S

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.

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 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 Lürian 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 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.

ugly flag featuring a two-headed hawk, was flying nearer the orders of Lüria and Reec than ever before. But worst by far was the cessation of shipping. Lürian 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 Lüria, 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 Lüria 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 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 Lüria and Reec, and that earthworks were being built which could be seen on the Lürian side of the river. Like all rumors, the first ones started slowly, but within a week all of Lüria 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 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 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.

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 Lürian 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.

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.

,'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 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 Lürian 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 Lürian 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 Lüria."

'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 Lürian 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 Lürians, 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 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 Lüria. 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 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.

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't'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.

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."

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 Lüria, 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, "Lüria 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 Lüria 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 Lüria 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?"

ot to some notion of cowardice. I can't let Mor get away with this, because that's all she'll ever see in n

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 .

'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 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. Lürians, 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 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, Lüria.

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 'See? Those robes are called gaka. They keep out the sand 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.

^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 Lüria."

'No," agreed Figgis. "But then what's in Lüria 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 Lürian 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 Lürian," 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't'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?"

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 Lüria, 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 Lürian visitors. But he had refused to speak more about '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 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 Lürians 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 Lüria, 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 Lürian 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 Lürian 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 Lüria.

'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 Lüria, 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 Lüria. 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?"

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 '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."

o wish to fight you. I'm not happy about it, but I see no other options."

n

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 with Lüria. 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 Lüria 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. Lüria 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, Lüria 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, Lüria will be forced to intercede. And we have 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 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 Lürians 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 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't'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 Lürian 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?"

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,

'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 Lüria 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 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!" 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?"

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 Lürians.

'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 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 Lüria, 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 Lürians 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.

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 Norvans. Without a king or general to lead them, the defenders of 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 Lüria," 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 Lüria 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 Lüria," said Cahra brightly. "Figgis told me about Lüria. 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.

'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 Lüria 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 '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 Lüria 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 Lüria, 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?"

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 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't'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…"

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.

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 '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.

'Lüria," said Lukien to the children. "That's where I'm from. Lüria."

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 Lüria, 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 Lüria 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."

'We're home, my lord," said Breck. "You can rest now."

'Rest." Akeela sighed. "Yes."

'Don't worry—you'll be all right. You can take it easy now, get your mind off things."

Akeela shifted. Breck was always saying things like that now, and Akeela wasn't sure why. He glanced down at his hands. He couldn't see the blood stains anymore, but he could feel them.

'I'm not a child, Breck," he said. "I don't need to nap like a baby."

'Yes, well…" Breck shrugged. "We all need rest after what we've been through, my lord."

Akeela continued toward Koth. Admittedly, rest sounded wonderful, but there was business to attend to first. Overlooking the city was the hill where his library was being built. Akeela could see it in the distance. The clear afternoon sky displayed the outlines of the library's foundation.

'You go on," Akeela told Breck. "All of you. I'll meet you back at Lionkeep soon."

Hogon started. "My lord?"

'Take the men into the city, Chancellor," said Akeela. "Give them my thanks again and let them rest and eat good food. I want to go and check on my library."

Breck and Hogon exchanged troubled glances. Breck said, "My lord, think for a moment, please.

You need to get home. Cassandra, remember?"

'I'm not addlebrained, Breck. Of course I remember her. That's why I want to check on the library now, while I have the chance. Once I get back to Lionkeep I'll be attending her. I won't have time to ride out to the site."

'Do it later, then," said Hogon. "Really, my lord, you need to get back to Lionkeep."

'I've been gone for weeks, Chancellor. Why the hurry?"

'Because you're not…" Hogon stopped himself. He tried to smile. "You need rest, my lord, that's all."

'I'll rest when I'm done," said Akeela. "Now, do as I say and return to Lionkeep. Tell Warden Graig that I've returned and that I'll be home presently." He started to turn his mount toward the w 'hen the first tower of Koth appeared on the horizon, Akeela knew he was finally home. The long trek back from Norvor had wearied his body and spirit, and he yearned for home and the clean sheets of his bed. For too long he had endured the wind and hot sun. His skin cracked with blisters; his backside ached with saddle sores. Beside him, Chancellor Hogon rode at the head of their army. The chancellor looked fit despite the long ride, and when he saw Koth his old face split with a smile. Breck, who always rode alongside Akeela, let out a joyous whoop that was picked up by the rest of the company. But Akeela himself said nothing. He was simply glad to be home.

Since leaving Hanging Man, he had been haunted by the ghost of King Mor. He saw Mor when it was dark, peeking out from behind trees or waiting for him at the side of the road, staring. No one else ever saw the murdered king, but Akeela knew he was there, taunting him. Worse, Mor's blood would not leave Akeela's hands. He had spent an hour at the banks of the Kryss rubbing his hands raw, but all he had gotten for his troubles was Mor's reflection gazing back at him from the water. As he looked toward Koth, he hoped it would be a haven from the dead king. Cassandra would be there, sick in bed, but she would be a friendly face. He had not forgotten nor forgiven her adultery, but he longