeted warmly in Marn and Ganjor, but in Norvor he had been shunned, a reaction that had shocked him. Because he hadn’t sent emissaries to Norvor before his arrival, he hadn’t known of King Mor’s anger over the Ree-cian treaty, and had borne the brunt of the old ruler’s ire. Now, instead of returning to Lьria in celebration, Akeela stole into Koth like a criminal, ashamed to show his face. Tonight he would have to deal with the consequences of his trip. He would have to summon a meeting of his chancellors and explain what King Mor had told him—that there might be war between their countries.

    “Stupid,” he chided himself, closing his eyes against a burgeoning headache. “Too fast. . .”

    He had done everything too fast, and his eagerness had made an unwanted enemy. Norvor had always sided with Lьria in the arguments with Reec, sure that their own claim to the river Kryss would be honored in any eventual deal. But Akeela had been too anxious for peace with Reec, and had barely considered Norvor in his plans.

    And now they threaten war, he thought miserably. What a fool I am.

    He opened his eyes to look at the city. In the distance he saw the foundation of his library, slowly rising from its hillside. Akeela sighed, wondering if his cathedral would ever be built. Seeing its foundation reminded him of himself—incomplete, even rash. It was a trait he was only now starting to recognize, but he was sure Baron Glass would remind him of it. He dreaded seeing Glass, almost as much as he savored seeing Cassandra. Weeks of traveling had withered Akeela’s good mood, making him hungry for companionship. He imagined the smell of Cassandra’s dark hair. Tonight, after his council, he would take her to bed.

    She makes a man of me, he thought.

    lhat evening, Akeela supped with Cassandra alone, telling her what had happened during his tour. She listened distractedly, hardly touching her food. Akeela commented on her lack of appetite, but the queen laughed off his concern. Still, she seemed preoccupied, and was unconvincing when she simply told Akeela she was glad to see him. Akeela didn’t mind her awkwardness. He was with her again and he was glad, and he used the quiet supper to prepare himself for his meeting with the chancellors, who were presently gathering in the council chamber. According to Warden Graig, Baron Glass had already arrived, and was anxiously awaiting Akeela’s presence. But Akeela didn’t rush his meal. He explained almost everything to Cassandra, including the dangers of a war with Norvor. His new queen merely nodded.

    “You will deal with it,” she assured him. Her face was hidden behind her wine glass. The room was very quiet.

    “You are my good luck charm, Cassandra,” Akeela told her, reaching across the chamber to take her hand.

    “No,” said Cassandra. “You don’t need me.”

    “If you were with me in Norvor you would have charmed that arrogant ass, Mor. No man can resist you, Cassandra.”

    Cassandra’s eyes widened. “What?”

    “You’re a jewel, that’s all,” said Akeela. He got up from the table. “But now I must go. I can’t keep Glass and the others waiting too long. I’m sure they’re anxious to crucify me.” He bent down and kissed his wife’s forehead. There was a chill on her skin. “Good night, my love. Don’t wait up for me. This meeting will take some time.”

    He made to leave, but Cassandra stopped him.

    “Akeela . . .”

    “Yes?”

    She hesitated, then said, “I’m glad you’re home.”

    To Akeela, the words were like music. “We’ve been apart too long, I know,” he replied. “But now I’m back, and I won’t be going away again.”

    A peculiar expression flashed in Cassandra’s eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Well, off with you. And don’t be afraid of Glass.”

    “Afraid?” said Akeela. “Cassandra, I’m not afraid of him.”

    “All right,” said Cassandra. “Good luck, then.”

    When Akeela had gone Cassandra waited in their chambers for a very long time. The servants cleared away the remnants of their meal as she watched them, politely questioning her about her uneaten food, a very fine pheasant one of the keep’s huntsmen had snared. Cassandra did not answer the question, instead smiling and asking the woman to find Jancis.

    “Have her come to my reading room,” said Cassandra, then drifted out of the chamber.

    In the reading room was a large window cut into the turret, ornately fabricated with panes of stained glass that painted patterns on the opposite wall when the sun was strong. Tonight, however, moonlight put on the show. Cassandra sank down into a plush velvet chair and watched the pale beams as she waited for Jancis. Seeing Akeela again had increased her guilt a thousandfold, and she could barely lift her head or even think of herself without the deepest self-loathing. Such a good man, with so much on his shoulders. Yet she had betrayed him easily, and continued to do so almost every night, stealing ecstatic moments with Lukien without the slightest regard for her husband. What kind of monster had Akeela married? She had no answer to that question, and she cursed herself. She had always thought of herself as clever.

    But it’s dreadful to be clever, she thought. It was like a revelation suddenly, as clear as any of the moonbeams. To be clever was to be a bitch, or a betrayer like Lukien. Akeela wasn’t clever. He was moral, and moral men were never clever. It was why they were better than everyone else, and why Akeela was a better man then Lukien. Even Lukien knew it, and the truth of it tormented him.

    Yet despite the torment they hadn’t stopped. Now Cassandra feared nothing could ever stop them, or save her soul from her own crimes.

    It took long minutes for Jancis to arrive. When she did she found Cassandra staring pensively into the stained glass, out toward the muted city beyond. A tear was rolling down Cassandra’s face, but she didn’t bother wiping it away. She wanted Jancis to see how truly bad she felt.

    “I’m not a monster, Jan,” she whispered without turning around. “I’m just. . . trapped.”

    Jancis came closer and placed a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. To Cassandra’s great relief there were no chiding words this time, only mildness. Cassandra thought she would sob.

    “You should have seen him,” she went on. “He has so much to deal with, maybe even war, yet he brightens like a firefly when he sees me.”

    “He’s a good man,” said Jancis.

    “Better than I deserve.”

    Unable to face her friend, Cassandra waited for the counsel she knew would come. Jancis kept her hand on the young queen’s shoulder, until the gentleness of the touch grew firm.

    “You have to stop, you and Lukien both,” she said. “Akeela’s home now. It’s time to give yourself to him, and no one else.”

    Cassandra shook her head. “I can’t.”

    “Cassandra, you must.” Jancis went around the chair to face her. “Enough, now. The two of you have enjoyed yourself, but it has to end, right now. Tonight.”

    There was no way for Cassandra to explain it, so she didn’t try. How could one explain love? Everything Jancis said was true, but love like this didn’t yield to logic. It was beyond the sensible. It was like lunacy.

    “I don’t want to end it, Jancis,” said Cassandra. “I’m not strong enough.”

    And as she spoke, the tear trailing down her face fell at last into her lap.

    here was a strange quiet to the castle as Akeela made his way through the halls. His council chamber was on the other end of the keep, near the main gate and easily accessible to travelers. Unlike his father, who always held council in his throne room, Akeela shunned the throne as just another trapping of authority. He preferred to deal with his chancellors as equals, even if they really weren’t. He was king by blood-right, had authority over all the ministers in Chancellery Square, but that didn’t mean he would abuse his station — not even against men like Glass.

    Akeela was halfway to the council chamber when he saw Trager. The lieutenant was leaning against a wall, alone, his arms folded over his chest. The torchlight revealed an odd expression on his sharp face. Akeela slowed but Trager noticed him, coming quickly to attention.

    “My lord,” he said with a slight bow. “Welcome home.”

    “Thank you. Shouldn’t you be in the council chamber with the others?”

    “Yes, my lord, but actually I wanted to speak to you first.” Trager looked around, his voice dipping to a whisper. “It’s important.”

    “I have business with the chancellors, Will. I really can’t dally.”

    “I know, my lord, but this will interest you,” Trager insisted. He continued blocking Akeela’s path. “I have news for you.”

    “Can’t it wait? Really, you should be going through Lukien with news. This is improper.”

    Trager’s eyes seemed to laugh. “Improper, hmm . . .” He thought for a moment. “No, I think I’d better tell you this directly, my lord.”

    “Very well,” Akeela relented. “After the meeting, then. Now, do you mind?” He shooed Trager out of his way. “Is Lukien already there?”

    “Yes,” replied Trager, following after him. “So is Baron Glass and Chancellor Hogon.”

    “And Nils? I sent for him as well.”

    “He’s there with D’marak,” said Trager.

    Akeela nodded, bracing himself. Nils was a reasonable man, and he would need his goodwill against Glass and Hogon. Hogon was also a reasonable man, but he had a temper and was an old ally of Baron Glass. The two had soldiered together, and almost always took the same side in arguments. As Chancellor of War, it was Hogon’s responsibility to oversee the Lьrian military, including the Royal Chargers. Akeela was suddenly glad he’d invited Lukien to the meeting. They would listen to Lukien, he knew. It was valuable just having the Bronze Kinght by his side.

    Trager followed Akeela like a dutiful dog, pulling ahead of him only when the reached the council chamber. The door to the chamber was already open. Akeela could smell Glass’ pipe. Muted voices issued over the threshold. Trager entered first, announcing the king.

    “King Akeela,” he said simply.

    The men all rose from around the oval table, all except for Baron Glass, who was already standing, pacing around the room. The baron stopped and turned to Akeela, neither a smile nor a scowl on his face. Determined not to be intimidated, Akeela hardened his expression. The chancellors and their underlings all bowed in greeting, welcoming him home. Akeela shook outstretched hands as he made his way to the opposite end of the chamber, where a chair awaited him, slightly larger than the rest. The air was already stale from overcrowding and the obnoxious smoke from Baron Glass’ pipe filling the room. Glass was the last to greet Akeela. He did not put out his hand as the others had, but merely nodded deferentially. Lukien, however, greeted his king with a warm embrace.

    “Akeela,” he said, kissing both his cheeks. “It’s good to see you. Welcome home.”

    Akeela smiled, loving the attention. “Lukien, I missed you.” He patted the man’s back then whispered, “Thank you for coming.”

    As always, the Bronze Knight had a chair at Akeela’s right side. He dropped into it just as Akeela sat down. The chancellors and ministers did the same. And just as he was first to stand, Baron Glass was last to take his seat, doing so noisily only when all the others were seated. As expected, Glass sat next to Hogon. The War Chancellor’s expression was anxious, as if he’d already heard Akeela’s news. Nils and D’Marak sat at the far end of the table, both dressed in their usual drab robes, while Chancellor Sark sat apart from the others, surrounded by three silent ministers of the Treasury. Trager, along with Breck and Lukien, sat near Akeela. The closeness of the chamber made the young king queasy. Servants had set the table with pitchers and goblets. Akeela took a long drink before beginning.

    “Thank you for the welcome,” he said finally. “I know it was short notice, and I appreciate you coming to see me. I have news of my trip, you see, and I thought you should all hear it at once.”

    “Bad news, no doubt,” said Baron Glass. “Or you would have waited until tomorrow.”

    Akeela stiffened. “I’m afraid you’re right. My news is dire. My goodwill tour wasn’t all that I’d hoped it would be. It caused some . . . trouble.”

    Chancellor Hogon leaned forward. “What kind of trouble, my lord?” His watery eyes filled with concern.

    “Norvor,” said Akeela. “King Mor took some offense at my peace initiative with Reec. He thinks the Kryss belongs to Norvor as well as Reec, and he wasn’t happy about us giving control of our side to the Reecians.”

    “Wasn’t happy?” said Glass. “You mean he was angry, don’t you?”

    Akeela nodded. “That’s right.”

    “How angry?” asked Hogon.

    “Angry enough to threaten war,” replied Akeela.

    “I knew it!” erupted Glass. He slammed a fist down on the table. “King Akeela, didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I warn you not to go so quickly?”

    “I’m not a little boy,” hissed Akeela. “Yes, you did warn me. And I’m not a damn bit sorry about the Reecian peace. Are you?”

    Smouldering, Glass looked down at his wine goblet, refusing to answer.

    “Now listen,” said Akeela, “I don’t want to argue. I called this meeting because you have to know of Mor’s threat. He told me that he won’t let our peace bargain with Reec stand, that he plans on taking the Kryss back from Reec, with or without our help.”

    “Did he threaten Lьria?” Hogon asked.

    Akeela hesitated. So far, he hadn’t told this part to anyone, not even Cassandra. “Yes,” he admitted. “He said that he’d be stationing troops on the Norvor side of the river, and that if we tried to cross or help the Reecians maintain the river, he would attack us.”

    “That snake,” sneered Hogon. “How dare he speak to you like that. You’re the King of Lьria!”

    “And he’s the King of Norvor,” Akeela countered. “To be honest, I don’t think my title impressed him. I expected to be greeted like a friend, not like a ruler. Instead I got a cold, stiff breeze.” The memory hardened Akeela. “Well, it won’t stand. We can’t let Norvor move against Reec, and we can’t have our treaty threatened, or our rights to use the Kryss.”

    Baron Glass shook his head, muttering, “I told you.”

    “We have to plan, Baron Glass,” Akeela insisted.

    Glass looked up at him. “You are willful, King Akeela.”

    The insult stunned Akeela. Lukien rose to Akeela’s defense.

    “Baron Glass, forgive me, but you’re out of order,” he said. “Remember—you’re talking to your king.”

    “No, Lukien,” said Akeela. “Let him speak his mind. Go on, Baron. Get the poison out of your blood.”

    “Very well.” Glass sat up straight. “I warned you against the Reecian peace, King Akeela. I told you that you were going too quickly, and that you should at least tell King Mor of your plans. But you didn’t listen to me. Then I warned you against going on this goodwill tour, and again you refused my counsel.” He tried to smile, but it came out crooked. “You think of me as a bitter old man. You think I resent you for having the throne at so young an age . . .”

    “I don’t,” Akeela protested.

    “You do. But I don’t resent you, my lord. You’re my king, and I serve you the best I can. But you won’t listen to any of us. You always do what you want, and I think that serves you poorly.” Baron Glass looked around at the other councilors. “We are not bitter old men, my lord. We are experienced, and we should be heeded. Your father listened to us.”

    Akeela sat back in his chair, feeling insufferably small. The invocation of his father shattered the defensive wall he’d erected, and he suddenly felt naked, exposed and weakened by these men who pledged to serve him. He did not appreciate the baron’s honesty.

    “All right,” sighed Akeela. “You’ve had your say, Baron. Now, give me your counsel. We have to deal with King Mor. What do you suggest?”

    “It’s obvious,” said Glass. “He’s planning to mass troops across the Kryss? Then we must do the same. We must match his force, show him we cannot be intimidated.”

    Akeela’s expression soured. He glanced at Lukien, but the knight’s face was unreadable.

    “Chancellor Hogon?” he asked. “Do you agree with Baron Glass?”

    The old man frowned. “If what you say is true, my lord, then Mor is not to be trusted. Given cause, he will move against the river. Will you give him cause?”

    “He wants the treaty with Reec rescinded,” said Akeela bleakly. “And that’s something I will never do.”

    “Then he will have his cause,” said Hogon. “I agree with Baron Glass. We must act.”

    “But I don’t want to provoke a war,” said Akeela.

    “You already have,” said Glass sharply. “Face it, King Akeela. And if I may say so, I think it’s time to halt construction of your library. It’s too expensive. We can’t afford to bleed our treasury with war on the cusp.”

    “The library?” Akeela was aghast. “Oh, no. That’s out of the question.”

    “Please, King Akeela,” Glass implored. “War may be coming. Don’t continue with this folly—”

    “It isn’t folly!” sneered Akeela. He felt Lukien’s hidden hand on his leg, coaxing him down, but he stood up anyway. “I won’t let you use this trouble with Norvor as an excuse to stop the library. The monies have already been allocated. Isn’t that right, Sark?”

    Chancellor Sark, who had been listening with varied interest, now froze under the king’s glare. “My lord?”

    “The money for the library, man,” said Akeela. “It’s all been allocated, right?”

    Sark grimaced. “Well, yes and no.”

    “What does that mean?”

    “Akeela, be easy,” whispered Lukien. Akeela ignored him.

    “Chancellor, does the Treasury have the money or not?”

    “Not if war comes, my lord, no,” said Sark. “I’m sorry, but your library is very expensive.”

    Glass smiled. “And so is paying for a war. King Akeela, I beg you to listen to reason.”

    But Akeela couldn’t listen. All around him were enemies.

    “We will build the library,” he declared. “And we will not provoke a war with Mor. I didn’t make peace with Reec just so we can battle Norvor.”

    “So?” pressed Glass. “What’s your plan, then?”

    “We wait,” said Akeela. “Mor may be bluffing, and I don’t want bloodshed if it can be avoided.”

    Baron Glass sighed with disgust. “You’re just protecting your library.”

    “No,” Akeela shot back. “I’m trying to protect lives. Apparently that means nothing to war-mongers like you, Baron.”

    Rising from his seat, Glass said, “That is a terrible thing to say to me, King Akeela.”

    “If you’re standing for an apology you’ll have a long wait,” said Akeela. “Sit down, Baron. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

    Glass’ eyes shifted around the room, now engulfed in charged silence. Chancellor Hogon reached out and grabbed Glass’ sleeve, gently drawing him back into his chair. It was not going at all as Akeela had hoped, but suddenly he didn’t care any more. He was king, and he demanded respect.

    “Now listen to me, all of you,” he said. “We’re not going to match Mor’s troop movements, and we’re not going to break the treaty with Reec.” His eyes widened dramatically. “And we’re absolutely not going to stop building my library. Do you understand?”

    The chancellors and their underlings gave non-committal nods—all except for Glass.

    “And what of Norvor?” asked the baron. “Will you just ignore them?”

    “I will deal with Norvor if and when the time comes.” Akeela pushed back his chair and started out of the council chamber. “That is all.”

    Out in the fresh air of the hall, Akeela caught his breath. His hands were shaking and his mouth was dry and he could hear the disparate voices of the chancellors still in the chamber. Akeela licked his lips, suffocated with panic. He stalked off without thinking, not waiting for Lukien or the others. Lukien caught up to him within a few strides.

    “Akeela,” he called. “Are you all right?”

    Akeela paused, his head swimming. “They oppose me, Lukien. Everything I do, they question!”

    “They’re just concerned,” Lukien said. He smiled warmly. “We all are.”

    Akeela returned his comrade’s grin. Good Lukien, the only one Akeela knew he could trust. He put a hand on the knight’s shoulder. “It’s wonderful to see you,” he said. “The only friendly face in this whole damn city.”

    J3y the next morning, Akeela’s temper had quieted. He had spent the night with Cassandra and had breakfasted with Graig, going over small matters that required his attention. Since they were easily dealt with, Akeela felt accomplished after the meal. He was refreshed from a good night’s sleep and his anger at Baron Glass had subsided, at least temporarily. Because he had been gone from Lionkeep so long, he decided to visit with Beith and see how her new baby was faring. Little Gilwyn was now almost three months old, and Akeela had heard from Gwena that he was growing well, showing no signs of the mind damage they all had feared. His hand and foot were still clubbed, but according to Gwena he was a happy child, and that pleased Akeela.

    Beith’s room was in the servants’ area, so Akeela left Graig after breakfast and headed for her chambers. But he hadn’t gone far before he saw Trager, patiently waiting for him at the end of the hall. Suddenly he remembered his promise to the lieutenant, one that he’d forgotten in yesterday’s rage. Trager smiled at him from across the hall. Like yesterday, the hall was empty. Akeela realized with discomfort that Trager had planned it that way.

    “Will, I’m sorry,” he offered. “I forgot you wanted to speak to me.”

    “No matter, my lord, it could keep until today.” Trager glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

    “Private?” asked Akeela. “Is it so important?”

    “Oh, it is,” Trager assured him. “I’m sorry to say so, but I think it will trouble you.”

    “Why am I not surprised? Very well; we can talk in my study.”

    Akeela led Trager in the opposite direction of Beith’s rooms, promising himself he’d check on her and the baby later. Trager’s expression was earnest enough to worry Akeela. The lieutenant said nothing as they walked through the halls, but he scanned every face they passed, apparently worried about being seen. Finally, when they reached Akeela’s small study, Trager spoke.

    “Thank you for seeing me, Akeela,” he said as he entered the room.

    Akeela bristled the way he always did when Trager addressed him in the familiar. They went back a long way, but they had never really been friends. Akeela wondered if Trager considered him one now. Or was he trying to become a friend?

    “It’s all right,” he said. He directed Trager to a well-worn leather chair. “Sit down.”

    “Thank you.” Trager took the chair and sighed. He shook his head as if not knowing where to begin. Akeela sat down on the edge of his desk, facing Trager. There was something insincere about the man’s expression.

    “You’re troubled?” Akeela asked.

    Trager nodded. “My news is heavy.”

    “Tell me,” Akeela insisted.

    “It’s about. . . the queen.”

    “Cassandra?” Akeela stood up. “What about her?”

    “My lord, it pains me to tell you this. . .”

    “Tell me!”

    “She has been . . .” Trager grimaced. “. . . unfaithful to you.”

    It was as if Akeela hadn’t heard the word. It hung in the air, out of reach and understanding.

    “What?”

    Trager looked heartbroken. “I’m sorry, Akeela, but it’s true. While you were gone she was with another man. I saw them.”

    “That’s impossible!” Akeela cried. “She wouldn’t dare betray me like that. Tell me what you saw!”

    “It was in the apple orchard, not even a week ago,” said Trager. “It was very early and I was in the orchard, practicing my jousting. That’s when I saw her.” He looked away. “With her paramour.”

    “What paramour?” asked Akeela. “Did you see him?”

    “Yes,” said Trager. “Akeela, it was Lukien.”

    The name fell on Akeela like a hammer. He staggered back against his desk, strangled with disbelief.

    “No,” he said desperately. “No, I don’t believe it. You lie!”

    “I saw them, Akeela. They were making love right before my eyes.”

    Akeela shot forward and grabbed Trager’s lapels, pulling him from the chair. “How dare you speak of Lukien like that. And the queen!”

    “It’s the truth!” Trager spat. “Akeela, I swear it. . .”

    “Do not address me in the familiar, you rat! I am your king!”

    “Forgive me,” cried Trager. He took Akeela’s hands, prying them from his clothes. “But you had to know the truth.”

    Akeela shook his head wildly. “It’s not the truth. You’ve always hated Lukien. You’d do anything to ruin him!” He released Trager, shoving him backward. Trager fell over his chair and nrawled onto the floor. Akeela stalked after him. “I won’t be-ij_eve your lies. And don’t you ever speak them again. If you do, I’ll kill you.“

    Trager’s eyes were wide. “It’s the truth,” he insisted. “I swear, I _Saw them!“

    Enraged, Akeela kicked the writhing man. “Quiet!”

    “Stop!” Trager pleaded. He crawled away, clutching at the chair for support as he struggled to get upright. “King Akeela—my lord—listen to me!”

    “Your lies sicken me,” said Akeela. “Now get out of here. And don’t you ever speak such filth again. If I hear the smallest rumor about Cassandra, you’ll hang for it, I promise.”

    Trager paused halfway to the door, his eyes fixed on Akeela. “You’re mad,” he hissed. “Truly mad.”

    Akeela grabbed a book from his desk and flung it at Trager. “Out!”

    Trager left, slamming the door after him. Akeela fell against his desk, nearly collapsing. He felt sick suddenly, about to retch, but he swallowed it down and caught his breath. His heartbeat exploded in his temples, and all around him the room seemed to swim with color, until he could no longer stand. Clumsily he reached for the chair Trager had toppled and sat down. Everything was happening too fast—the battles with Glass, the coming war with Norvor, everything. And now this horrible accusation. Akeela closed his eyes, fearing he might weep. Trager’s charges were . . .

    What? Unbelievable? Akeela had acted as if it were impossible, but inside something needled him. His little voice was speaking again. Cassandra and Lukien had been remarkably civil to each other since coming to Koth. More than civil, really. Akeela hated to admit it, but part of him believed Trager’s tale.

    “Cassandra . . . why?”

    If there was an answer, Akeela didn’t know it. He felt remarkably alone.

    “I’ll not hide from the truth,” he whispered. “Cassandra, I’ll find out if you’ve been unfaithful. And Lukien, if you’ve betrayed me . . .”

    A rage like he’d never felt before rose up within him, making his heart pound and his temples quiver. He would not be made a fool of by Lukien or Cassandra or anyone, no matter how much he loved them. Akeela knew he had to discover the truth.

    Somehow.

    as Cassandra had predicted, she did not stop seeing Lukien. He was everywhere in Lionkeep, and on everybody’s lips, and because he was her champion he was impossible to ignore, accompanying her to every royal function, constantly by her side.

    It was much the same with Akeela too, for Lukien had sway with the nobles of Koth and was useful to Akeela, who had need for influence in the House of Dukes now that Norvor was threatening. Cassandra attributed Akeela’s recent mood changes to the trouble with King Mor, because her husband had been distant and quiet since his return, and had never once asked her back to his bed. Truly, that was a relief for Cassandra, who now thought constantly of Lukien and his fiery touch, and who hated to compare Akeela’s sober lovemaking to that of her bronze champion. She stole every moment possible that she could with Lukien, though they were seldom alone, and when no one was looking she let him kiss her or whisper poetry in her ear, rhymes so bad that she had to fight against giggles. Since her first time with the Bronze Knight, Cassandra had discovered the remarkable lover within him, generous and patient, and skilled in bringing the woman out of her young, inexperienced body. What had started as a curious infatuation was now an inferno of love, and though she knew she risked everything by being with him, Cassandra could not stop herself. Or would not stop herself. She still didn’t know which was the truth.

    But there was always the guilt. No matter how much love or pleasure she felt, remorse was her ever-present companion, and she lived in constant fear of being discovered. She did not fear for herself, though; she knew the weight of her crimes and accepted it. And she did not fear for Lukien, either, confident he could weather any disgrace. Rather she feared for Akeela, and what the discovery of her indiscretion would do to his fragile confidence. The world saw Akeela as good and kind, but they did not see the softness that made him so generous, and Cassandra knew how easily he could be broken.

    One night not long after Akeela’s return, Cassandra told herself she’d had enough. She had traveled to Merloja on a goodwill tour of her own, a Lьrian city not far from Koth. There was a duke there named Jaran who was very influential with some in the chancelleries. Jaran had been an old friend of Akeela’s father and as such was sympathetic to the new king’s predicament with Norvor. Jaran also respected Lukien. So Cassandra tried to do Akeela some good and had gone to Merloja willingly. With her went Lukien and a host of Royal Chargers, as well as the ever-present Jancis. At Jaran’s castle they had gotten a warm welcome and the duke’s assurances that he would side with Akeela, no matter what the young king’s choice was. But Jaran had warned Cassandra that his voice had little weight with Baron Glass, and that in the end Akeela would have no choice—war with Norvor seemed eminent. It was, Jaran said, just a matter of time.

    Cassandra stayed in Duke Jaran’s castle for three days. She was grateful for his hospitality, and dreaded returning to Koth to tell her husband of Jaran’s dire prediction. Akeela was hardly a political strong man, and she doubted his ability to prosecute a war. Worse, she felt more guilty than ever over her infidelity, for she knew the weight of things was crushing Akeela, and he needed her loyalty more than ever.

    Yet on the road back she found herself alone with Lukien, in his arms once again. A hard rain had come from nowhere, forcing them off the road and into a small village. Though the villagers were overjoyed to see their queen, they had little to offer but basic food and shelter, and put Cassandra and her entourage up where they could, splitting up the force between a dozen differ -

    ent households. Cassandra found herself that night in the grandest house in the village, situated on a hill overlooking farmland. The home was owned by a wealthy merchant and landowner whose children had moved out years earlier and who eagerly offered his extra chambers to the queen and her handmaid. Unable to leave Cassandra alone, Lukien had chosen to sleep on the floor outside Cassandra’s room. When the night was thick and the old merchant lost to sleep, he had come to her. With only a disgruntled look from Jancis he slipped into Cassandra’s chamber and found her there, waiting for him. She had been unable to keep her brief promise to herself, for the longing to be with him overwhelmed her. As lightning flashed outside their window, they came together, clasps of thunder drowning the sounds of their lovemaking.

    And when it was over and they both lay in the other’s arms, exhausted, Cassandra asked Lukien about war with Norvor. The question startled the knight, who laughed.

    “Cassandra, am I such a poor lover that you think of politics when we’re together?”

    “No,” she said with a smile. The thunder over the village made the shutters rattle, but she felt remarkably safe in Lukien’s arms. “I can’t help thinking about what Duke Jaran said, though. And I don’t know what Akeela’s planning, either. He won’t talk to me about it.”

    Hearing the king’s name made Lukien shift. “He’s got a great deal to consider, Cassandra. There are a lot of people watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake.”

    “But if war comes you will be there for him, won’t you?” asked Cassandra. “If he can’t avoid it, will you protect him?”

    “I should be offended by that question but I’m not,” said Lukien with a yawn. “You know I’d never let anything happen to him.”

    For a moment Cassandra didn’t answer. Lukien stopped yawning and stared.

    “Cassandra? You do know that, don’t you?”

    It was hard for Cassandra to nod. “Yes. I know that you’ll protect him.”

    “I’ve always protected him,” Lukien reminded her. “That’s been my duty from the time King Balak took me in. I won’t abandon that duty, not even now. And for you to think so hurts me.“

    “No,” said Cassandra, rushing out a hand to stroke his face. “I know you love him. I know you’ll make sure nothing happens to him.”

    It was a horrible thing to say as they lay together naked. They had already harmed Akeela more than any Norvan sword could. Lukien was quiet for a long moment, turning away from Cassandra to stare out the dark window. When at last he spoke his voice was shallow and hard to hear over the thunder.

    “I have spent my life looking after Akeela,” he said. “And he adores me for it. I know how he admires me, I can see it in him. Sometimes it’s hard to bear. Sometimes . . .”

    His words trailed off. Then he put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. “Let me sleep now, just for a little while.”

    Cassandra stared at Lukien as he drifted off to sleep. She would have to wake him soon, she knew, but she loved looking at him in the darkness, the way the lightning flashed off his blond hair. In that moment she knew there would never be peace for her. She could make a hundred pledges to herself, promise never to be with him again, but her will would always buckle in the end. Such was the terrible power of this love.

    L.

    ess than a week after Cassandra had returned home, word reached Akeela of Norvor’s troop movements. At first there were merely rumors—fearful, insubstantial whisperings from the border. Traders from southern caravans told of unusual activity along the River Kryss and near Hanging Man, the formidable tower of rock Norvor had long ago turned into a fortress. It was said that King Mor had stationed an unusual number of soldiers on the borders with Lьria and Reec, and that earthworks were being built which could be seen on the Lьrian side of the river. Like all rumors, the first ones started slowly, but within a week all of Lьria was buzzing with the news. By the end of another week, Akeela’s own scouts confirmed the worst of them. Along with the earthworks, barracks and other structures for the support of many troops were being erected. King Mor’s own banner, I ugly flag featuring a two-headed hawk, was flying nearer the orders of Lьria and Reec than ever before. But worst by far was the cessation of shipping. Lьrian and Reecian trading ships were being refused passage down the river, which was now blockaded by Norvan barges. Two ships, both Reecian, had already been boarded. Their cargo seized and their ships scuttled, the crews of the vessels had been sent back to Reec with one dismal message__the Kryss belonged to Norvor.

    With the threat of war hanging over Lьria, the city of Koth was transformed. The good mood that had endured since the treaty with Reec evaporated, leaving the capital under a pall. Chancellery Square became the center of debates, and the House of Dukes rang with calls for action. Led by Baron Thorin Glass, the chancellors were nearly unanimous in their desire for war, and each day saw new declarations sent to Lionkeep for Akeela to sign, directing the Chancellery of War to make battle plans. Even King Karis, Cassandra’s father, had hurried emissaries to Koth, begging Akeela for action. Karis wanted reassurances. He wanted to know what the young King of Lьria would do if Norvor crossed into Reec. But Akeela could not answer him. He simply didn’t have answers.

    The last two weeks had passed in a haze for Akeela. Still reeling from Trager’s stunning accusations, he had shut himself away in his study, depressed and drinking more than he should, rarely eating or seeing anyone. Unable to face his wife, he had feigned business as the reason for avoiding their bed. And Cassandra had not seemed to mind, because she herself was ill these days, losing weight and color to some ailment of the stomach she refused to discuss. Akeela still loved Cassandra and he added her ill-health to the pile of worries crushing him. He had no proof of her infidelity, but he suspected Trager had told the truth. Cassandra adored Lukien. If he hadn’t been so blind with love for both of them, he would have seen it sooner. Surprisingly, he held Cassandra little umbrage. Lukien was as beautiful as she was herself. No woman could resist him—or ever had—and the power of his allure had simply overwhelmed her, the way it had countless girls in Lionkeep over the years.

    And Lukien? Akeela still didn’t know how he felt about his old companion. Brothers always fought, and they were no exception. It had been a hard relationship sometimes, but Akeela had always felt Lukien’s love. It assured him. When he was around Lukien he felt taller than his normal stature. He needed Lukien, and he always had. And because Lukien fed that need willingly, Akeela had always loved the Bronze Knight, no matter how differently they viewed the world.

    Yet now there was something like hatred blooming inside Akeela, something ugly. He felt betrayed, as though an unforgivable wrong had been done him. The only thing saving his feelings for Lukien was a lack of surety. Despite the feelings in his gut, Akeela had only Trager’s word as proof.

    “Not enough,” Akeela muttered. He was alone, as he always was these days, finally leaving the confines of Lionkeep for the open spaces of his unbuilt library. It was a gray day, matching his mood. Raindrops fell periodically from the sky, dampening his hair and face. Since news had come of Norvor’s actions, work on his Cathedral of Knowledge had slowed to a crawl, and the rain had conspired to stop the rest. There were no workers on site today, not even Figgis, who was overseeing much of the library’s construction. In the distance, Koth looked like a hobbled giant. She needed a king, Akeela knew, someone to lead her boldly into the future, someone who could take on Mor and his arrogance and silence the protests from the chancellor. She needed a decision maker, the king that Akeela had been once, however briefly. Where was that young man now, he wondered?

    “Gone?” Akeela asked himself. Beneath his feet stone dust crackled as he walked aimlessly through the foundations of his dream.

    No, not gone, he decided. Just confused and betrayed. But he would be back. And when he returned he would show the world he was not to be trifled with, that he could be as much a hero as Lukien or Baron Glass had ever been.

    “Akeela the Good,” said Akeela. The sobriquet made him smile. He was still good. The people still loved him. Everything he did was for them and they knew it, and that’s why they weren’t joining in Glass’ violent chorus. They were waiting for their king to speak.

    Akeela went to the center of the foundation, where a particularly large rock stood out from the rest. Akeela had seen Figgis sitting on the rock countless times as he consulted his plans and directed the workmen. Akeela ran his hand over the smooth stone, pushing off little puddles of water before sitting down. He looked around, studying Koth, wondering what to do. He didn’t want war. More than anything, his was to be a reign of peace. But he seethed at King Mor’s actions, and hated the old ruler for ruining his peace. Mor was a very arrogant man. Akeela’s own father had complained about him more than once. Now he was testing the son.

    “Yes,” said Akeela, agreeing with his own theory. “He’s testing me.” He scowled. “They all are.”

    King Mor, Baron Glass, Chancellor Hogon; they were all part of the same conspiracy, eager to tear down what little he had built. They wanted power for themselves and nothing more, but Akeela would not let them succeed. He glanced around the construction site, knowing in his heart that his library would be built.

    Somehow.

    He heard a sound at his back. Turning, he noticed a lone horseman riding through the drizzle. The Bronze Knight wore a golden cape and a concerned expression. His eyes narrowed, focusing on Akeela as he brought his horse to a stop just outside the foundation’s stone border.

    “May I come ahead?” he asked.

    Akeela thought for a moment. He wanted to be alone.

    “Yes, if you must.”

    Lukien dropped down from his horse. He drew his cape about his shoulders. Looking into the sky, he said, “It’s a bad day for daydreaming out here, Akeela. Why don’t you come back to Lion-keep with me? We’ll have something hot to drink.”

    “Not yet.”

    From the corner of his eye Akeela saw Lukien frown. “You’re brooding,” said the knight. “What’s preoccupying you so?”

    “I have things on my mind,” said Akeela. Finally he looked at Lukien. “Why did you come? To check up on me?”

    “Yes, and to give you some news. The House of Dukes has sent another declaration to Lionkeep, Akeela. Baron Glass has brought it himself. He’s waiting for you back at the castle.“

    Akeela’s already sour mood curdled. It was the fourth declaration of war the House of Dukes had authored, and each one had the signatures of more Lьrian lords than the one before. Eventually, Akeela knew, he would not be able to ignore them.

    “Baron Glass is insisting on an answer,” Lukien went on. “I think you should at least see him.”

    “I have nothing to say to him yet. That’s why I’m here, thinking.”

    Lukien came closer, sitting down on the rock next to Akeela. He had a gentle smile on his face. “What will you do? Sit here in the rain all day?”

    “If it will help, yes.”

    “You’re being very cross. Please don’t take your anger with Glass out on me. I have nothing to do with it.”

    Akeela bit his lip. The innocence on Lukien’s face told him Trager might actually have lied, “I have a lot to deal with right now, that’s all,” he offered. “This business with Norvor is plaguing me. I think we have no choice but to mobilize troops.”

    Lukien nodded. “Agreed. Then you can talk to Mor about it, maybe get things settled. Once he sees that you’re serious, he’ll be in the mood to bargain.”

    “Bargain? Oh, no. That’s not what I have in mind at all.”

    The knight blinked. “No?”

    “Mor has insulted me, Lukien. He’s threatening my peace with Reec. I won’t let him ruin all my work, or make a fool of me.”

    “So what will you do?” asked Lukien.

    Akeela looked away. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to tell Lukien his plans. He let his eyes linger on the library site, and a thin smile came to his face.

    “It will be very grand when it’s done,” he said. “You’ll see, Lukien. So will Cassandra and Baron Glass and everyone else. This library will be something special.”

    Lukien studied their bleak surroundings. “It doesn’t look like much now, though, does it?”

    “Not yet, maybe. But soon.”

    “Akeela, I’ve been thinking . . .” Lukien leaned back on the rock. “Maybe Glass is right about the library. Maybe you should stop pouring money into it.”

    Akeela raised his eyebrows. “What?”

    “Until this business with Norvor is over, I mean.”

    “No, Lukien,” snapped Akeela, getting to his feet. “Glass is not right. Not about the library, not about anything.”

    Lukien put up his hands. “I’m just making a suggestion, that’s all.”

    “This library is going to be built. Damn Norvor, and damn Baron Glass.” Akeela pointed a finger in Lukien’s face. “And damn you, too.”

    “What?” Lukien leapt to his feet, swatting Akeela’s finger away. “I’m not one of your little serving wenches, Akeela. Don’t you ever say that to me again. I’m on your side, remember.”

    Akeela scoffed. “Are you?”

    The knight’s expression tightened. “Yes. Why don’t you know that any more? Why don’t you trust me?”

    Seeing himself in a losing argument, Akeela shook his head and sighed. “All right. I shouldn’t have said that to you.” He sat back down on the rock. “I have too much to deal with, I guess. It’s maddening me.”

    The explanation appeased Lukien, who nodded. “I know you’re worried about Cassandra, too. How is she?”

    Akeela couldn’t help himself. He asked, “Why do you ask that?”

    “Because I haven’t seen her for days,” said Lukien.

    “She isn’t well,” said Akeela. “Something with her stomach; I don’t know.”

    “Then she should see a physician.” Lukien’s tone was brittle. “Quickly, don’t you think?”

    “She doesn’t want to see a physician, Lukien. She doesn’t do everything I tell her, you know.”

    “You’re her husband. You can insist on it.”

    Akeela laughed bitterly. “I’m her husband! I don’t think that makes much difference to Cassandra.”

    “Akeela, what are you talking about?” asked Lukien in exasperation. “You’re not making sense.”

    Akeela waved him away. “Go back to Lionkeep, Lukien. Tell Baron Glass to leave his declaration with all the others. When I’m ready to talk, I will send for him.”

    “Won’t you come back with me?”

    “No. I’m not done here yet.”

    Lukien stared at him for a moment, but Akeela would not meet his gaze. Finally the knight turned away. Dejected, he returned to his horse and rode off. Akeela watched him go. He didn’t like shunning Lukien, but he didn’t know if he could still trust the knight.

    “Damn it all,” he muttered. “I have to know!”

    His brief time with Cassandra had taught him something about her. She loved trinkets, and never got rid of anything. If there was any evidence linking her to Lukien, she would still have it, squirreled away somewhere.

    Sure that he would go mad without the truth, Akeela resolved to find it.

    /Vn hour later, Akeela was once again inside Lionkeep. Still in his damp clothes, he went straight to the private wing he shared with Cassandra, skirting his underlings along the way and refusing to speak to anyone but Warden Graig, who told him that Baron Glass had gone. When Akeela asked the Head Warden about Cassandra, Graig reported that the queen was gone, too. Apparently her handmaid Jancis had convinced her to leave her sickbed behind and get some air. Relieved, Akeela headed toward his lavish rooms, telling Graig not to disturb him. He was nervous suddenly, and wondered if his furtiveness showed. But Cassandra was out of their chambers very rarely lately, and Akeela knew he had to move fast.

    The hallway leading to their wing was empty. His boots fell hard on the floor, echoing through the hall. The servants had gone, for without Cassandra to look after they had a much needed break, letting Akeela make his way undisturbed to their bedchamber. It was an elaborate, many-chambered room featur-ing a high ceiling and wide hearth. A canopied bed draped with linens stood against the western wall. Akeela didn’t bother to strip off his wet things. He could smell sickness in the air, the staleness of Cassandra’s lingering breath, and for a moment he felt ashamed. She was ill, and he still loved her, no matter what she might have done. But illnesses passed. Adultery was forever.

    He looked around the room, studying the shelves and mantle. Both were lined with trinkets Cassandra had collected from her years in Reec. There were urns and pretty plates, etched glassware and statuettes, all in feminine patterns and colors. But none of these things were unusual or new, and Akeela knew any evidence against his wife wouldn’t be on public display. Studying the room, he took stock of the furniture. She would keep her private things very close to her, he decided. Discounting the bed, his eyes came to rest on Cassandra’s wardrobe in the dressing room. He had never been into her wardrobe because there had never been a need to, and that made it the perfect hiding place.

    Akeela listened for a moment then, sure that no one would disturb him, went into the dressing room and opened the wardrobe. The tiny chamber smelled of perfume. Unsure of what he was looking for, he began rifling through Cassandra garments. She had brought a lot of clothing with her from Hes, and many more items had been given to her by the noblewomen of Koth. The wardrobe bulged with garments, making the search difficult. There were tiny drawers filled with jewelry and shelves with hairpins and brooches. Akeela searched these, too, finding nothing extraordinary. He even found the bracelet Baron Glass had given Cassandra when he’d met her. It was a pretty thing, but Cassandra hadn’t thought so, relegating it to her wardrobe with her less cherished items. Akeela felt suddenly foolish. There was nothing in the wardrobe linking Cassandra and Lukien.

    “Who’s betraying whom?” he wondered. He shook his head, laughing. “What a fool I am.”

    He was about to close the wardrobe when a slim, white item at his feet caught his eye. There, barely visible beneath the wardrobe, was a piece of paper. Akeela’s heart stopped. His eyes lingered on the sliver.

    Not in the wardrobe, he told himself. Under it.

    He went to his knees and reached beneath the hulking furniture, barely able to squeeze his hand into the space. With his fingers he tried prying out the paper, but found that it wouldn’t yield. Lowering his head to the floor, he peered beneath the wardrobe with one eye and discovered why. There were dozens of similar papers, all stacked upon each other and corded together with yellow ribbon. Each had been carefully folded in the same exact fashion. Akeela struggled to get his hand into the space. Finally he seized the bundle and pulled it forth. Sitting up with the papers on this lap, he undid the yarn and unfolded the first one. What he read made his heart sink.

    It was a love note. It described a brief and beautiful interlude in an apple orchard, using words like “honey” and “rapture.” Akeela’s hand trembled as he read. Cassandra’s name was all over the page, but Lukien’s was nowhere. Even the signature was furtive. Lukien had simply called himself “your adoring servant.” But it was unmistakably the knight’s script, and it proved Trag-er’s every detail correct. Unable to stop himself, Akeela read another letter, then another, all written by the same treacherous hand.

    He felt sick. He had believed the worst, but only partially. There had always been hope, and that had kept him alive. Now he was truly alone, and he was enraged. There were no tears this time, only an endless ocean of madness. He slammed the letters down into his lap and clumsily began tying them together again. When he was done he shoved the packet roughly under the wardrobe. Let Cassandra wonder if she’d been discovered—he didn’t care.

    “Bitch!” he spat. “After all I’ve done for you.”

    And then there was Lukien; sweet, deceptive Lukien. What could be done with a man like that? Akeela closed his eyes, imagining punishments. He could execute Lukien for what he’d done, but he knew he could never order such a thing. Like Cassandra, he still loved Lukien.

    “Betrayal,” he whispered. “It is everywhere.”

    Very slowly he got to his feet. He heard voices in the distance, footsteps coming closer. He straightened. It would be Cassandra, returning from her walk. His anger cresting, he stepped out of the dressing room and into the bedchamber, resolving to confront her. lands’ voice rang down the hall, coming closer. Akeela went to the door and flung it open . . .

    and saw Cassandra’s death-white face.

    “Cassandra!”

    Cassandra’s body hung limply at Jancis’ side, propped up by the maid’s arms. She was stooped and groaning, holding her midsection and straggling toward the bedroom.

    “What’s wrong?” Akeela demanded. “Cassandra?”

    Cassandra shook her head, able to speak only in moans.

    “She’s very ill,” said Jancis. “Help me get her to bed.”

    Akeela took over, carefully lifting Cassandra into his arms. She let out a wail, closing her eyes. Tears squeezed past her eyelids. Akeela rushed her into the bedroom.

    “Jancis, what happened? What’s wrong with her?”

    As Akeela placed Cassandra into the bed, Jancis explained, “We were in the garden, talking. I thought she should get out for a while, get some air. Then she started moaning.” The girl looked at her mistress, her eyes full of worry. “I’m sorry, my lord. It’s. . .” She stopped herself.

    Akeela whirled on her. “What?”

    “It’s an old sickness, my lord. She’s been this way for months.” Jancis bit her lip. “I think it’s getting worse.”

    “Months?” Akeela erupted. He turned to Cassandra, who was breathing hard. “Cassandra, is that so?”

    His wife nodded weakly. “I’m sorry, Akeela.” She began to sob. “Please help me. It hurts . . .”

    Akeela hurried a hand onto her face. “All right,” he soothed. “I’m here, love. Don’t worry.” He turned to Jancis. “Get Gwena in here. And send for my physician!”

    The maid raced out of the room. Akeela took Cassandra’s fragile hand in his own. It was bony from lack of food. Her eyes were sallow.

    “Cassandra, why didn’t you tell me you were so sick?” he begged. He was angry again, this time at the thought of losing her. “Tell me why.”

    “I . . .” Cassandra swallowed. Her voice was thin. “I wanted to come to Koth. If I was sick, my father wouldn’t have let me.”

    The confession rattled Akeela. So did her sunken cheeks. She began crying in earnest.

    “Akeela, I’m frightened.” She put her hands to her stomach. “My insides . . .”

    “Don’t worry,” said Akeela. He stroked her hair. “The physician is coming soon. It’s going to be all right.”

    She opened her eyes. “Will it, Akeela? Do you promise?”

    Akeela’s smile was inscrutable. “I promise. I’m never going to let you go, Cassandra.”

    A cancer.

    Physician Oric had been with Cassandra less than an hour before making his diagnosis. The dreadful conclusion turned Akeela white. He knew what tumors were, of course, but up until that moment he had only heard it used in regard to strangers. No one meaningful to him had ever perished from such growths, and it seemed impossible that it should strike so young a woman. Physician Oric had come out of Cassandra’s bedchamber looking gray and harried. Akeela had been waiting in the hallway. Gwena and Jancis and some of the other castle women were with him, and when he’d heard it was a tumor the young king had fallen against the wall, nearly collapsing. In that moment, he could have forgiven Cassandra anything, and the adultery she had done was as nothing compared to the love he felt for her. Barely able to speak, he had made old Oric repeat the word again to be sure he’d heard it.

    “It’s a cancer,” said the physician. “And it will spread.” Oric was a learned man and had been the family’s healer since Akeela could remember. Like most Lьrian physicians, he had been educated in Koth’s renowned colleges. But when it came to Cassandra, Akeela trusted no one, and so called on every physician in the city to examine his wife. Over the following days they came to Lionkeep at the king’s request, poking and prodding the queen, their faces long with concern. And all of them confirmed Oric’s opinion—Cassandra was dying. She had a growth that had advanced beyond any surgery. It had begun somewhere in her gut and was reaching into her bowels, slowly clawing out a fatal foothold. Despite their combined knowledge, none of the physicians could offer any hope. All they could do was make her comfortable, they said, and wait out the weeks before she died. Most believed she would be dead within two months, but Oric was generous enough to say three, maybe slightly more. “The queen is young and otherwise strong,” he told Akeela. “She will live longer than most.”

    But three months was hardly time at all.

    “She will have good days and she will have bad days,” Oric went on to say. “And her bad days will be very bad indeed.”

    Akeela didn’t have the strength to listen to any more. For days he kept the worst of the news from Cassandra, but he knew that she had guessed it, and when he returned to their bed chamber to tell her, she said the words for him.

    “I’m dying,” she whispered.

    Akeela tried to smile. “That’s what Oric says, but I don’t believe him.”

    “Then you’re a sweet fool, Akeela.”

    Her voice was a rasp; her eyelids drooped with drowsiness. Oric had prescribed a regimen of strong herbs and medicines, and now Cassandra seemed to be in no pain at all. She looked pale, and that was all.

    “How long?” she asked.

    “I won’t answer that,” said Akeela.

    Cassandra opened her eyes. “Akeela, how much time do I have?”

    “As long as I say so. I am your king and husband. You can’t die without my permission.”

    Cassandra laughed. “Even a king can’t save me now.”

    “I won’t let you die, Cassandra. Remember my promise?”

    “Your promise is forgiven, Akeela. What kind of wife would I be to hold you to something so impossible?” She turned her head and buried her face in the pillow. Then she began to sob. “What kind of wife. . ?”

    “Rest,” said Akeela. “I’ll be back later. There are visitors waiting to see you, but I’ll send them away.”

    Suddenly Cassandra faced him. “Visitors? Who?”

    “Jancis wants to see you.” Akeela hesitated. “And Lukien.”

    “Lukien?” Cassandra’s eyes darted away. “He knows, then?”

    “The whole city knows, Cassandra, and would be at this door to see you if not for me.” Akeela turned to leave. “But you need rest. I’ll tell them to go.”

    True to his word, Akeela dismissed all of Cassandra’s visitors. Even Lukien. He guarded Cassandra like a mother, keeping everyone but Oric away from her, relenting only when his wife cried for Jancis. The handmaid became the queen’s lone visitor, for all others were barred from the royal couple’s wing.

    Days passed, and Akeela grew more despondent. The isolation that had plagued him since returning from abroad had reached a dangerous peak, and he shunned all overtures of friendship and support. Baron Glass stopped sending war declarations from the House of Dukes, but there was still talk of battle with Norvor, and whispers that Akeela had become impotent and unable to act. It was said that his courage was withering along with his wife. Work stopped on the great library. Akeela attended Cassandra day and night. And he brooded. He had made an impossible promise. Akeela knew he would need a miracle to save Cassandra.

    Then, one afternoon, Figgis came to see him.

    It was eight days after Cassandra’s illness had been discovered. Akeela, weary beyond words, had sought shelter from the world in his study, the only part of Lionkeep that was truly his alone. He sat at his desk listening to the breeze outside his window, threatening a storm. In one hand he held a book, in the other a brandy. Akeela swirled the brandy absently as he read, losing himself in the rhymes of some Lьrian poet. For the moment, he had put aside Cassandra and his thousand troubles, and the brandy deadened his pain. The sound of the wind gave him something like contentment.

    But an unwelcome knock at the door shattered his solitude.

    “My lord? Are you in there?”

    Akeela recognized Figgis’ voice. He put his down his book with a sigh. “I’m here,” he called. “Come in.”

    Figgis the librarian pushed open the door and licked his lips nervously. He, too, had a book in his hand, very old from the looks of it and covered in dust. His hair was matted and his clothes were customarily wrinkled, and his eyes had the same tired droop as Akeela’s own. He gave his king an apologetic smile as he peered into the study.

    “Sorry to interrupt, my lord, but I found something I thought would interest you.”

    Akeela looked at the item Figgis had brought. “A book? Figgis, I have my mind on bigger things these days than books.” He waved it off. “Add it to the collection.”

    “Uh, no, my lord misunderstands. This isn’t just a book. May I come in?”

    “I’m very tired, Figgis . . .”

    “Really, this is important, my lord,” said the old man.

    He waited on the threshold. Akeela hesitated. The last time someone had come to his study with “important” news he had learned of Cassandra’s infidelity. More news like that and Akeela knew he’d collapse.

    “All right, but close the door, will you? I don’t want a parade marching in here. Brandy?”

    Figgis shook his head. “Uh, no, my lord, thanks.”

    “Pity. I find it the only thing that helps my headaches these days.” Akeela drained his snifter then poured himself another. He could already hear his slurred speech, but didn’t care. “Be seated, Figgis, and tell me what’s so urgent you simply had to disturb me.”

    “Yes, thank you, my lord,” said Figgis. He slid out a chair and sat down, laying his book on the desk. “Now, about this book—

    “Where’s your monkey?” Akeela interrupted. “I like that little fellow.”

    Figgis smiled gently. “My lord is drunk.”

    “So I am.”

    “Peko is resting in his cage.” Figgis reached out and nudged the book beneath Akeela’s nose. “I have something special here, my lord.”

    Through bleary eyes Akeela studied the book. It had a cover of worn brown leather, frayed at the corners, with numerous dog-eared pages. There were strange markings in the leather, like Keecian runes, but foreign. Akeela reached out and ran his fingers over the embossed lettering, trying to decipher it.

    “It’s from Jador,” Figgis explained. “It’s very old and rare. It’s written in Jadori, my lord. You won’t be able to read it.”

    “No?” Akeela slid the book back toward Figgis. “Then it’s not much good to me, is it? I really wish you wouldn’t bother me with this, Figgis. I told you, I have things on my mind.”

    “But that’s just it, my lord,” said Figgis. “I’m here to help you. And help Queen Cassandra.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “This is a text of Jadori history and folklore, my lord. Like I said, it’s very unusual, maybe the rarest book I own. I’ve been reading it for years now, trying to make sense of it. The Jadori language is very different from our own. It’s difficult, and I’ve only been able to translate some of the text.”

    “So? What’s this to do with Cassandra?”

    “My lord, when I heard of the queen’s illness, I started going through my books, trying to find out what I could about her tumor, anything that might help her. I wanted to ease her suffering you see, maybe even cure her.”

    Akeela smiled at the librarian. “No one can cure what Cassandra has, my friend. Not even you with all your books can do that.”

    “No, you don’t understand,” said Figgis. “While I was looking through my books, I remembered something I’d read a long time ago. Sort of a legend, you might say.” He tapped the Jadori manuscript. “Something in here, my lord.”

    “Something about her cancer?” asked Akeela.

    “Better.” Figgis opened the book to one of its yellowed pages. He read for a moment, mouthing the words with effort, trying to find the right passage. Then he smiled and looked up at Akeela. “My lord may think me mad for this.”

    “I already think you’re mad, Figgis. Go on.”

    Figgis continued, “I’ve been able to translate most of this passage pretty well. It speaks of the Kalian and Kahana of Jador, and two amulets that they wear.“

    “Kahan and kahana? Who are they?”

    “Like a king and queen, my lord. That’s what the Jadori call their rulers. These amulets they wear are called Inai ka Vala—.”

    “God? What god?”

    “That’s the Jadori word for it, my lord. The Jadori have one main deity they call Vala; he’s like the great spirit worshipped by the Reecians, or the Fate here in Lьria.”

    “And what of these amulets? What are they?”

    “Let me read it to you, my lord.” Clearing his throat, Figgis read, “The master of the hidden place across the desert wears an amulet of red and gold.” The hidden place, Figgis explained, was Jador. He continued, “His wife wears the amulet’s twin.  protect them, saving them from all disease.” Figgis looked at Akeela excitedly. “See, my lord?”

    “See? See what?”

    “, my lord. They’re magic amulets. They can save Queen Cassandra!”

    Akeela rolled his eyes. “Are you mad? I thought you were coming here with real hope, that you had found something that might help my wife. But this . . .” He gestured to the book in disgust. “This is ridiculous.”

    “My lord, I’m telling you the truth. The book speaks of these amulets as having real power!”

    “My wife is dying, Figgis! I don’t have time for fairy tales.”

    Figgis seemed surprised by Akeela’s reaction. Scowling, he said, “My lord is foolish to deny the existence of sorcery.”

    “I don’t deny it, Figgis. I just don’t approve of it.”

    “Ah, but it exists, my lord. You’ve seen it yourself. Hiding from it won’t make it go away. The fortune cards of Noor are magical. And what about the holy relic of Mam? Can you explain why it weeps?”

    “I cannot. But if it is sorcery, then I do not wish to understand it.”

    Figgis got to his feet, clutching the book. “My lord, I’ve stud-ied Jador all my life. The Jadori are very different from us. They have skills we know nothing about.”

    “Bah, the world is plagued by sorcery these days,” Akeela scoffed. “The poor and ignorant use it as a crutch. But not me. I’m a man of science and knowledge, Figgis. That’s what you’re supposed to be.”

    “I am a man of science, my lord. That’s how I know about Jador, and how I know these amulets just might be real. Isn’t it worth a chance if it will save the queen’s life?”

    “What chance? Jador is hundreds of miles from here. Even if these amulets are real, how would we find them? How would we cross the Desert of Tears?”

    “You forget, my lord, I know something of that part of the world. I lived in Ganjor, remember. The Jadori trade with the Ganjeese. Sometimes the Jadori travel to Ganjor, and sometimes the Ganjeese send caravans across the desert to Jador. They both cross the sands without incident.”

    “The Jadori have their lizards for crossing the desert,” said Akeela. “We do not.”

    “Not all of them ride kreels, my lord. Most of the caravans are from Ganjor, where they use drowas. If they can do it, surely we can find a way.”

    Akeela thought for a moment, studying the librarian’s earnest face. He certainly seemed to believe his wild tale. And there was sorcery enough in the world, that was certainly true. The stew of Lьrian culture had shown Akeela that already. But he had never heard of any sorcery like these amulets, these so-called “Eyes of God.” To Akeela, it smacked of folly. He closed his eyes and sighed.

    “Figgis, I wish I could believe you,” he said. “But how can I? This story is incredible. It’s like something from a bedtime story. Soon you’ll be telling me Grimhold is real!”

    “Why not?”

    Akeela opened his eyes. Before him, Figgis stood as sure and straight as an arrow. There was not the smallest trace of jest in him.

    “Figgis,” said Akeela, “what kind of man believes in fairy tales?”

    “It’s hope, my lord, that’s all,” said Figgis. “It’s not insanity or folly. I believe in these amulets.”

    “Do you? Or do you simply want to believe? You’re very keen on Jador, Figgis. Might this not be some delusion of yours, a false hope?”

    Figgis shrugged. “Even if it is, what else can we do? Cassandra will die in months, and nothing on this side of the desert can save her.”

    For Akeela, any hope, however insane it sounded, was welcome. For days now he had been in a dark tunnel, groping through the blackness with no way out. Now came Figgis bearing a candle.

    “Figgis, if I agree to this they will call me mad. The chancellors already think me a lunatic. How can I tell them about magic amulets? It sounds like nonsense.”

    Once more the librarian tapped his book. “It’s in the text, my lord. That’s all I need to know.”

    “That’s not good enough. You said yourself you haven’t read the whole thing. Why can’t that book of yours be nothing more than a collection of lies? Why must it be the truth?”

    “Because I’ve studied Jador, my lord,” argued Figgis. “And everything else I’ve read out of this book is true. It speaks of the kreel, and we already know they exist, and it talks about the city across the desert. That’s Jador, my lord. And Jador is no myth. Why should the amulets be the only thing the book lies about?”

    Akeela couldn’t answer. Perhaps it was the drink, but he was starting to believe the old man’s fantasy. Like most Lьrians, he knew almost nothing about Jador, just that it was far away and mysterious. And he had seen sorcery before, or at least a semblance of it. Koth’s streets were littered with fortune-tellers and rune-carvers. If they could do magic, why not the Jadori?

    “If only it were so,” he whispered. “I would do anything to save Cassandra.”

    Figgis seized the opportunity. “The amulets can save her, my lord. If they exist, she can live forever without disease, as young and beautiful as she is now. And you with her!”

    “I have no wish to live forever, Figgis.”

    The librarian shifted, looking down at his feet. Akeela raised a suspicious eyebrow.

    “You’re not telling me something,” he said. “What are you hiding?”

    Grinning, Figgis said, “My lord is perceptive.”

    “Tell me,” Akeela demanded.

    “Well, there is something else.” The librarian grimaced. “Something about a curse, my lord.”

    For a moment Akeela thought he’d heard wrong, then he burst into bitter laughter. “A curse? You mean those bloody amulets are damned?”

    “My lord, let me explain . . .”

    “No, Figgis, don’t you see? A curse is just perfect, for I myself am cursed. Giant lizards, magic amulets, and now a curse! How fitting.”

    “King Akeela, please,” said Figgis. “It’s not what you think.” He began running a finger along the page of the book, scanning it quickly. “Here it is,” he said, then began to translate the text. “The wearer of Inai ka Vala——shall not be looked at by human eyes. To do so breaks their power, inviting death.” Figgis looked up from the book. “That’s all it says.”

    “And you don’t think that’s bad? Are you mad? Are we to be shut-ins, Cassandra and I? Never looked at with human eyes! How are we supposed to live like that?”

    “But my lord, think for a moment. It can’t be that simple. Does the Kahan of Jador live alone, without his subjects laying eyes on him? Does his wife?” A sly smile crept over Figgis’ face. “Don’t you see? There’s got to be more to this story than what’s written in this book. If we go to Jador, we can find out the truth of the amulets, discover how they’re truly used.”

    “Oh, yes,” drawled Akeela. “I’m beginning to see perfectly. You’re just dying to get to Jador, aren’t you? You said it yourself; you’ve known about these amulets for years. Now you have the perfect opportunity to seek them out, with me to fund your little excursion.”

    Figgis’ smile melted away. “My lord is unjust if he thinks me so selfish. What I’m suggesting is for the good of the queen.”

    “But you will accompany a party to Jador, won’t you?”

    “Well, of course,” said Figgis stiffly. “I’m the only one that speaks even a smattering of the language. To not send me would be foolish.”

    “How convenient,” smirked Akeela. He poured himself another glass of brandy, angry with himself for being duped. He hadn’t thought the librarian so ambitious. But he was also sincere; Akeela had learned that much about him. As he sipped his drink, he wondered about the amulets, their stupid curse, and how he could take them from Jador. Figgis watched him curiously, not interrupting his dark thoughts. After a long minute Akeela lowered his glass to the table.

    “I love Cassandra very much,” he said. “I know we haven’t been married long, but she’s already the moon and stars to me. I can’t lose her, Figgis. If this tale of yours is some lie just to get yourself to Jador, I will hang your pelt from a wall.”

    “It isn’t, my lord, I swear,” said Figgis. “This book says  exist, and I believe it. I’ll bring them back for you, if you’ll let me.” He looked pleadingly at Akeela. “Will you let me, my lord?”

    For a moment Akeela couldn’t speak. All he could think of was Cassandra.

    “I must be drunker than I thought,” he said. “Go. I give you leave for this mad mission, Figgis.”

    The librarian’s face lit the room. “Well done, my lord. Thank you! But I’ll need men, and money and supplies. And I’ll have to leave as soon as possible. By week’s end, I’d say.”

    “Get your things together quickly, and come to me for your finances. I’ll pay whatever you need.” Akeela leaned back in his chair, a wicked smile cracking his face. “And as for men, I know just who to send with you.”

    A, .t the crack of dawn, Lukien arrived at the stable and found Trager and Figgis waiting for him. His traveling companions had already packed and dressed for their long trek south, and the grooms had readied their mounts, three brawny stallions that would take them as far as Ganjor. Lionkeep was barely awake, and a mist rolled over the castle. The air was wet with must and hay. Still exhausted from a night of worry, Lukien entered the stable without a trace of a smile. Figgis, the old scholar, was rummaging through his saddlebags and mumbling to himself. He wore an unusual ensemble of mismatched riding garb and his customary wide-brimmed hat. Trager stood imperiously at the stable’s far end, looming over a stableboy and shouting.

    “... and what did I tell you about packing my horse? Not too heavy, isn’t that what I said?”

    The boy nodded. “You did, sir.”

    “And didn’t I tell you we needed to be swift?”

    “Yes, sir, you did.”

    “So then what’s the use of all that garbage, eh?” Trager pointed accusingly at his horse. “He’ll be lame before we get out of Koth! Now unpack him and do it over. And leave off that cooking gear. I’m not going on a bloody picnic!”

    Lukien tried to ignore Trager, but caught the lieutenant’s eye. There was an immediate iciness between them. Lukien strode toward his own horse. The stallion had been outfitted just as he’d ordered, with all the things Figgis had said they would need. A groom near the horse noted Lukien’s satisfaction and smiled.

    “Good work, Gill,” said Lukien, rubbing the horse’s neck.

    “He’s all ready,” said Gill. He shot a glance at his fellow groom, being berated by Trager. “But I guess you’ll have to wait before leaving.”

    “Yes, about that. ..” Lukien turned to Trager. “What’s wrong with you, Lieutenant? I told you I wanted to get going at dawn. Stop wasting our time.”

    “Me?” flared Trager. He pointed at the young groom, who was unpacking his horse. “It’s this waterhead! He packed my horse so heavy we’ll never make it to Jador.”

    “He packed the damn horse just like I asked,” said Lukien miserably. He turned back to his own mount, cursing. Akeela still hadn’t told him why Trager was going with them. It seemed the worst choice for their impossible mission. Figgis was obvious, of course, but Trager would be an endless nuisance. Lukien began looking over his saddlebags. It had been days since Akeela had come to him with the fantastic story of the amulets, begging him to go on this quest for Cassandra. And Lukien had agreed willingly, because he would do anything for Cassandra and her illness had shattered him. But he still didn’t believe in their ridiculous mission. Over to one side, Figgis wore an excited smile as he surveyed his horse, checking off items on a square of paper. The librarian had worked day and night putting together their itinerary, but he didn’t look tired at all. His face glowed with a child’s exuberance.

    “We’re ready, I think,” said Figgis. “We have everything— maps, food, gold for the trade caravans. . .” He nodded, satisfied with himself. “We’ve done a very good job. We’re well prepared.”

    “I’m glad you think so,” said Lukien dryly. He returned to fussing with his horse, hoping Figgis would leave him alone. They had a long trip ahead of them, and if the old man was going to be talking through the whole thing . . .

    Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Cassandra was counting on him. He was her only hope now, and this mad mission might just save her. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let his feelings interfere.

    Yet still he brooded, for the whole thing smacked of folly. He wasn’t a thief, but that’s what Akeela was asking him to become. Somehow, they were supposed to steal these magic amulets from the Kahan and Kahana of Jador. Under the guise of friendship they would pose as emissaries, working their way into the ka-han’s good graces. Then, if they could, they would steal the amulets and race back to Lьria. And all in time to save Cassandra.

    Tired of waiting, Lukien went outside for some air. The dawn was creeping fast over the horizon. They were losing time, and Lukien was losing patience. He was about to slip back into the stable to hurry Trager when he saw Akeela approaching out of the mist. The young king’s expression was grave, the way it had been for weeks now. He wore a cape of crimson around his slight shoulders. Lukien’s black mood lifted slightly. He had hoped Akeela would come to see them off.

    “Ho, Lukien,” called Akeela.

    Lukien waved back. “So you decided to say good-bye, eh?”

    Akeela stopped before him. He looked weary beyond words. His eyes betrayed a wildness that hadn’t always been there. “I’ve come to wish you luck,” he said. He peered into the stable and saw Trager and Figgis. “Looks like everything’s ready.”

    “Everything but Trager. Why do you have that buffoon going with me, Akeela? He’ll only slow me down.”

    “Because he’s a good soldier, believe it or not,” said Akeela. “And I need good men for this mission.”

    Lukien said, “You need good men against Norvor. If there’s going to be battle, that’s where I should be, not traipsing around solving riddles.”

    “Lukien, we’ve already settled this,” said Akeela. “If this quest is going to succeed, I need my best men on it. That’s you, like it or not.”

    “But what about Norvor? If a fight comes, what will you do without me?”

    Akeela laughed. “You’re not the only knight in the world, you know.”

    “Akeela, I’m serious. . .”

    “I can handle them.”

    Lukien wasn’t satisfied, but he knew Akeela would brook no arguing. They had already agreed on this mission. A sadness overcame Lukien suddenly. Akeela was changing, rapidly and day by day.

    “I’ll do my best, you know,” said Lukien, “but I can’t promise anything. Even if we find these amulets, it’s a long way back from Jador. We may not be quick enough.”

    “Cassandra hasn’t much time, Lukien.”

    Lukien nodded. “I know.” He couldn’t say any more. Akeela’s eyes bore down on him, as if they could see the shame eating his soul. Thankfully, Trager and Figgis emerged from the stable to end the awkward moment.

    “We’re ready,” Trager pronounced. He looked at Akeela with a curious trace of scorn. “My lord.”

    Akeela ignored him. “Do you have everything you need, Figgis? Can you think of anything more?”

    Figgis shrugged. “No, my lord, I think we’re ready. We’ve mapped out our route and shouldn’t have too much trouble. First Farduke and Dreel, then on to Ganjor.”

    “It would be fastest if you went through Nith,” Akeela observed.

    “Maybe faster,” said Figgis with a grimace, “but more dangerous. They don’t care for strangers in Nith, my lord.”

    “Going around Nith will waste time.”

    “A bit of time, yes,” Figgis agreed, “but it’s better this way. We don’t want to bring too much attention to ourselves. And going around Nith will only lose us a day or so. Then we’ll go to Ganjor for drowas and a desert guide. That should get us to Jador in a month or so.”

    “Just so you hurry,” said Akeela. “Remember the queen, all of you. She’s depending on you.”

    “We will, my lord,” said Figgis, climbing onto his horse.

    Gill led Lukien’s horse out of the stable and into the misty morning. He handed the beast over to the knight. Lukien took a last look at Akeela. Trying to reach across the chasm that now separated them, he said, “Take care of yourself. Don’t let King Mor take advantage of you, and don’t let Baron Glass push you into anything you don’t want to do, all right?”

    Akeela’s smile twisted. “Always with the advice.”

    The answer stung Lukien. “Yes, well, take care of yourself.” He climbed onto his horse’s back then led Trager and Figgis away from the stable, not looking back.

    j’tkeela remained behind at the stable, watching as the mist swallowed Lukien and his party. He was glad to be rid of both his troubles, and the sight of their departing backs eased his mind. Now, with Trager gone, he wouldn’t have to worry about him spewing his poison all around Lionkeep, true though it might be. And Lukien? Akeela would miss him, but it was necessary. He was the Bronze Knight, a hero. He was the perfect man to quest for the amulets.

    Akeela glanced around, struck by the quiet. Once, he had loved coming to the stables with Lukien. They would ride together for hours, laughing and exchanging stories, but they hadn’t done that in a very long time, and probably never would again. Even if Lukien returned from Jador, there was still the matter of adultery. Akeela knew he couldn’t forgive it. When Lukien returned—if he returned—he would deal with it.

    Just as he would deal with Norvor.

    He hadn’t lied when he’d told Lukien he would handle Norvor himself. In fact, he meant every word precisely.

    “You’re not the only one that can be a hero, my friend,” he whispered. He would show Cassandra that he could be a hero, too.

    “Gill!” he called.

    The young man hurried out of the stable, a grooming brush still in hand.

    “Yes, my lord?”

    “Go find Warden Graig for me. Tell him I want a meeting with Baron Glass and Chancellor Hogon. Tell him it’s very important.”

    T -Lwo hours later. Glass and Hogon arrived at Lionkeep. The sky had lightened considerably since the early morning and the windows of the council chamber were open wide, letting in a needed breeze. Glass sat in his usual seat, next to Chancellor Hogon.

    Both men wore scowls. Akeela had kept them waiting many days for an answer to their war declarations, and they did nothing to hide their ire. Glass fidgeted with his wine glass but did not drink, occasionally rubbing at the stump of his arm in irritation. Hogon sat back in his chair, watching Warden Graig, who had called them to this important meeting but didn’t know why. Other than those three, the room was empty.

    But the door was open and Akeela could see them all as he strode toward the chamber. Surprisingly, he wasn’t nervous at all. He felt exhilarated. Having made his decision had lifted a weight from his shoulders. It didn’t matter now what they thought of him or his bold plan—he was king, and he would command them to follow orders. In his fist he held the latest declaration from the House of Dukes. He held it out before him, making sure it was the first thing the chancellors saw when he entered the council chamber. The three men—Glass, Hogon, and Graig, all stood as the king entered the room. Glass’ gaze fell on the rolled up paper in Akeela’s hand.

    “Be seated,” Akeela commanded. He took his place at the end of the table but did not sit. When the men had finally taken their seats, Akeela tossed the roll of paper onto the table.

    Baron Glass reached for it hesitantly, looking at Akeela.

    “Go on, read it,” Akeela directed.

    One-handed, the Baron struggled to unroll the parchment. His eyes immediately darted to the end of the page where Akeela’s signature rambled along the bottom. Hogon leaned over and spied the signature. Together the two lords looked up at Akeela. So did Warden Graig, whose mouth hung open.

    “Say something, gentlemen.”

    “My lord, I don’t know what to say,” stammered Graig. “This is war!”

    “You did the right thing, King Akeela,” pronounced Glass. He held up the paper and shook it in the air. “Now we can move against those Norvan snakes.”

    Graig got out of his chair. “My lord,” he sputtered, groping for words. He tried to smile. “Akeela . . .”

    Akeela kept his expression cool. “You have something to say, Warden Graig?”

    Graig looked at him in disbelief. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

    “As sure as I’ve been about anything,” said Akeela. “King Mor has left me little choice.”

    Chancellor Hogon nodded soberly. “Very well, my lord. Then I will make ready at once.”

    “Yes, at once,” agreed Akeela. “I have a plan to deal with the Norvans, and I want to begin quickly. The sooner we make arrangements, the sooner we can leave for the Kryss.”

    Hogon blinked, confused. “We, my lord?”

    “I’m going with you, Hogon. I’m going to lead the attack on Norvor.”

    “What?” Baron Glass rose from his seat. “King Akeela, you cannot.”

    “I’ve made up my mind,” said Akeela, “and no amount of arguing can change it.”

    “Great Fate, no!” snapped Glass. “You’re not a military man. You’re the king! What put this idea into your head?”

    Akeela started to respond, but was quickly interrupted by Hogon.

    “King Akeela, Baron Glass is right. I’m sorry, but I can’t agree to this folly.” The old man looked genuinely concerned. “This is war, my lord, serious business. You realize that, don’t you?”

    “I’m not a child, Chancellor,” said Akeela. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

    “Then explain it, King Akeela, please!” said Glass.

    So Akeela explained. First he insisted that Glass and Graig take their seats, and when they did he walked around the table for a moment, composing his thoughts. He told them that he was the King of Lьria, and that his word was law, no matter how much any of them cackled. He told them too that he was not a weakling; that despite the popular opinion that his dreams of peace had made him impotent, he was his father’s son and not afraid of battle.

    “And King Mor is like the rest of you,” he said. “He also thinks me a weakling. He thinks I’ll do anything for peace, even bend to his ridiculous demands.”

    “My lord,” said Glass, “none of us think you’re a weakling.”

    “Please, Baron,” said Akeela. “Don’t lie. You’re too easily discovered. I know what you and the other nobles think of me. And I plan to use that misconception against Mor. He thinks I want peace at any cost. He thinks moving troops against our border will force me to his table. So let him go on believing it. Let’s talk peace with King Mor.” A crafty smile stretched across Akeela’s face. “And when he’s most trusting, we’ll strike.”

    Baron Glass contemplated the scheme. “Yes,” he said. “It’s not a bad plan at all. . .”

    “It’s treachery, that’s what it is,” protested Graig. “Akeela, how could you consider such a thing? You disappoint me.”

    “How do we proceed?” asked Glass, ignoring Graig. “We send a messenger to Norvor,” said Akeela, “asking for a meeting between Mor and myself. We tell him I want to meet near our border, so I’ll feel safe. Somewhere just outside of Norvor, perhaps near their fortress at Hanging Man. Chancellor Hogon, start mustering your men. Some will accompany me to the meeting. Just a handful of them, so not to worry Mor. The rest will march with you to Reec.”

    “Reec?” asked Hogon. “Why Reec?”

    “Because that’s where you’ll be attacking from,” said Akeela. “King Karis has been asking what I have planned. He says he wants to help. Well, Reec’s border should hide our troops nicely, don’t you think?”

    Baron Glass nodded in understanding. “And then when you’re clear, they attack.”

    “Yes,” said Akeela, “and Reecian soldiers with them, if Karis agrees. The rest of the soldiers, the ones with me, will join them, cutting off any escape from Hanging Man. The Norvans won’t have a chance.”

    “They’ll be slaughtered,” agreed Hogon. “Quite a plan you have, my lord.”

    “Treachery,” said Graig. “My lord, I can’t believe you’d do this. You said yourself you’re known as a man of peace. Is that what it means to be ‘Akeela the Good?’ You’ve hardly been king for a fortnight and already you’ve turned backstabber.”

    “Don’t be an idiot, Warden,” sneered Glass. “The king’s showing real mettle! Personally, I’m proud of him.”

    The baron smiled, and the smile sickened Akeela. He’d known his plan would disappoint Graig, but he hadn’t counted on Glass’ praise. It sounded horrible to him.

    “I want to get moving on this quickly,” he said. “Let’s arrange that meeting with Mor. And send messengers to Reec with all speed. Chancellor Hogon, you’ve got a lot of work to do. Make sure the treasury releases the funds you need. If they argue, tell them to speak to me. And Baron Glass, I have something special for you to do as well.”

    “Anything, my lord,” said Glass. “I’m yours to command.”

    Akeela wanted to laugh, but instead said, “Lьria will need a ruler while I’m gone. I’m leaving that to you.”

    “Me?” Glass flushed. “Forgive me for asking this, King Akeela, but why?“

    “I have no regent and no heirs,” said Akeela, “and obviously the queen is in no condition to rule. You, Baron, are my only choice.”

    The reasoning deflated Glass, yet still he said, “I’m honored, my lord. And I won’t disappoint you. While you’re gone I’ll rule Lьria as wisely as I can.”

    “I should warn you, Baron, there’s a price for this favor,” said Akeela. He walked toward Glass’ seat. “There’s something you must do for me while I’m gone.”

    Glass grimaced. “I’m afraid to ask.”

    “The library, Baron. I want its construction to continue. You’re to see to it.”

    “The library? But. . .”

    “No, no arguing,” said Akeela. “That’s my order. Rule Lьria while I’m gone, but see to it that work continues on my library. I want your commitment to this project, Baron.”

    “Obviously,” said Glass. “And if I don’t give it to you?”

    “Then you’ll have no place in my plans. You won’t rule in my stead, and you won’t accompany us to Norvor, either. Commit to my library or be insignificant—those are your choices, Baron.”

    Trapped, Baron Glass nodded. “You have me, King Akeela. Well played.”

    “And I have your word? You’ll see to the library in my absence?”

    “I will,” said Glass. He smiled sourly. “I was wrong when I said you were nothing like your father, King Akeela. You can be a serpent sometimes, just like him.”

    Warden Graig stood up. “You’re all very happy with yourselves, but aren’t you forgetting something? What about the queen, my lord?”

    “That’s your duty, Graig,” said Akeela. He turned to his old friend. “I’m trusting her to you. Look after her while I’m gone. Make sure nothing happens to her. She mustn’t die until Lukien returns, do you understand?”

    Graig barely hid his anger. “My lord, you’re her husband. You should be looking after her, not me.”

    “I would if I could,” said Akeela, “but I have to go. It’s the only way to defeat Norvor.”

    “Yes,” said Graig disgustedly. “Trickery.”

    “It’s necessary!” Akeela shouted. “Why can’t you see that?”

    “All I see is the change in you,” replied Graig. His old face wrinkled crossly. “What happened to that young man of peace? Is he completely dead already?”

    Embarrassment colored Akeela’s cheeks. He said to Glass and Hogon, “Would you excuse us, please?”

    Without a word the two noblemen left the council chamber, closing the door behind them. Graig remained seated, refusing to look at Akeela, who felt ashamed and hurt by his old mentor’s disappointment.

    “Graig, you have you to understand,” he implored. “They think me weak. They all think me weak.”

    “Who, Akeela?” asked Graig. “Who are you trying to impress with this dangerous game? It’s not just Glass, is it? It’s not even King Mor. It’s someone else.”

    Akeela stiffened. In all their years together, Graig could always see the truth in things.

    “You’re a very clever old man,” said Akeela with a forlorn smile. “Is it so obvious?”

    “Just to me, Akeela. I’ve known you a long time. I know when something’s bothering you.”

    “I won’t lose her, Graig,” said Akeela. “Not to sickness, and _not to some notion of cowardice. I can’t let Mor get away with this, because that’s all she’ll ever see in me if I do.“

    Graig shook his head miserably. “You’re talking foolishness. Cassandra’s your queen.”

    “Oh, yes,” said Akeela bitterly. “And if that were the answer to everything I’d have no troubles at all.” He picked up Baron Glass’ untouched wine and took a deep drink, drowning his need to confess. He couldn’t tell anyone of Cassandra’s infidelity, not even Graig. Finally he lowered the glass and said, “Look after her for me, Graig. See that nothing happens to her while I’m gone. That’s the most important task I’m giving anyone, and I’m trusting you with it.”

    “You don’t have to do this, Akeela,” said Graig. “You don’t have to go.”

    “Yes I do.” Akeela moved toward the door. “I only wish I could explain it to you.”

    Graig shouted after him, “But you’re no soldier!”

    Akeela didn’t reply. No soldier, he thought blackly. No Lukien .

    G, fanjor glistened like gold in the sun. The long trek south had finally paid off for the weary trio, and now they were rewarded with the sight of the city, perched on a sea of sand that stretched out endlessly beyond it. Sunlight made the dry earth seem to shimmer, and the breeze carried the smells of Ganjor, the first human habitat the travelers had seen in days. They had passed through Farduke and Dreel, avoided the principality of Nith, had slept in the forests of Dalyma and followed the Agora River, all to be led to this ancient crossroads.

    To Lukien, who had never before ventured further than Marn, Ganjor seemed a remarkable ruin. The city reeked of age, even from a mile away. He could see the tall walls of Ganjor’s fortress, now abandoned. The funerary temple rose above the streets in a golden dome, just as Figgis had described. On the south side of the city grew olive groves, making do with the little rain that fed the harsh soil, and from the east came the trading caravans, well-stocked with goods and laden with dark-skinned children. A second, less-traveled road came from the north, bringing visitors from Dreel and Marn and, on rare occasions, Lьria.

    Lukien reined in his horse, pausing in the shadow of the city. He removed his neckerchief and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. The southern sun had toasted his fair skin. The tips of his ears were burned red. He looked past Ganjor to the Desert of Tears, a ^vast expanse of blistering sand. The awesome sight crushed his already waning spirits.

    “Great Fate, look at that,” he said. “It’s like an ocean.” Figgis wore an exuberant smile. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

    “Beautiful?” said Trager. “Are you mad? How are we supposed to cross that?”

    The old man’s smile didn’t wane. He gazed at Ganjor in a kind of happy homecoming. He had done a good job of guiding them this far, and Lukien was pleased. But he didn’t understand the librarian’s fascination with these southern cultures. During the days and nights of their long trek south, Figgis had taught them what he could of the Ganjeese, never tiring of his own tales. He had told them that the Ganjeese were a desert culture, like the Jadori, and how they were different from northerners. The hot climate made them quiet, easy-going people, never prone to wasting effort. Even their speech was simple, Figgis had explained, another means of conserving strength. No one of Ganjor ever used two words where one would suffice, nor spoke when a lack of words would do. They were a proud and ancient people, and thought themselves the center of the world. Lьrians, Figgis had warned, would not impress them.

    But Lukien didn’t care about impressing the Ganjeese, and didn’t plan on staying in their city more than a day. He needed to get to Jador, and that meant crossing the formidable desert. To do so they would need to trade their horses for drowa. Figgis had promised it would be an easy bargain to make, for drowa were everywhere this near the desert. If Lukien sniffed hard enough, he could smell their peculiar musk in the air. He had already seen some of the humped beasts on his way south. They were atrociously ugly and, according to Figgis, ill-tempered. Lukien didn’t relish riding one across the desert.

    “I’m exhausted,” he said with a sigh. He took notice of the sun high overhead. “Come on. Let’s get into the city before we roast. I could do with a bed for the night.”

    “That would be a nice change,” said Trager sourly. The lieutenant drew a hand across the sweat on his brow. He was a fit man, but the journey had wearied him. He turned to Figgis, saying, “Lead the way, old man.”

    Figgis started off in a trot toward Ganjor. Lukien and Trager followed close behind. The city beckoned them, and Lukien felt his mood lighten. His ears quickly filled with the sounds of the bustling crossroads, and as they approached he could clearly see the white towers dotting the city, poking up from the thousands of squat, closely-spaced buildings of brown brick. Golden domes and silver spires with keyhole windows graced the ancient skyline, throwing sweeping shadows into the streets. The road widened as they reached the city outskirts, opening like a mouth to swallow them. Lukien swiveled in his saddle, suddenly enraptured by his surroundings. He had been many places in his many battles, but he had never seen anything like Ganjor. He slowed, eager to see it all. Even Trager seemed enamored by the city. The clay walls of ancient structures rose up around them, and the wide street quickly choked with travelers and the stalls of pottery and silk merchants. Barefoot men sat in clusters around small tables, sipping drinks and tossing dice, while others worked diligently with looms and hawked passersby to buy their weavings. White-faced monkeys like the one Figgis had left behind in Koth were everywhere, perched happily on the shoulders of children and shoppers, and exotic smells from cooking stalls suffused the air. Lukien’s stomach rumbled at the aromas. He saw a boy eating chunks of meat on a stick and wondered where he could get one of his own. Trager pointed at the boy.

    “Food, Figgis,” he said. “Get us some.”

    The librarian scowled. “Manners, Lieutenant. You’re not in Koth anymore, remember.”

    “I’m hungry!”

    “Yes, we all are. Just calm down and don’t make a spectacle of yourself. First we have to find a place to stay for the night. And we’ll have to get clothing.”

    “Clothing?” asked Lukien. “What do you mean?”

    “For the desert,” said Figgis. “We can’t go across like this. We’ll have to dress like everyone else, in gaka.” He pointed to a group of men, all similarly garbed in long white robes and head-dress.

    “See? Those robes are called gaka. They keep out the sand ¹ ^reflect the sunlight. They’ll keep us cool.” ¹ “Cool?” Trager laughed. “Wrapped from head to toe like that?

    You’re joking.“

    “Do you think they’d wear it if it didn’t work?” asked Figgis. “Believe me, they’ve lived here long enough to know what they’re doing. We’ll have to wear gaka or we’ll never make it.”

    “And a guide,” Lukien reminded him. “What about that? We’ll need someone to guide us to Jador.”

    “All the shrana houses have guides, Lukien, don’t worry. We’ll find someone to take us.”

    “All right, what’s a shrana house?”

    “Like a tavern, you might say. Shrana is a popular drink here. It’s a hot liquor made from roasted beans. You’ll see people drinking it all day long.”

    “Hot drinks, hot clothes; what’s wrong with these people?” snapped Trager. “Don’t they feel the bloody sun? What are they made of, leather?”

    “You’ll learn, Lieutenant,” said Figgis.“Come. Let’s find a place to rest.”

    Figgis led them through the crowded streets, gingerly maneuvering his horse past throngs of carts and people. Most of the folk were Ganjeese, olive-skinned and dark-haired, but there were northerners in the mix as well, and the knight recognized the crests of Norvor and Dreel in the crowd, carved into the sides of battered wagons that had chosen to trade this far south. They were a welcome sight to Lukien, who was quickly feeling foreign among the southerners. But he didn’t feel unwelcome, for there was a curious easiness about the Ganjeese, as though they had seen it all and outsiders held little interest for them. Curiously, most of the people crowding the streets were men, but there were also women sprinkled through the crowd. All wore robes similar to their male counterparts, and all had a veil of black cloth covering their faces, so that only their eyes could be seen.

    “The woman all cover themselves,” Lukien remarked. “Why, Figgis?”

    The librarian smiled. “Because Vala has told them to.”

    It was another of the scholar’s riddles. “Vala? Is that thei king?”

    “No, not a king. Remember ? They are called Inai ka Vala.”

    “Ah, so Vala is one of their gods?”

    “Not a god, Lukien. The god. The Ganjeese and the Jadori worship only one deity, whom they call Vala. It is the will of Vala that women cover themselves.”

    “But why?” Lukien spied the women in the street. Young and old alike were hidden behind dark veils.

    “The Ganjeese believe that men and women should be modest, and should not show their bodies. This way, they can be judged on their skills and intelligence, and not by the way they look. Women in particular must be modest, and not be flirtatious or corrupt a man. The holy book of Vala instructs women to guard their modesty, and not display their beauty to any but their husbands.”

    Trager laughed. “You hear that, Lukien? That’s what the veil is for—to keep sniffing dogs like you away!”

    “Still,” said Lukien. “It seems unfair. This would never happen in Lьria.”

    “No,” agreed Figgis. “But then what’s in Lьria to believe in?” The librarian regarded Lukien. “Do you have a god, Lukien?”

    Lukien thought for a moment. He had never really considered the question. Growing up in the streets hadn’t given him much time to ponder such things. As a Lьrian he had his pick of religions. He could believe in the Fate as Baron Glass did, or the Great Spirit of Reec or the serpent god of Marn. But to him they all seemed empty, without truth.

    “I believe in this,” he said, patting his sword. “And I believe in myself. Other than that, who knows?”

    “That is the answer of a Lьrian,” said Figgis. “And it won’t win you any friends here, I assure you. These people are devout. Say whatever you wish, but do not criticize their beliefs. If you do, they will kill you.”

    “Figgis, I intend to say as little as possible to these people,” replied Lukien. “I just want to get back home as soon as possible.”

    They rode in silence until the road widened into a village now converted into an open market. Lukien was stunned r the’market. He had never seen such an exotic array of goods, t even in Koth. A young boy with a colorful bird perched on s shoulder caught his attention, as did a shapely young lady alking unhurriedly through the square. His eyes followed her.

    ke the other women, she was dressed in long white wraps that trailed behind her, but he could make out the curve of her body beneath the robes, and a trace of dark hair falling beneath her veil. She held a basket in her hands, full of bread. Two small boys scurried after her, but to Lukien she didn’t seem old enough to be their mother. In a moment she disappeared through a beaded curtain, entering one of the buildings.

    “There,” said Figgis, pointing in her direction. “That looks like a shrana house. I’ll go in and ask around, see if I can find us shelter for the night.”

    “And food,” added Trager. “Before we all collapse.”

    “And a guide,” said Lukien. He looked at the entrance to the shrana house. “Shouldn’t we go in with you, Figgis?”

    “No,” said Figgis. “Stay outside and watch the horses. There’s a lot of thievery in this city. If we lose the horses we’ll have nothing to trade for drowa, and it’s a long walk across the desert.”

    Lukien was about to agree when he saw the most amazing creature emerge from the crowd. He stopped his horse just outside the shrana house, staring as the beast rounded the corner. A huge, reptilian head wrapped in leather tack stared back at him, its two black eyes blinking beneath membranous lids. It had four legs and a long, slender tail, and was as tall as a horse but much broader across, its muscles bunching beneath its scaly skin. There was a rider on its back, robed in crimson and black, his face hidden behind a cloth wrap. Dust and sand clung to every inch of him. Lukien’s horse noticed the creature and snorted in alarm. • . “Great Fate,” Lukien gasped. “What is that?”

    “That,” said Figgis, “is a kreel.” The librarian got off his horse as the beast and rider approached, moving with a graceful gait toward them. Too stunned to move, Lukien and Trager simply watched the kreel in disbelief. They had talked about the great lizards during their ride south. Figgis had said they were not to be feared, but seeing one close up made being afraid easy. Lu-kien’s hand fell instinctively to his sword. The crowd outside the shrana house parted as the lizard sauntered near, but they did not-seen! surprised or frightened by the creature. Figgis smiled as if a stray dog was approaching.

    “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s been years since I’ve seen one.”

    The kreel and its rider noticed Figgis and stopped before him. The rider’s dark eyes studied the old man.

    “Uh, Figgis, I think you should get out of its way,” Lukien suggested.

    But the librarian held up his hands towards the man and beast in a gesture of peace, then began to say words Lukien didn’t understand, speaking with effort as he pronounced the words.

    “Jadori?” Trager guessed.

    Lukien shrugged. He didn’t know Jadori from Ganjeese, nor any other of the strange tongues he heard around him. But re— markably the rider seemed to understand Figgis. There was no malice in his eyes, only a sort of surprised humor. Figgis struggled with the language, pausing in long stretches between each sentence as he groped for the right words. The rider waited patiently, amused by the old foreigner.

    “Figgis?” probed Lukien. “What are you doing?”

    “He is from Jador,” said Figgis. Childlike exuberance shone on his face. “And he understands me!”

    “Yes, all right,” said Lukien. “Just be careful what you say to him.” Lukien slid slowly off his horse and went to stand beside Figgis. He whispered, “Remember why we’re here.”

    “Of course I remember.” Figgis smiled at the Jadori, then began to speak again. The man nodded. “He says he has come for trade,” said Figgis. “He’s only just arrived from Jador.”

    “Will he be staying long in the city?” asked Trager. “Maybe he could take us back with him.”

    “I’m afraid not. He says he will be going east from here. We don’t have the time to wait for him.”

    “Agreed,” said Lukien. “Then we’ll find a guide in the shrana house.”

    Figgis kept talking to the Jadori, asking questions. The man answered each one, patiently waiting for Figgis to form his sentences, and when he spoke he did so slowly, making sure the old man understood. Figgis had told them during the journey that the Jadori were peaceful people, gracious in every way, and now that seemed true. The rider didn’t even have a sword, and his great reptile seemed as docile as a pony. It lowered its head onto the sandy ground as its rider spoke, oblivious to the conversation.

    “Come on, Figgis,” growled Trager. “What are you going on about? Hurry up.”

    Figgis ignored the lieutenant. He exchanged smiles with the rider, who then got down off his kreel and looked at Lukien and Trager. Amazingly, he bowed to them. Not knowing how to reply, Lukien bowed, too.

    “Lukien, he is thanking you for looking after his kreel,” Figgis explained.

    “What?”

    “We are going into the shrana house. I’ll buy him a drink and find out what I can about Jador. I told him you’ll be outside looking after our horses, so—”

    “So you thought I’d look after this big lizard? Are you mad?”

    Figgis tried to cover Lukien’s anger with a smile. “Easy,” he said. “I won’t be long, and the kreel won’t be any trouble. I told you—they’re peaceful creatures. Just stay out here and look after it, all right? Make sure the children keep away.” Figgis turned toward the beaded curtain, parting it for his new friend. “I’ll bring you back something to eat.”

    “Figgis!”

    The librarian disappeared into the tavern with the Jadori, leaving Lukien and Trager with the kreel. The two soldiers looked at each other, aghast. The kreel had closed its eyes and laid its giant head in the sand. Its broad back rose and fell with easy breathing.

    “Well?” asked Trager sharply. “What do we do now?”

    Lukien looked at the resting kreel. “Hope it doesn’t get hungry.”

    -i’tn hour later, Figgis finally emerged from the tavern. The Jadori man was with him, smiling and laughing as the two spoke among themselves. Figgis held two packages of food in his hand. As he approached Lukien and Trager, he held them out.

    “For you,” he said, then went back to talking to the Jadori. Lukien looked at his food—a large, flat circle of bread stuffed with meat and spices. He gave it a wary sniff, decided it smelled good, then bit down hungrily. Trager did the same, glaring angrily at Figgis.

    “What took you so long?” he asked through a mouthful of food.

    “I had things to discuss with Tamaz. I learned a great deal.” “Tamaz?” asked Lukien. “Is that his name?” The Jadori looked at him, then pointed at himself. “Tamaz.” Trager wasn’t satisfied. “You leave us out here starving, looking after that monster?” He gestured to the kreel. “What were you thinking?”

    “Easy,” scolded Lukien. The kreel hadn’t been a problem. Only now did it rise, seeing its master return. “No harm done. What did you learn, Figgis?”

    “First, I got us passage to Jador,” said Figgis happily. “Really?” Lukien looked at Tamaz. “Is he taking us there?”

    “No.” Figgis looked back toward the shrana house. “He is.” Coming through the beaded curtain was another man, big and dark-skinned with a weathered face and beard. He was older than the Jadori man, almost as old as Figgis himself, and carried himself with an air of authority that made Lukien stop eating. As the Jadori man mounted his kreel and said his good-byes to Figgis, the new stranger stepped up and gave the trio a slight bow. His drab robes rustled as he moved, but he never took his eyes off the foreigners. Then another figure emerged out of the tavern, directly on the heels of the first. To Lukien’s surprise, it was the young woman he’d seen earlier. “Who’s this?” asked Trager.

    Figgis stepped between them and introduced the man. “This is Jebel. He is the leader of a caravan that will take us to Jador. The girl with him is his daughter, Cahra.”

    “Caravan?” asked Lukien. “You mean they’re traders?”

    “They are like nomads, Lukien. They travel from place to place, living off the land and bartering for what they need. They live in the desert mostly, but come into Ganjor when they need hings. Now they are going to Jador. Tamaz introduced them to me.”

    Trager’s face lit with alarm. “What? You mean you told Tamaz we’re going to Jador?”

    “It seemed like the thing to do.”

    “Figgis, that was very stupid,” said Lukien. “He could have warned them—

    “Stop,” said Figgis, putting up his hands. He took Lukien by the arm and turned him away from Jebel and his daughter. “Watch what you say. Jebel speaks our language.”

    Lukien looked at the man, who stared back with a hard expression. “Jebel. Forgive me,” he offered. “I am Lukien. This is Trager.”

    Jebel nodded at them. His daughter Cahra did not.

    Lukien smiled awkwardly. “You will take us to Jador, Jebel?”

    The dark man said, “My family rides in the morning. You may come with us, and we will guide you. But you will need your own drowa.”

    “I’ve already explained that to them, Jebel,” said Figgis. “We will trade our horses for drowa. Then we’ll meet you back here and go to your caravan. Agreed?”

    “It is agreed.” Jebel looked at Trager, who was still eating with both hands, and cringed in disgust. He said to Figgis, “Teach them something of manners before you return.” Then he turned and went back into the shrana house, calling his daughter after him. Cahra hesitated a moment, studying the three strangers before hurrying after her father.

    “What was that all about?” asked Trager. Meat drippings dribbled down his chin.

    “It’s my fault,” said Figgis. “I should have explained this to YOU before I brought the food. We’re in Ganjor now; we can’t eat like we usually do.”

    “Bah,” scoffed Trager. “If I’m too messy for them, screw ‘em.”

    “That’s not it,” said Figgis. “You don’t eat with both hands here, Trager. You eat with the right hand only.”

    Puzzled, Lukien frowned. “The right hand? Why?”

    “Because that’s your clean hand. Your left hand is for ... well, you know.”

    “No, I don’t know. What do you mean?”

    Figgis smiled. “In this culture, the left hand is used for bodily things, Lukien. You know, cleaning yourself?”

    Suddenly Lukien understood. He looked down at his hands, then at all the Ganjeese people around them.

    “I don’t get it,” said Trager. He continued eating with both hands. “What do you mean, clean yourself?”

    Figgis sighed hopelessly. “Forget it. Let’s just get those drowa.”

    Ihat night, Lukien and the others rested with Jebel’s caravan on the outskirts of the city. They had traded their horses for three drowa, then had met again with Jebel in the tavern, who took them out to his caravan near sundown. There they had met with the rest of the desert leader’s huge family, a similarly-featured band of some hundred people spanning multiple generations. Jebel introduced them perfunctorily to his wife and his brother, then had his youngest children line up for inspection. He explained to them that they had visitors from far away, and that they were to teach them what they could of their culture and their god, Vala. Because they were foreigners, Jebel explained, they could not be expected to know how to eat and clean themselves. Lukien listened to Jebel’s speech in embarrassment, and more than once saw Cahra giggle. Now that she was with her family again she had doffed her veil, revealing her pretty face. She was not glamorous, but she had dark, deep eyes that reminded Lukien of Cassandra.

    Jebel’s caravan was an impressive sight, easily seen from the city. There were at least two dozen wagons, strangely designed vehicles with large, wide wheels and a high clearance beneath them. There were also numerous, humpbacked drowa laying lazily around the camp. Torches and candles had been set in the sand, and the moonlight shone on the dunes. Lukien, Trager, and Figgis had all taken their ease at the camp, supping with Jebel and his wife and sharing his water-pipe, a strange but pleasant device that Lukien had never seen before. Now they were full and content as they sat around a fire, listening to the odd music of the desert and gazing at Ganjor in the distance. To the west lay the Desert of Tears, an endless stretch of forbidding sand. The setting of the sun had cooled the world considerably, and all of them wore the gakas that Figgis had purchased. Lukien found the garb remarkably comfortable. He stretched with a yawn, yearning for sleep. Tomorrow they would begin their trek to Jador, making their way along the caravan routes, the well-traveled lanes that Figgis had promised could accomodate the wagons as long as they weren’t swallowed by sandstorms. Lukien wasn’t sure he was up to it. Of the three, only Figgis was eager to break camp. He sat slightly apart from Lukien, talking with Jebel on the far side of the fire. Trager had his eyes closed, half asleep. Around the wagons, children giggled in hushed voices and played with mangy dogs. Lukien watched Figgis converse with Jebel, amazed by his stamina. He knew that without the strange librarian, their mission would have been hopeless.

    While they had shopped for their drowas, Figgis had explained his conversation with Tamaz, the Jadori. He had learned from the lizard rider that Jador was still at peace, just as Figgis had suspected, and that they still had a kahan and a kahana, just as they did decades ago when Figgis was a young man in Ganjor. Back then, Figgis had recalled, the kahan had been a man named Kadar. So it had surprised and elated Figgis when Tamaz told him that the Kahan of Jador was still Kadar, apparantly the very man who had ruled Jador all that time ago. It might have been his son, Figgis supposed, but he prefered to think it was still the same man, and that a magical amulet was keeping him alive. Kadar’s wife, the kahana, was called Jitendra. This news draped a pall over Figgis’ theory, because he remembered Kadar’s wife as having a different name. Still, it was enticing.

    Deciding there was no harm in explaining their pretense to Tamaz, Figgis had told him that they were emissaries from King Akeela of Lьria, and that they had brought gifts for the Jadori kahan in hopes of opening up diplomatic relations. The news had Pleased Tamaz, who told Figgis that Kahan Kadar would welcome the Lьrian visitors. But he had refused to speak more about Kadar, and that puzzled Figgis. The librarian had decided not to push the man further, but had taken his evasiveness as a good sign.

    “Perhaps they are not allowed to speak of the kahan’s magic.”

    Figgis had theorized.

    Lukien didn’t really care. He was just glad they were on their way to Jador, and that soon he might confront this Kahan Kadar. If he and his wife did indeed have the magic amulets, he would steal them. In the quiet of the desert, it seemed a remarkably simple plan.

    For Cassandra, Lukien reminded himself.

    He wasn’t a thief, but for Cassandra he would become one. For Cassandra, he would do anything, and that troubled him. He was far from home now, maybe about to die. He had risked his brotherhood with Akeela and imperiled his soul, if indeed he even had a soul, and as the wind played across the sand Lukien wondered what life would be like without her. In the little time they had spent together, he had fallen deeply in love with her. He imagined he could accept her as Akeela’s wife, as long as she was close and he could look at her. But if she died. . . . She will not die, Lukien told himself. I won’t allow it. With Cassandra’s face filling his thoughts, Lukien closed his eyes and went to sleep.

    A, _ _ the bridge of Roan-si, Chancellor Hogon and his army of Lьrians paused to look across the glistening River Kryss. They had traveled many days to make the rendezvous, and the infantry and horses were exhausted from the march. But the sight of the river heartened them, and the opposing army that had come to meet them put a smile on Hogon’s face. He narrowed his eyes against the strong sun, recognizing Raxor’s flag. The Reecian war minister’s standard was a green flag embroided with a snarling lion, in the same colors as his brother. From the looks of Raxor’s camp, the Reecians had arrived at least a day earlier. Tents and pavilions had already been erected, and a few small cooking fires burned among the huddled troops. The scouts that Hogon had sent ahead had reported that Raxor was anxious for his meeting at the bridge. Already Reecian soldiers were riding out of camp to greet them. Hogon put up his hand and bid his company to remain calm. He had five hundred infantry with him and almost a hundred heavy horsemen, all of whom still distrusted their new allies. But Raxor had come just as his brother had promised, and Hogon had his orders. So far, at least, Akeela’s plan was working.

    “Dusan, you will accompany me,” said Hogon. “Kass, stay back with the others.”

    The chancellor’s aides frowned at each other.

    “Sir, is that wise?” asked Dusan, the younger of the two. He had been with Hogon for five years, yet still saw fit to question him. “You should have at least two men with you, for protection.”

    The Chancellor of War chuckled. “Protection from what? They’re our allies now.”

    Lieutenant Kass snorted, “Allies. Who believes that, truly?”

    “Your king believes that,” said Hogon sharply. “And look, they have come.”

    “So you trust them?” asked Kass.

    Hogon didn’t answer. He didn’t have to trust the Reecians. Like Lьria, they had a stake in defeating Norvor, and that would keep them honest, at least for now. And despite his violent history, Raxor was known as a man of his word, not only in Reec but throughout the continent. Hogon had battled Raxor many times, but he had never hated the man. He respected him.

    “See that the men rest, Kass,” said Hogon, “and that the horses take water. Dusan, come along.”

    With Dusan following close behind, Hogon trotted toward the bridge. Roan-si Bridge was wide and sturdy, and would easily accommodate bringing the army across. It had been built by the Reecians long before Akeela had come to power, but had been abandoned during the bitter stalemate, used mostly by traders and merchants. Roan-si, Hogon knew, was an old Reecian phrase meaning “meeting place.” The irony of the name wasn’t lost on the old man. Those who had built the bridge had supposed it would bring the two nations together, but only Akeela had been able to do that.

    As he neared the stone bridge, Hogon recognized Raxor among the approaching soldiers. When the Reecian noticed Hogon’s single companion, he paused for a moment, ordering all but one of his soldiers to stop and wait as he himself rode on. He wore a surcoat over his black armor and metal studded greaves, and his ebony warhorse matched his own dark hair, combed back and slick with oil. He was a big man, like his brother, and as he trotted onto the bridge his eyes met Hogon’s with an air of mistrust. Hogon remained arrow-straight in his saddle, not even blinking as he rode to face his longtime enemy. Never before had he been this close to Raxor. The urge to draw his sword was almost irresistible. There was no sound on the bridge, only the clopping of horse hooves on stone. Behind Hogon, Dusan was silent.

    The two men rode toward the crest of the bridge, their aides keeping back a pace. Hogon stopped his horse and raised his hand in greeting.

    “Raxor.”

    The War Minister of Reec nodded. “Hogon.”

    They looked at each other without the smallest hint of friendship. Raxor was unreadable. Hogon felt the breeze strike his face and decided he should say something.

    “You’ve come,” he said. “To be honest, I didn’t know if you would. Thank you.”

    “My king commanded it,” said Raxor. “Is that not why you are here, Hogon?”

    Hogon nodded. “It is.”

    “You look tired,” the Reecian remarked.

    “It is a long march from Koth.”

    “And from Hes,” agreed Raxor. “But we have rested. We arrived yesterday.”

    “Good. Then you are ready to march on Hanging Man?”

    “We are.” Raxor hesitated, sizing up Hogon. “Chancellor, I have a question from my brother. He wants to know how his daughter fares.”

    Hogon grimaced. In the tension of the moment, he had forgotten that Karis had been told of Cassandra’s illness. The messenger that had asked for his help against Norvor had delivered that bad news as well.

    “I’m sorry,” said Hogon, “but the queen does poorly. She has some good days, but she is very ill. Her physician says she may be dead in a month or two.”

    “And the quest your messenger spoke of? How does that go?”

    “No word yet. But we have sent out our best knights in search of the amulets. If they exist, our men will find them.”

    Raxor’s face betrayed his sadness. “It is a fool’s errand,” he said. “If Cassandra has so little time, how can your knights save her?”

    “They will do their best,” said Hogon. He did not believe in Lukien’s quest either, but thought it best not to say so. “As I said, if the amulets exist, our men will find them.”

    “Then I will dispatch that news to my brother, and tell him to begin mourning his daughter,” said Raxor bitterly. “Now, what news of your king?”

    “King Akeela still rides for Hanging Man. He will arrive there on the morrow. We will attack the day after, just past dawn.”

    “Will there will be a signal?”

    Hogon shook his head. “No. My orders are to attack an hour past dawn. Akeela assured me he would be ready.”

    Raxor grimaced. “With respect, I have met your king, Chancellor. He doesn’t seem capable of this mission.”

    “Maybe. But he’s not alone. He has fifty men with him, including one of his best Chargers. When we attack, they will be ready.”

    Raxor looked over Hogon’s shoulder, toward his Lьrian army. “You have brought a goodly force with you.”

    “Five hundred infantry and a hundred cavalry.” Hogon surveyed Raxor’s troops in the distance. “Almost as many as you, it seems.”

    “Indeed. We will be formidable . . .” Raxor almost smiled.

    “Together.”

    Hogon returned the crooked grin. “Together,” he echoed. The word felt odd to him. “We live in strange times, Minister,” he said, then proceeded across the bridge with Raxor.

    T _L he Norvan fortress of Hanging Man clung to the edge of a cliff, one sheer face turned toward the churning river below. Defiant flags overhung its battlements, snapping in the wind, while countless scores of armored men milled about its courtyard, barely visible through the surrounding iron gate. A single turret rose from the fortress, its gray stone weather-pitted, its arrow slits perpetually watching the River Kryss. Beyond the fortress lay Norvor, a land of formidable mountains and hot southern summers. Hanging Man’s shadow fell across the River Kryss like a drawbridge. The fortress had stood for six decades, guarding Norvor and its diamond mines from its Reecian neighbors. It had earned its name during the first Reecian-Norvan war, when Norvan soldiers hung their Reecian captives on the wall facing the river, so that any who approached would see their grisly trophies and be warned. The name had stuck, but not the practice, for there had been no war between the uneasy neighbors for many years, and Norvor had quieted as its brutal leader aged. Akeela knew very little about King Mor, but he knew that he was very old, and that now he was very angry. Angry enough, it seemed, to return to his warlike ways.

    It was just past noon when Akeela and his contingent of Chargers arrived at Hanging Man. The sun beat down on his cape-clad shoulders. His horse moved sluggishly, eager for a rest, and the warmth had wilted Akeela’s spirits, which withered further at the sight of Hanging Man. For eight days they had ridden, finding what shelter they could in Lьrian villages, until they had crossed the Kryss and entered Reec. After that they had been on their own, and the lack of sleep and decent food had plagued Akeela. He wasn’t as hearty as Breck or the others, and he knew that it showed. Breck rode very close to him, watching him like a concerned brother.

    “They see us, my lord,” said Breck. He ambled his horse alongside Akeela’s, pointing at the great turret.

    “No doubt,” said Akeela. His insides clenched. From the looks of the fortress, King Mor had been busy. There were catapults and heavy wagons and stables housing war horses, all plainly visible and meant to send a message. Akeela no longer doubted Mor’s intentions. It was expensive to move so many men and so much equipment; Mor wasn’t bluffing. He intended to attack Reec if his demands were not met, even if it meant war with Lьria.

    “Keep riding,” Akeela told Breck. The lieutenant called the order down the line, and the fifty horsemen kept moving. The men in Hanging Man’s courtyard began opening the great gate.

    “My lord?” Breck whispered.

    “Yes?”

    “Are you all right?”

    Akeela nodded. “Yes.”

    Breck leaned in closer. “You don’t have to do this. We can still turn around. Just say the word.”

    But Akeela couldn’t say the word. Frightened as he was, he knew there was no turning back. Hogon was already prepared, and Raxor with him.

    “I can’t explain this to you, Breck. It’s just something I have to do.”

    “But you’ve never done anything like this before.” Breck kept his voice low, but his tone was earnest. “Forgive me for saying this, but you’re not a soldier, my lord.”

    “Shhh,” Akeela urged. “No more talk, all right? It’s done, and I’m not backing down.”

    Akeela took a breath to still his doubts. Mor’s arrogance had brought them to this, and if Mor died in the battle, then Akeela wouldn’t shed a tear for him. There was more at stake than one man’s life—there was Lьria, and Akeela’s rule over it. He couldn’t let Mor or Baron Glass or anyone else think him a weakling.

    Cassandra doesn’t want a weakling for a husband, thought Akeela. She wants a hero, like Lukien.

    He rode ahead of Breck, checking himself as he approached the fortress. He felt the slender length of his dagger against his breast, his only protection. Up ahead, the great gate of Hanging Man beckoned. A contingent of soldiers waited there, dressed in the peculiar armor of Norvor, their heads hidden beneath winged helmets. Akeela searched the crowd for Mor, but did not see the old man.

    “Ho,” he called to the men. “I am King Akeela of Lьria. May we come ahead?”

    “You may come,” answered a sentry, “and ten men with you. No more.”

    Akeela shook his head. “I won’t walk into a lion’s mouth without protection. I have fifty tired men with me, and they all need rest and food.”

    “And I have my orders, King Akeela,” said the sentry. “King Mor has said ten men only may enter.” Breck leaned over, whispering, “Refuse.” Akeela hesitated. If his plan was to work, Mor needed to think him a coward. He called to the sentry, “Twenty men. Otherwise I will not enter.”

    The Norvans mumbled amongst themselves. Finally their leader relented. “Twenty men is agreed. Come ahead.”

    “And you will see that the rest are fed?” The sentry agreed, and Akeela had Breck count out twenty of the Royal Chargers. Together they rode forward. Akeela took careful notice of the gate as he passed through it. If their plan was to succeed, they would have to keep the gate open as long as possible. The sentries in the courtyard bowed slightly to Akeela as he entered the courtyard, taking his horse. Akeela dismounted, surveying his surroundings.

    “This is Lieutenant Breck,” he told the wing-helmed sentry. “He will accompany me everywhere, is that understood?”

    “King Mor expected you to have a bodyguard,” replied the leader. There was a trace of humor in his tone. “He’s waiting for you inside.” He began to order the fortress gates closed. Akeela quickly interrupted him.

    “Don’t you dare close those gates until my men are taken care of,” he said sharply. “I want them fed, and I want feed for their horses as well.”

    The sentry reluctantly agreed, telling his companions to see to their “guests.”

    “The rest of your men can take their ease here in the yard,” he said. “We’ll see to their horses as well, but they’re not to accompany you to the meeting. And they’re not to draw their weapons for any reason.”

    “Then don’t give them reason to do so,” said Akeela.

    The guard seemed to smile beneath his helmet. “Your bodyguard may accompany you to the meeting. And as I said, King Mor is expecting you.”

    With Breck beside him, Akeela followed the sentry out of the yard, through a portcullis and into the main keep. A wide hall full of torchlight greeted them. Soldiers and servant boys walked the stone floor. Akeela felt his pulse quicken. Up ahead was a large pair of wooden doors guarded by two more soldiers. Both wore the ornate armor of Norvor, polished to a luster, and sported winged helmets. As Akeela approached, they uncrossed their halberds and bowed, then turned to open the creaking portals, revealing a large, dark chamber. Akeela stepped across the threshold. In the room was an oval-shaped table, laden with bread and cheese and flasks of wine. Three men were seated at the far end. Two of them rose when Akeela entered. Mor, seated in the center, did not. His watery eyes watched Akeela; his thin lips parted in an amused smile. A spotless white cat lay in his lap, purring as Mor stroked its long hair. Mor had dressed for the meeting, wearing a resplendent emerald cape and an elaborate collection of gem-encrusted rings. His pate was speckled with age spots, making him look even older than the last time Akeela had seen him. His dark gaze drifted over his guests.

    Akeela bowed. “King Mor. It’s good to see you again. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

    Mor inclined his head. “You’ve come quicker than I’d suspected, young Akeela. Anxious for peace, are you?”

    “I am, my lord,” said Akeela. “I’m hopeful we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

    The Norvan king continued stroking his pet. “You know Nace and Fianor.”

    The two men remained standing, bowing slightly to Akeela. General Nace was Mor’s top military man, now in command of Hanging Man fortress. The younger man, Fianor, was Mor’s son. As next in line for the Norvan throne, he accompanied his father everywhere. The prince had strange, mismatched eyes and platinum hair that harkened back to what his father might have looked like in youth.

    “This is Breck,” said Akeela, “a lieutenant of my Royal Chargers and one of my closest aides. He’ll be staying with me inside Hanging Man.”

    The sentry that had brought them to the chamber said, “My lord, King Akeela has brought about fifty men with him. Twenty of them have been allowed inside the courtyard.”

    King Mor smiled. “Twenty? Bargaining already, King Akeela?”

    “They make me feel safe, my lord,” replied Akeela. He remembered how he needed to play the weakling. “I’m sure you understand.”

    “Yes,” drawled Mor. He stroked his cat and studied Akeela. “Sit, my friend.”

    Akeela took a chair across from Mor. Breck remained standing. The significant distance between the two kings added to the air of mistrust. Akeela took notice of the room and the placement of the chairs. Tomorrow, he would have to be much closer to Mor. A servant came from the corner of the room, filling Akeela’s goblet with wine. King Mor raised his glass toward his guest.

    “To you, King Akeela,” he said. “And to our meeting. May it be fruitful.”

    “That is my fondest hope,” said Akeela. When he had drank, he put down the glass and looked at Mor earnestly. “King Mor, you know why I’m here. You threaten war with Reec, and even with Lьria. I’ve seen the buildup of your forces here at Hanging Man. But I can tell you honestly, there is no need for this.“

    “No need? King Akeela, you surprise me. You make a treaty with my enemy, and yet you say there is no need for me to worry?”

    “I made a peace treaty with Reec, my lord, that is all.”

    “Words, King Akeela.” Mor waved off his remarks. “You gave them rights to the Kryss. You didn’t even think about us here in Norvor. We are like nothing to you. Well, as you can see, we will not ignore such shabby treatment. And we will not let Reec have the Kryss. If we must, we will take it.” King Mor leaned forward threateningly. “And not even Lьria will stop us.”

    Incensed, Akeela wanted to spit across the table. Mor’s arrogance was boundless. But Akeela held his tongue, summoning the coward Mor expected him to be.

    “No, my lord, please. We must avoid such a thing. Lьria doesn’t want war with Norvor any more than we wanted it with Reec. We must do what we can to stop it.”

    Mor sighed, considering the cat in his lap. “Frankly, I am out of ideas. I made my anger plain to you in our last meeting, yet you have chosen to offer us nothing. Unless . . .” He looked up with a smile. “Have you come to offer something?”

    “Since I cannot have war with you, I’m prepared to bargain.”

    “I am listening, King Akeela.”

    “First, the Kryss is no longer mine to give. You know that. We traded it for peace with Reec, and to take it back would invite war with them. But we still have rights to it, rights assured us by King Karis. If you are willing, Lьria will pay you tribute for use of the river. If you allow our ships to sail south past Hanging Man, each one will pay a toll of gold.”

    Mor looked intrigued. “And Reec? What of their ships?”

    “We will pay their tribute as well,” said Akeela. “It will come from our own coffers, provided you make no aggression against them. And provided you move your army back from the border.”

    “Your own coffers? You would pay for Reecian ships just to avoid war?”

    “My lord, you have given me little choice,” said Akeela. “If you attack Reec, Lьria will be forced to intercede. And we have _no wish to fight you. I’m not happy about it, but I see no other options.“

    Prince Fianor snickered. “You could act like a man.”

    His father glared at him, warning him to be silent. But when he looked back at Akeela, he said, “My son talks out of turn, King Akeela, yet I fear he’s correct. Your father wouldn’t have come here with such an offer. He would have fought. But you’re not your father are you?”

    “My father sent thousands of men to die in useless wars, my lord. I am trying to avoid such waste of life.”

    “By bleeding your treasury?” Mor laughed. “Well, if you are willing to offer such a deal, I am willing to accept it. Will you sign a treaty saying so?”

    “Of course. Have your people draft a paper of intent. Have it ready in the morning, and we will both sign it before I leave. We can work out the particulars of the payments later.”

    Mor’s grin lit the room. “Then we are concluded, my friend. But you must stay the night in Hanging Man, of course. And your man here with you.”

    “Fine. But I must leave on the morrow,” said Akeela. “I’m eager to return home.”

    “Yes, I’m sure you are.” Mor hid his disdain very poorly. “The papers will be drawn tonight. We’ll wake early and sign them, and you can be on your way. But I should warn you, King Akeela, I will hold you to your word. If payment is not made on every ship that passes south, my army will return. And I will not be so willing to bargain.”

    Akeela frowned. “I am a man of my word, King Mor. You should know that by now.”

    “Indeed.” Mor lifted the cat from his lap and held it to his breast, then rose from his chair. “You should rest now, King Akeela. You look exhausted.”

    Akeela got to his feet. “Yes, I am. But so are my men. We’ve ridden for many days, my lord. I’m wondering—may they come inside as well? They need rest, a proper roof from the sun and wind. If you could see fit to letting them stay within the courtyard at least, I would be most grateful.”

    Mor chuckled. “You try to be so strong, King Akeela. Yet here you are, in my council chamber with just one man to protect you. What will you do if I refuse your request?“

    “To refuse would be unjust, my lord, for as you’ve chosen to point out, I’m no threat to you. I’m only concerned about my people.”

    Mor thought for a moment, turning again toward the sentry.

    “Fifty men, you say?”

    “Yes, my lord. And twenty are already inside the courtyard.”

    “I would say that twenty Lьrians are quite enough,” Mor concluded. “But they may shift if they like. When the first twenty are rested, twenty others may take their ease in the yard.”

    “My lord, that’s not very helpful,” said Akeela.

    “But it’s all I am willing to grant.” Mor gestured to the door. “Take your rest tonight, King Akeela, and be glad I’ve allowed even that many of your cowards into my fortress.” dawn the next morning, Akeela and Breck waited for Mor’s men to come for them. Akeela had hardly slept at all. He had dressed and he had planned, and he had checked and rechecked the dagger beneath his cape. The room Mor had given them was on the north side of the fortress, and Akeela had spent much of the night staring off at the dark horizon, hoping that Hogon and Raxor were prepared. They were to use the cover of night to advance on the fortress, ducking behind the hills and mountains to hide their advance. An hour past dawn, they would attack. Now that it was dawn, Akeela supposed they were very near. But he couldn’t see them from his window, and he wondered if they were there at all.

    “It’s almost time,” he noted. The sun was rising, exposing the terrain. The dark mountains took shape and the river began to glow, but there was no sign of Hogon. Akeela turned from the window. “Maybe they haven’t come. Maybe Raxor wouldn’t join them.”

    “No, they’re out there somewhere, my lord,” said Breck. Throughout the night he had been the voice of reason. Now he sat in one of the chamber’s spartan chairs, waiting. He watched Akeela with the cool gaze of a seasoned soldier. “Don’t worry about Hogon. Just keep your mind on the task at hand. And remember, you have to get close to Mor.”

    “I know,” said Akeela impatiently. “I’m just worried about the timing.”

    “Don’t be. Mor loves to talk, so keep him talking. Start him bragging about his army or something. We just need enough time for them to get a glimpse of Hogon.”

    “And Raxor,” added Akeela. It felt odd for him to be taking orders from Breck, but the reversal of roles was necessary. As he was too often reminded, he wasn’t a soldier. He said, “I just hope he’s come as well. Do you think—”

    A knock at the door interrupted Akeela. He jumped, staring at the portal. “Yes? Who is it?”

    The door opened and Fianor appeared. The prince was alone. He smiled wryly at Akeela. “Good morning, my lord. I see you are ready for your meeting with my father.”

    “I’m ready,” Akeela replied. “Have the papers been drawn?”

    “Drawn and awaiting your signature, my lord. May I escort you downstairs?”

    “Is your father already there?”

    The prince seemed to laugh. “My father is anxious to see the treaty signed, my lord, and hardly slept at all last night. You said you wanted to leave early, so he made himself ready for you.”

    “And my men? What of them?”

    “Your men are still in the yard,” said Fianor. “They’ve been fed and sheltered.” The prince snickered. “They seem eager to be on their way.”

    Akeela took the insult without flinching. “Yes, well, they’re a long way from home.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed. “Now, let’s go sign that treaty.” v^-hancellor Hogon was exhausted. He and his army had marched hard through the night, following the river and ignoring the dangers of darkness. With Raxor’s army beside them, they had kept close to the hills bordering the Kryss, periodically sending forth scouts to make sure their advance went unnoticed. Their horses were tired and in desperate need of rest, and the feet of the infantry bloomed with blisters. Hogon himself had hardly been able to keep himself erect in the saddle. Desperate for sleep, he had nevertheless pushed his old body to its edges, for time was his enemy and Akeela needed him.

    Dawn was coming, and that meant battle was near. In the growing light, Hogon could see the first hint of Hanging Man on the horizon, its ugly turret poking out of the rocky earth like a cobra. He ordered his company to come to a halt. His six hundred men silently obeyed. Raxor, who rode beside Hogon, repeated the order to his own men, and down the line the order went. Together they surveyed the terrain.

    “So?” asked Raxor. “Do we wait or do we ride?”

    Hogon wasn’t sure how to answer. He wanted to give Akeela enough time to meet with Mor. At just past dawn, it seemed unlikely they would already be meeting. But Akeela had given him clear orders. He looked at the sun rising in the east, echoing his king’s words.

    “Just past dawn.”

    Raxor nodded. “We’re already close enough to be seen. If we don’t ride, we’ll be discovered too early.”

    Still Hogon hesitated. Even from such a distance, Hanging Man looked formidable. Between himself and Raxor, they had over a thousand men. Akeela’s company added fifty to their ranks, but still. . . .

    “I hope Akeela knows what he’s doing,” muttered Hogon.

    “Don’t fret for your king,” said Raxor. “All he has to do is get the gate open. If he succeeds, we will triumph.” He looked at Hogon for an answer. “Chancellor, there isn’t much time.”

    Hogon didn’t argue. He gripped the reins of his horse tightly, raised one hand above his head, and gave the order to advance.

    l’ting Mor and his ubiquitous cat were already seated when Akeela arrived in the council chamber. As before, there was food on the table and wine to toast the treaty. General Nace was present with several other soldiers, all bearing the same smug expression. The general and his underlings rose when Akeela entered. Breck kept close to Akeela. Akeela looked about the room, disap-pointed that none of his other men had been invited. On the table sat the treaty Mor had ordered written, a single piece of parchment rolled out flat. Next to it was a quill pen in an inkwell. Mor’s face hovered over the treaty, smiling triumphantly.

    “Welcome, King Akeela,” said the old ruler. “I trust you slept well?”

    The incongruous question vexed Akeela. “Well enough. Is that the treaty?”

    “Indeed.” Mor pushed it across the table toward Akeela. “It reads just as you said it should. You will pay us a tribute of gold for every Lьrian and Reecian ship that passes south of Hanging Man. It says that the price of the tribute will be determined at a later date by our factions, likely based on tonnage, and that you, King Akeela, take full responsibility for seeing this agreement implemented.” Mor picked up the pen. “Ready to sign?”

    “No,” said Akeela. “You have these soldiers here to witness for you. All I have is Breck. I think I should at least have more of my men present, don’t you?”

    Mor made a sour face. “Yes, I suppose,” he sighed. He looked past Akeela toward his son, Fianor. “Go and bring three of King Akeela’s men. Tell them to leave their swords. Be quick.”

    Prince Fianor did as he was asked, disappearing down the hall. Akeela tried to relax, sure that he had bought himself some time.

    “General Nace,” he said cordially, “would you mind giving up your seat for the signing? I should be next to King Mor, I think.”

    The general was about to sit down but stopped himself. He gave Akeela a peculiar look, then glanced at his king.

    “It’s tradition, Nace,” said Mor. “Sit at the other end, will you? Let King Akeela have your chair.”

    Akeela thanked the general and took the seat to Mor’s right. This close to Mor, he could smell the old man’s breath and the odor of his cat, still perched lazily in his lap. Breck remained standing. Knowing that he needed to stall for time, Akeela leapt on the first idea that came to mind.

    “Great Fate, I’m starving,” he said. “And look at all this food! Shall we break our fast together, my lord?”

    “Certainly, my friend,” said Mor. Then he took the pen from the inkwell. “But let’s eat after we take care of business, hmm?”

    Akeela reached across the table for a loaf of bread. “Well, my witnesses aren’t here yet, so we have some time.” He held the loaf out for Mor. “Bread, my lord?”

    Mor shook his head. “No.”

    “Well, I hope you don’t mind if I help myself.” Akeela tore off a great hunk of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. Seeing a servant in the corner, he said, “You there. Pour some wine for me, will you? I’m as dry as the Desert of Tears! Breck, sit down and eat. We’ve a long ride ahead of us.”

    “King Akeela,” said Mor, “don’t you even want to read the treaty?”

    “Ah, yes, of course,” said Akeela. As the servant filled his glass, he pulled the paper closer to him. “Yes, have to read this carefully indeed.”

    “As I said, it’s not complicated.”

    “No, no, you’re right, my lord. Let me read this carefully. Don’t want to sell my country into slavery, now do I?”

    Mor sat back impatiently. “No, of course not.”

    With both eyes on the treaty, Akeela pretended to read. As he did he snuck a peripheral glance at the chamber’s only window. The stained glass began to lighten, warning him. Soon he would get his signal. He quelled his growing nervousness by draining his glass.

    “Yes, well, this looks fine, mostly,” he said. “But we’ll have to work out a payment schedule, to make sure Lьria isn’t cheated. The treaty should address that, I think. Perhaps I could leave a man or two behind to account for the ships that pass?”

    “Cheated?” The word made Mor bristle. “Why would you say such a thing? Norvor only wants what it deserves.”

    “Oh, I’m sure you’re correct, my lord,” said Akeela. “Still, a strict accounting is necessary. Do you think you could have some changes made before I sign it?”

    “Changes? No, King Akeela, I don’t think so. I—”

    Before Mor could finish, Fianor returned with three of Akee-la’s men. The Royal Chargers greeted their king, then bowed to King Mor. They were, as Mor had insisted, without swords. Breck quickly explained to them about the treaty, and how they were to witness its signing.

    “Yes, the signing,” Mor insisted. Again he held out the pen for Akeela. “Or are you changing your mind, my lord?”

    “No,” said Akeela. He wanted to stall further, but couldn’t think of another ruse. Just as he reached for the pen, his salvation came.

    “My lords!” cried a voice. “Soldiers!”

    Akeela moved like lightning. While Mor sat up, confused by the call, he dashed his hand beneath his cape and freed his waiting dagger. Breck and the three Chargers did the same. Akeela exploded out of his chair, took a handful of Mor’s shirt, and put the dagger to his throat.

    “Don’t you bloody move!” he ordered. “Or I sweat I’ll cut your throat.”

    Breck had his own blade at Fianor’s throat. A panicked page boy stumbled into the chamber, crying that soldiers were approaching. Outside the chamber, men were shouting amid sounds of struggle. General Nace and his men stood still as stone, unsure of what was happening.

    “Get out of the chair!” Akeela roared, pulling Mor from his seat.

    “What is this?” Mor sputtered.

    “Shut up and listen,” said Akeela. Quickly he maneuvered himself behind the gasping man, wrapping an arm about his throat and keeping the dagger to his cheek. “Do as I say, you stinking toad, or you’re a dead man.”

    “Let him go!” barked Nace, even as the Chargers held him, too. All three of Mor’s men were subdued, as was Fianor. The prince fought violently against Breck.

    “You cowardly scum!” gurgled Fianor. “What are thinking? You can’t get out of here!”

    “Quiet!” snapped Breck, pressing hard against Fianor’s throat.

    “Release us!” the prince wailed Breck dragged him roughly around, faced him against the wall, and drove his head into the hard stone. Akeela heard the crack of his skull, then watched him slump slowly to the floor, leaving a smudgy trail of blood down the bricks. Mor writhed in Akeela’s grasp, crying out for his son. Breck turned like a wildcat on Nace and his men.

    “Still don’t believe us?” he hissed, brandishing his dagger.

    Mor’s fingernails tore at Akeela’s arm. “You won’t get out of here! You won’t escape!”

    Akeela pushed the blade against Mor’s cheek so that the old man wailed. “We will, and you’re coming with us.” He barked at the page, “Get in here!”

    The boy stepped into the room. He looked at his king helplessly, then back into the hall where the commotion was rising.

    “How many men are approaching?” Akeela asked.

    The page barely stammered a response. “I ... don’t know. Maybe a thousand . . .”

    Satisfied, Akeela dragged Mor toward the door. “Now listen to me, General Nace. We’re going to leave here, slowly and in order. I promise you, nothing is going to happen to Mor unless you disobey me.”

    “I don’t take orders from you!” Nace spat. With the blade of a Charger still at his throat, he laughed defiantly. “Go ahead and kill us. You’ll never get out of here.”

    “No?” Akeela tightened his arm about Mor’s thin neck. The tension in the chamber had overcome him, drowning him in a flash of madness. “Is that what you want, you greedy old reptile? You want to die?” Again he pricked Mor’s cheek with the dagger.

    “Stop!” wailed Mor.

    “Who’s the coward now, eh?” Akeela asked, jerking him backward. “You dirty bastard. I should kill you for what you did to me!”

    “My lord, stop!” ordered Breck. “We have to get the gate open!”

    Still breathing hard, barely able to think, Akeela glanced at General Nace. “You heard him, General. You’re going to order the gate open, understand?”

    “Never!”

    Breck cursed, took hold of Nace’s hairy head, and put his dagger to his throat. “Mor, do you think we’re bluffing you? Do you think we actually won’t hurt you?”

    Mor was panting in fright, unable to answer. “Well, watch then,” said Breck, and quickly ran his blade over Nace’s throat, slicing it open. The general’s eyes widened as blood poured down his chest. The Charger holding him let go, and Nace hovered in shock for a moment before falling in a gurgling pile to his knees. Stunned by the murder, Akeela almost dropped his dagger. Before Nace was dead, Breck rushed to Mor and put his own blade to the king’s throat. “Believe me now?” he asked. Mor erupted into cries. “Great Fate, don’t kill me!”

    “Are you going to open the gate?”

    “Yes!”

    Breck looked at Akeela, instantly in charge. “Get him out of here.” He whirled on the rest of his men. “Get their weapons and come with us.”

    The Chargers took the swords from their captives, then lowered their daggers and hurried toward Breck. The terrified page went to the Norvans, who all stood in shocked disbelief.

    “Follow us and the old man dies,” Breck promised them. His men were armed now, and having Mor as a hostage buoyed his confidence. With only his dagger in hand, he said to Akeela, “All right, let’s move. Slow and easy, my lord. They’ll let you pass once they see you have Mor.”

    Akeela barely heard Breck’s orders. Still riveted by Nace’s corpse, he stood like a cold statue near the door.

    “My lord, what’s wrong with you?” shouted Breck. “Get going!”

    Collecting himself, Akeela fixed his dagger beneath Mor’s chin and inched to the door. He began to perspire and shake, but he kept his blade against his frightened captive and stepped out into the hall. The fortress rang with sounds of battle, the screams of men and clashing steel. Breck and the others formed a ring around Akeela as they slowly crept out of the room. Breck took the lead, waving frantically when he saw his men up ahead, battling their way into the fortress.

    “Randa!” he called. “Randa, Hanas, here!”

    When the two soldiers saw Breck and Akeela, they shouted at their Norvan opponents. “Look there! Your king is captured!”

    The Norvans continued pouring against the Chargers. Akeela knew he had to act fast.

    “Lower your weapons!” he cried. “Or your king dies!”

    One by one the Norvans noticed their captured king. Slowly the combat ebbed. Randa, Hanas, and the other Chargers fell back, joining Akeela. Mor continued sputtering, blood trickling down his slashed cheek.

    “Stop!” he gurgled. “They’ll kill me!”

    “Open the gate,” Akeela ordered them. “Now!”

    The Norvans simply stared. More of them entered the hall, ready to fight, but their brothers held them back, gesturing to the king.

    “My lord,” called one of them. “Are you all right?”

    “Do I look all right, you idiot?” spat Mor. “Open the gate!”

    “But my lord, there are soldiers coming!”

    “Open the gate and surrender,” Breck ordered, “Or Mor dies.”

    “Surrender?” gasped the Norvan. “My lord?”

    “Seven hells, Virez, they’ve already killed Nace. Just do as they say!”

    The soldier stood in mute shock, then reluctantly ordered his men to open the gate. Relieved, Akeela started forward again, protected now by a wall of Chargers. Virez and his men slowly parted as they approached, careful not to imperil their king.

    “The gate’s being opened,” Virez said. “Now let him go.”

    “When we reach the gate he’ll be released,” countered Breck. “Not before.”

    King Mor let Akeela guide him through the hall, clumsily keeping step with him. His breath came in nervous rasps. “Akeela, you won’t get away with this, you vile little snake. You’ll pay for what you did to Nace. And my son!”

    “Quiet,” said Akeela, “or I’ll kill you.”

    Remarkably, Mor began laughing. “You won’t kill me. You’re a coward! You’ll have your dog soldiers do it for you!”

    Akeela tried not to listen, concentrating instead on reaching the courtyard. At last they came to the double doors of the fortress, both open wide and letting in the morning sunlight. Akeela could hear the calls of his men outside the fortress gates, and the thought that Hogon was near eased his fear. The yard itself was full of Norvan soldiers, but none moved against Akeela and his band. Akeela spied the gate in the distance and saw that Mor’s orders were indeed being heeded. A handful of men were opening the great gates. And beyond the gates, sitting triumphantly upon his horse with a broadsword in hand, was Hogon. The chancellor looked harried and proud, and when he saw Akeela emerge from the keep a disbelieving smile lit his face. Beside him was Raxor, stunning in his black armor, an army of his fellow Reecians at his back. Breck, who had taken a sword from one of the Norvans, waved the weapon at Hogon. A rush of exhilaration passed through Akeela. Like Hogon, he couldn’t believe he’d actually succeeded. His thoughts were suddenly of Lukien, and how impressed he’d be when he learned of this day.

    As Akeela moved toward the gate, Hogon and his men began entering the huge courtyard. The feeling of victory overswept Akeela. But only for a moment. Mor began squirming angrily in his grasp, staring at the gate and rasping hatefully.

    “Reecians?” he growled. “Reecians!” He exploded, thrashing wildly to escape Akeela. “No Reecians will ever take my fortress! Never!”

    Akeela struggled to control the old man, but Mor’s sudden anger gave the old man strength. He kicked at Akeela and elbowed him, fighting to get free. As Akeela hurried him toward the gate, Mor began screaming at his men, “Virez, it’s Reecian scum! Stop them!”

    Breck shouted, “King Akeela, shut him up!”

    “I’m trying!”

    “Virez! Attack!”

    “Akeela!”

    Panicked, Akeela looked toward Virez and knew that he could hear his king. The soldier lifted his gaze toward the gate and realized that Reecians rode with the Lьrians.

    “Virez!” Mor cried. “Fight them!”

    “Quiet!” Akeela pleaded. “We’re almost free!”

    But Mor would not be silent. With Akeela’s dagger still at his chin, he continued to call for attack, screaming against his strangled throat for his men to fight. Breck was screaming too, shouting for Akeela to silence their captive. Akeela looked around impotently, wondering what to do. To one side was Hogon and his army, struggling through the gate. To the other side was Virez, finally comprehending his king’s cries. There was no time to waste. Akeela panicked. Mor was bellowing, ordering their deaths. Akeela’s tenuous control snapped.

    “Quiet!” he cried, and drove his dagger through Mor’s windpipe. The flesh exploded with blood. Mor fell backward into Akeela, who stood in horror at what he had done, watching as Mor clutched at his throat. Blood sluiced from the wound, drenching both of them. Akeela dropped his dagger and began to scream.

    “Breck!”

    When Breck saw Akeela, his jaw fell open and his face went white. Akeela was out in the open, unarmed and wailing, Mor crumpled at his feet. The world around Akeela slipped into darkness. He heard voices, saw men charging at him from both directions, and all he could do was stand there. Terror seized him; Mor’s blood drenched him. And Virez and his men were streaming forward, clashing against his own shocked troops. Breck threw himself into the melee, joining his outnumbered men as Hogon and the others struggled forward. The air filled with screams. Akeela realized suddenly that he was screaming, too. A man was charging toward him, sword drawn, legs pumping as he fought to reach his quarry. Akeela raised his hands uselessly against his attacker, sure that he would die.

    “King Akeela, run!” screamed a voice. Chancellor Hogon thundered forward on his horse. With one smooth move he arced his broadsword through the air, slicing off the offender’s arm. The man screamed and fell backward. Hogon spun his horse toward Akeela.

    “Run, my lord, run!” he commanded. “Get to safety!”

    So Akeela ran. Finding just enough courage to flee, he headed for the gate just as Raxor came through. The War Minister of Reec gave him a disgruntled look, then moved his horse aside to let the young king pass.

    he armies of Hogon and Raxor easily outnumbered the Nor-vans. Without a king or general to lead them, the defenders of Hanging Man could muster only a clumsy defense. They had been caught unaware by Akeela’s deception, and with the gate of their fortress open like a wound, it didn’t take long for their enemies to overwhelm them. What might have been a long, bloody siege lasted only hours, as the determined Norvans barricaded themselves in the many structures of the fortress, refusing to surrender to their long-time foes. Raxor, eager to avenge the many wrongs Mor had done his people, saw no reason to give quarter. He was as merciless as he’d been in his battles against Lьria, and he relished the fight Akeela had brought him, cherishing it like a long-anticipated gift. Prince Fianor awoke just in time to join the battle, but didn’t survive long. The blow to his skull made him sluggish with his sword, and he died shortly after he awoke, run through by a Reecian spear. Hogon and Breck and the other Lьrians joined the bloodletting without reluctance, for they were soldiers and believed in the righteousness of war.

    Akeela had run far from the fortress, but not far enough to drown out the screams of the dying men. He had run until his lungs burned and his legs turned to water, and when he could run no longer he collapsed on a hillside overlooking Hanging Man. For hours he lay there, still covered in Mor’s blood, which would not come off no matter how hard he rubbed. He wept at the ruins of his plan and watched the men battle for the fortress with the detachment of a dream, his eyes blurry with tears. Finally, when the battle was over and the afternoon sun was high overhead, he saw Hogon and Raxor emerge from the iron gates. A train of defeated Norvans streamed out of the courtyard. Without food or horses or weapons, they began the dismal trek into the interior of Norvor. Akeela knew the wounded among them would die on the way, because Hanging Man was remote and Norvor was rugged. Yet he didn’t seem to care that more men would die, and he puzzled over his lack of sympathy. Not long after, he heard Breck calling his name. He did not answer, but Breck discovered him anyway, sitting alone among the rocks of the hillside. Akeela had his arms wrapped about his knees.

    “My lord?” Breck asked warily.

    Akeela said nothing. His eyes blinked lifelessly.

    Breck’s voice softened, gently prodding, “Akeela? Are you all right?”

    “You won,” replied Akeela. His tear-stained face smiled awkwardly. “I saw it all from here.”

    “Yes.” Breck chanced a step closer. His sword was sheathed and his hair was matted with filth, but he was uninjured. “My lord, why didn’t you answer me when I called?”

    Akeela shrugged. “I don’t know.” He held out a bloodstained hand. “It won’t come off. I’ve tried all day, but I can’t get it off me.”

    Breck came and knelt before him. “Oh, Akeela,” he sighed. “Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.”

    “Me?” Akeela laughed. “Why shouldn’t I be all right?”

    “I warned you,” said Breck. “I told you not to do this. You’re not a bloody soldier!”

    “Why are you looking at me like that? I told you, I’m fine.”

    But even Akeela knew he wasn’t fine. Something inside had snapped the moment he’d killed Mor, the moment the old man’s blood spurted against his face. “We have to get back to Lьria,” he said. “I have to see Cassandra.” His smile was fractured. “I’m going to tell her how we conquered the fortress.”

    Breck took Akeela’s hand and gently pulled him to his feet. “All right, my lord. Let’s just get you home.”

    T _1_ he desert, Lukien quickly learned, was a place of mirages.

    Each day when the sun rose, the sands shifted with the wind, forming pools of watery sunlight on the earth. The dunes seemed to move as if alive, and the dust storms sang in the distance, warning of their approach. There were no trees or rain clouds, only occasional, life-giving cacti; the sun was a constant companion, blithely watching the caravan invading its burning realm. Scorpions and lizards skittered along the rocks, and the bleached bones of unlucky drowa stuck out like guideposts among the shifting sands. Time moved unhurriedly, like syrup, and the vast expanse of nothingness drowned every thought. For five days the travelers had endured the rigors of the desert. Now, unbelievably, their journey was nearing its end. The caravan leader Jebel had told them that Jador was very near, maybe another half-day’s ride, maybe less. But the news did little to buoy the mood of Lukien and his companions. Despite the gaka and headdress he wore, the exposed flesh of his hands and around his eyes had been burned red. Old Figgis had fared no better, and Trager never spoke at all, except to curse the heat. Lukien knew they needed to reach Jador quickly, or else be sick from heatstroke. They didn’t want water or the temporary shelter of wagons any more; they wanted an end to the taunting sands.

    Lukien kept his drowa near the strange wagons as he rode, letting Jebel and Figgis lead the way. Trager kept to the rear of the caravan. After five days of riding, he still hadn’t mastered the ill-tempered drowa, and occasionally grumbled at the beast to behave. Lukien himself had grown accustomed to the humped monster, though his back ached from its loping gait. He had named his drowa Mirage in honor of the shimmerings on the horizon. The beast already seemed to know its name and didn’t question Lukien’s commands. Surprisingly, Lukien liked his silent companion. Drowas were remarkable, and far better suited to the desert than horses. They were powerful and swift when they had to be, and, according to Jebel, the females gave milk to feed their masters. Lukien had already tried drowa milk and thought it disgusting, but it didn’t keep him from admiring the beasts. In the deathlike Desert of Tears, he was grateful for them.

    At mid-afternoon the sun was hottest, and Lukien drew his headdress around his face so that only his eyes peered through. Beneath his gaka, sweat poured from his body. In the wagon next to him, Cahra and two of her younger sisters were watching him, swaying lazily to the rhythm of the caravan. Cahra wasn’t like her siblings. She was the oldest of Jebel’s children and so enjoyed a measure of freedom that made her talkative. She had already exhausted Figgis with questions of Lьria and the lands to the north, surprising them all by speaking their language. Jebel explained that all his children spoke the tongue of the northern lands, because they were traders and needed to be fluent. Cahra had a surprising command of the language. The idea that desert people were quiet simply didn’t apply to her.

    “Lukien is thirsty,” she said. She had a peculiar way of addressing him, but he had gotten used to it. “Water?”

    “Yes,” said Lukien. He sidled up to the wagon, careful to avoid its wide, sand-churning wheels. Cahra told her sister Miva to fetch a waterskin. The youngster did so and held it out for Lukien with a smile. “Thank you,” said Lukien, then lowered his face wrap and took a conservative drink. The water was remarkably cool, and Lukien didn’t want to stop. But he capped the skin and handed it back to Miva. Neither Miva nor her sisters took a drink themselves.

    “Your father says that we’ll reach Jador by tomorrow,” said Lukien as he fixed the cloth about his face.

    “Or sooner,” said Cahra. She continued to watch him.

    “By nightfall?”

    “Maybe.”

    Lukien looked ahead. All he could see was more and more rolling sand. “Tomorrow, I’d say.”

    Cahra chuckled. “The desert fools you. Do not expect things. Jador could be right in front of us, and the desert would hide it.”

    “It’s perfectly clear today. If Jador were ahead of us, I’d know.”

    The girl continued to study him, her dark eyes full of curiosity. Because the wagon provided cover, she no longer wore her headdress. Instead she let her hair fall around her shoulders. More and more, she reminded Lukien of Cassandra. “You are strange,” she said. “You do not talk like the old one.”

    “You mean Figgis? No, no one talks like Figgis. He’s impossible to shut up.”

    “You are quiet, like the other one.” Cahra spied Trager. “That one is sour like a grape.”

    Lukien nodded. “That’s our Trager.”

    “You do not like each other.” Cahra leaned forward. “Why?”

    “It’s a long story, girl, and not very interesting.”

    “He calls you captain. He is your servant?”

    “Something like that,” said Lukien. “He serves under me, in the Royal Chargers.”

    “In Lьria,” said Cahra brightly. “Figgis told me about Lьria. He says that your king is a great man, and that he wants to make peace with the world. That is why you are going to Jador, yes?”

    Lukien hated to lie to the girl, but he said, “Yes, that’s right. We’re emissaries from our king.”

    Cahra struggled with the word. “Em-a-sair-ee?”

    “Emissaries. Like friends. We’re going to make friends with Jador.” He gestured to the packs hanging from his drowa’s haunches. “We’ve brought gifts for the kahan and kahana, to show them we want peace and friendship.”

    “Your king is generous,” said Cahra. “Tell us about him. We are all interested.”

    Miva and the other girl, Yilena, had gathered closer to listen. “What do you want to know?” asked Lukien.

    “A story.”

    “What?”

    Cahra smiled. “Ganjeese are story people. We tell our history in stories. So now you tell us about your king and his story. If he is a great king, he will have a great story.”

    Lukien thought for a moment. Was Akeela a great king? A great humanitarian perhaps, but he had ruled Lьria too short a time to be called a great king.

    “There are no stories about Akeela,” said Lukien. “I’ve known him all my life, and can’t think of a single one.”

    “But that is a story,” argued Cahra. “You and him, together. If you have known him all your life, then that is his story, and yours. Tell us. It will pass the time.”

    Knowing that he had nothing but time on his hands, Lukien agreed. He told them of Akeela, and how he was a good man with big visions for Lьria, a man of peace and justice, and he told them how he had met Akeela in the streets of Koth. Cahra and her sisters listened, enthralled, as Lukien told of growing up in Lionkeep as ward to King Balak, like a brother to Akeela, and how they had attended war college together. Lukien bragged about his own exploits as a soldier. He had posted almost identical grades as Trager, he said, but he was the better soldier by far, and that was why he was Captain of the Royal Chargers. Cahra smiled at the boast but let Lukien continue, and for almost an hour he regaled them with tales of wars and soldiering and his comradeship with Akeela, which he explained was stormy at times but was quick to point out how much they truly, truly, loved each other.

    “Brothers are like that, you know,” Lukien stressed, knowing it was for his own sake that he took such pains to explain things. Cahra listened and seemed intrigued by this, even suspicious, yet still she said nothing. Finally Lukien came to the part in his story where King Balak died, leaving his throne to Akeela. He told them about Reec, and how Akeela was determined to make peace with them, and how King Karis had greeted Akeela warmly, even after years of war. Finally, he told them about Cassandra.

    “Ah, so your king has a woman,” said Cahra. “Tell us about her. Is she very beautiful?”

    “Oh yes,” said Lukien softly.

    Cahra’s eyes narrowed on him. “The queen is special to you.”

    “Why do you say that?”

    “Your voice. It changes when you speak of her.” Cahra looked at her bare feet dangling off the side of the wagon. “Forgive me. If you do not wish to speak of her . . .”

    “No,” said Lukien. “I don’t mind. It’s just that Queen Cassandra is very ill. She may not survive. I’m worried about her, that’s all. And I’m worried about Akeela.”

    “Yes, I can tell. You think of them often. They are both special to you.”

    Lukien grinned. “You should be a fortune-teller, Cahra.” Then he sighed. “I don’t want to talk about Lьria any more. It’s your turn to talk. Tell me about Jador.”

    “You will see Jador soon enough.”

    “Prepare me, then. What’s it like?”

    The girl thought for a moment. “It is pretty.”

    “Like Ganjor?”

    “No. Ganjor is dirty. Jador is clean and beautiful. All white.”

    “But how do they live in the desert?” asked Lukien. “Ganjor is near the Agora River. What do the Jadori do for water?”

    “Jador has a river. It comes from the mountains. And Jador is not in the desert. It is like the start of a new world.”

    “New world? You mean there’s more beyond the desert than Jador?”

    Cahra looked away as if being caught in a lie. “There is always more,” she said evasively.

    “What’s beyond Jador?”

    “I told you—the mountains .”

    “And after the mountains? What’s beyond them?”

    Cahra shrugged. “I do now know. I have never been.”

    Lukien could tell the girl was hiding something. “But you must have some idea. Are there other countries past Jador? More people like them, perhaps?”

    “There must be people beyond the mountains,” said Cahra simply. “The world is large.”

    “Yes,” said Lukien. “I suppose.” He wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but decided not to push. He was about to change the subject when he heard a shout.

    “Lukien, Trager, look!” cried Figgis gleefully. Lukien looked at the librarian. He was pointing to something ahead, something vast and long on the horizon. After days of endless sand, Lukien had to think for a moment before recognizing the things for what they were—mountains. “I’ll be damned . . .”

    Cahra laughed. “You see? The desert is a trickster.” Lukien shielded his eyes with a hand. “Jador?”

    “Almost,” said Cahra. She spied the mountains coming into view. “You will see it soon.” l’tahan Kadar’s city of white and gold sprawled at the base of a brooding mountain range, shining like a beacon across the burning sands. It was tall with towers and domes and lined with limestone streets, and it rivaled Koth in size and beauty. There was no city gate to guard it, only a welcoming avenue down its center. Green trees served as sentries to the city, bursting with fruit and swaying lazily in the desert breeze, while a winding aqueduct roamed above the roads, bringing water down from the distant mountains. The streets of Jador bustled with caravans from around the desert, swarming in and out of the city’s many streets. There were drowa everywhere and dark-skinned people much like Jebel’s clan. And there were kreels. From his place on the outskirts of the city, Lukien could see the fleet-footed lizards scrambling through avenues, some being ridden, others pulling trading carts. After five days in the desert, it was like a dream to Lukien, and he watched it wide-eyed from the confines of his cowl, eager to reach the gleaming city.

    “Great Fate, it’s amazing,” said Figgis breathlessly. As he rode at the head of the caravan with Jebel, he kept his gaze fixed on Jador. Lukien and Trager rode beside him. Both were equally struck by the amazing city, but only Figgis seemed unable to look away. “I’ve waited all my life for this,” said the old man. “All my life . . .”

    Lukien smiled at him. “I’m glad for you, Figgis. Enjoy this moment.”

    Jebel overheard the conversation and looked at Figgis oddly. “All your life? To make this simple trip?”

    “Simple for you, maybe,” said Figgis. “But not for me, or anyone else from the north.” He smiled at Jebel. “You have done me a great service, my friend, and I’m grateful. Seeing Jador was always my greatest dream. And now ...” He sighed, taking in all of the desert city’s glory. “Now I feel like I could cry.”

    “Please, don’t,” said Trager. “Spare us that at least, will you? We have a mission, old man. Remember that.”

    Lukien shot Trager a warning glance. “Easy.”

    “Yes, your mission,” said Jebel, nodding. “You will want to see Kahan Kadar quickly.”

    “If possible,” said Lukien. “But will that be difficult? He’s the kahan, after all. Where do we start?”

    Jebel pointed toward the city. “The green tower,” he said simply.

    Lukien squinted and saw a cylinder of lime-colored stone rising from the city streets. “What is it?”

    “Kadar’s palace. You will go there, speak to the kahan.”

    “And he will see us?” asked Trager. “Just like that?”

    Jebel laughed. “You do not know Kahan Kadar.”

    “No, I don’t,” said Trager. “Tell me.”

    Jebel looked at Trager. He replied, “Even you will be welcomed by Kadar.”

    Lukien didn’t laugh. “I just hope you’re right, Jebel. We’ve come so far; I don’t want to be turned away now.”

    “When Kadar learns you are emissaries, he will welcome you,” said Jebel.

    “Emissaries,” said Lukien sourly. “Right.”

    None of them had told Jebel the truth of their mission, and now that they had reached Jador Lukien felt a familiar pang of guilt. As they rode toward the city’s main avenue, he noticed that none of the men were armed. Just as there were no soldiers or gates barring the way, there were no swords or daggers, and none of the drowa or kreel were armored, the way horses often were in the north. Lukien recalled what Figgis had told him—that the Jadori were peaceful. Now, seeing their serene, unarmed city, he believed it completely. He realized suddenly that his plan to steal Kadar’s amulets would be easier than he’d thought. For some reason, the realization saddened him.

    Dressed as they were in the Ganjeese gakas, no one took particular notice of Lukien and his companions as they neared the city, but by the time the caravan entered Jador the people in the streets began to surround the wagons, shouting at Jebel and his family and holding out silver coins.

    “Figgis,” whispered Lukien, “can you understand what they’re saying?”

    “Only a bit,” the librarian replied. “I think they’re asking what the caravan has to sell.”

    “Look at them,” spat Trager. He glanced down at the people milling about his drowa, plainly disgusted. “Like animals.”

    But Lukien didn’t think they were animals. He thought they were beautiful. Like their Ganjeese cousins across the desert, the Jadori had dark skin and shiny, dancing eyes. The women wore multicolored robes and silk veils over their faces, and the children laughed as they played. Lukien looked around at the structures of white and gold, awed by their sunlit beauty. Overhead the aqueduct gurgled, bringing its life-giving water. He saw a fountain at the end of the street, marveling at the way the water cascaded over its limestone tiers. Exotic looking trees stood around the fountain, almost completely bare of limbs except for sprouts of fanlike leaves at their tops. A warm breeze tumbled down the avenue, bearing the scent of strange perfumes. For Lukien, the noise of Jebel’s bartering fell away; he felt remarkably happy.

    “You’re right, Figgis,” he said. “It’s beautiful.”

    Figgis sighed. “It’s paradise. Just like I knew it would be.” He turned to Lukien and Trager. “You see? I was right. It’s just like I told King Akeela.”

    “Fine,” said Trager. “Now let’s find those amulets and go home.”

    Lukien nodded. “Sorry, Figgis, but Trager’s right. We can’t dally. Let’s get on to the palace and find Kadar.”

    Figgis didn’t argue. He went to Jebel, asking him to take them to the kahan’s palace. Jebel agreed, telling Cahra and the others to see to their business. The wagons came to a stop in the street and were soon surrounded by eager Jadori. Jebel said good-bye to his daughters and brother, then rode out ahead of his charges, leading them out of the bustling street and down a quieter corridor shadowed by tall buildings. The Jadori that passed them did not stop to stare this time, and Lukien made sure to keep his face covered. As they rode through the avenues, changing course with the flow of the streets, the palace of Kahan Kadar came into view before them. Sunlight played on its copper dome, aged through countless years to a green patina. The main tower rose high above the city, a twisting spire of emerald and gold. People and drowa and kreels choked the square outside the palace. But once again there were no soldiers baring the way, only men in dark gakas milling around the open archway. Lukien took careful measure of the palace. The main archway led to the huge square, and the square led to the crowded streets. Fleeing the palace would be difficult, even if stealing the amulets wouldn’t be. He realized at once they would have to flee at night, when the streets would be less crowded.

    Once Jebel had led them into the square, he dismounted, telling them all to do the same. He pointed at the archway to the palace. “Kadar.”

    “Yes,” said Lukien, understanding. “But how will we see him?” He got down from his drowa. “We can’t just walk in and ask for him.”

    “Come,” said Jebel. “Let me show you.”

    Jebel led his horse through the archway onto a carpet of cool grass just outside the palace. Lukien and the others followed him warily. There were children on the grass, playing with a leather ball, and men and women sitting around in little circles, happily ignorant of the nearby foreigners. The shadow of the green tower fell gently on the field. Jebel cleared his throat to get some attention, then began to speak. All around the yard people turned to look at him, then at the strangers with him.

    “Figgis?” Lukien asked. “What’s he saying?”

    The old man shrugged. “I don’t know.”

    Jebel turned to them. “Uncover your faces,” he said.

    “What?”

    “Your face wraps,” said Jebel. “Take them off.”

    Lukien hesitated. The people in the yard were staring at him. Some began to inch closer. Very slowly he reached up to his face cloth and pulled it down.

    One by one the Jadori stood and gaped. Figgis and Trager both uncovered their faces, and soon the children in the yard began to point in astonishment. But they weren’t horrified the way Lukien had feared. Instead, their smiles lit the yard.

    “I told them you are visitors from far away north,” said Jebel.

    “By the Fate,” hissed Trager. “Why’d you do that?”

    Jebel laughed. “To show you how stupid you are to be afraid. Look! I told you they would welcome you.”

    Ignoring Lukien’s orders to keep back, Figgis raised his hands in friendship to the crowd, then began to speak in his broken version of Jadori. The men and women listened carefully, trying to understand. But enough of the meaning was clear to them. They returned Figgis’ greeting, putting their hands together and bowing to him. Figgis laughed in delight.

    “You see, Lukien?” he cried. “I told you they were peaceful. Jebel was right—they’re welcoming us!”

    His suspicions ebbing, Lukien followed Figgis forward. A crowd of children gathered at his legs, looking up into his striking, pale face. They pulled at his garments, urging him down. Lukien knelt and let them touch his face. A little boy stared into his blue eyes and gasped.

    “Lьria,” said Lukien to the children. “That’s where I’m from. Lьria.”

    The boy frowned. He tried to say the word, but could not. Lukien laughed.

    “It’s all right, I’ll teach you later,” he said. He rose and looked back at Jebel. “So?” he asked. “What now?”

    “Now we wait for Kadar,” replied Jebel. He didn’t move from his spot on the grass, but nodded toward the palace. Lukien listen carefully and heard people shouting Kadar’s name. Excitement rippled through the yard and into the open halls of the tower.

    “Shouldn’t we at least go in?” Lukien asked. “Surely the kahan won’t come to us.”

    Jebel simply shook his head. Lukien watched the opening in the tower, swelling now with curious people. A few moments later, a man came skidding into the yard, stopping short when he saw the visitors. Instantly his face went from astonishment to glee. The people in the yard parted to let him pass, but he merely stood there, staring, his youthful face fixed with a joyous smile. He wore regal robes of gold and crimson, the sleeves hanging in loose loops from his arms. His hair was jet black without the slightest hint of gray and slicked back against his head. He was neither tall nor short, but he was striking nonetheless. And most striking of all was the item hanging from a chain around his neck. Lukien’s jaw fell open when he saw it—a beautiful, jewel-encrusted amulet.

    “Figgis. . .”

    “I see it,” whispered Figgis.

    Lukien could only stare back at Kahan Kadar. He was just as Figgis had expected—amazingly youthful, as if disease had never touched him. Merely yards away, he regarded the strangers with silent awe. His dark eyes darted toward Jebel, who bowed and spoke to the kahan.

    “Bow, bow,” urged Figgis, who followed Jebel’s lead. Lukien and Trager did the same. To their astonishment, Kahan Kadar put his hands together and returned the gesture. Then he clapped like a school boy, laughing in delight.

    “Tell him who we are, Jebel,” said Figgis. “Tell him we mean no harm, and that we’re on a peace mission.”

    As Jebel explained, Kadar nodded. The kahan had an almost comic exuberance about him, like a younger version of Figgis. Not surprisingly, Figgis was the first of the group to step forward. With all of Kadar’s people watching him, he again tried out his poor Jadori. Kadar listened, sometimes nodding, sometimes frowning. Jebel hurried to his aid, explaining that Figgis was from Lьria, and that he and the others had come bearing peace offerings from their own king, Akeela. Kadar beamed at the news. He began speaking quickly to each of them, his voice as melodious as it was confusing.

    “I’m sorry,” Lukien offered, “but I don’t understand you. I—” He snapped his fingers. “Wait,” he said, then went to his drowa. The children surged around him as he unpacked the gifts they had brought, gold coins and flasks of perfume and ruby rings, all donated by Akeela to appease Kadar. Eager little hands reached for the items, but Lukien held them out of reach as he gave them to Kadar, who nodded before handing them out to his people. Surprised, Lukien looked at Jebel.

    “Kadar thanks you for the gifts,” said Jebel, “but he does not need them. Do not be offended. The kahan is very generous.”

    “Apparently,” said Lukien. The children squealed happily as Kadar doled out the gifts. The Jadori men and women smiled. Kadar continued talking, letting Jebel translate for him.

    “The kahan says he is honored that you would come so far to see him, and that you would cross the Desert of Tears for peace.”

    “Tell him it’s our pleasure,” said Figgis. He was plainly enchanted with Kadar.

    “Yes,” added Lukien. “Tell him the honor is ours, and that we’re pleased that he and his people have welcomed us.”

    Jebel told Kadar what Figgis and Lukien had said. He did not bother looking at Trager, who was customarily quiet as the children milled around him. Kadar replied by saying they were all welcome in his palace, and that he was eager to hear about Lьria and its great, generous king. But before Jebel could finish translating another figure emerged from the palace, a striking young woman with straight black hair down to her backside and her stomach swollen with pregnancy. She had Kadar’s warm smile and a dark, regal look, and when the people saw her they greeted her with bows.

    “Jitendra,” whispered Jebel. “The kahana.”

    Kahan Kadar stretched out a hand for his wife, gesturing to the strangers. Jitendra looked at them each in turn, smiling graciously but obviously uncomfortable. She looked tired, and very far along in her pregnancy. Lukien studied her belly, then realized something was horribly amiss. Unlike her husband, she wore no amulet.

    “Figgis, is that really his wife?” he whispered.

    Figgis grimaced. “It can’t be. She’s supposed to have the other—

    “Shhh, not now.” Lukien stepped forward and bowed to Jitendra, then asked Jebel to tell the lady how honored he was to meet her. Jitendra smiled lightly at the compliment, keeping her hands on her belly. Kadar leaned over and gave her an affectionate kiss. Then he turned to his guests and spoke.

    “Kahan Kadar asks you to come inside,” said Jebel. “He wants you to rest and to take food.”

    “Gladly,” said Figgis. He tried to thank Kadar in Jadori. Kadar merely smiled, then led the way back into his palace, still holding his wife’s hand. As Figgis and Trager followed him, Lukien grabbed hold of Figgis’ sleeve, leaning close to him.

    “Where’s the other bloody amulet?”

    Figgis shrugged. “I’m sorry, Lukien, I don’t know.”

    Lukien looked over his shoulder, making sure Jebel was out of ear shot. “We don’t have time to waste. If we can’t locate it in a day or so, we’ll just have to take the one Kadar’s wearing.”

    Figgis nodded somberly. “All right. But we’ll need a plan. It won’t be easy.”

    “Are you kidding?” Lukien chuckled. “Look at these people. No guards, no weapons. We’re like wolves in the fold here, Figgis.”

    w.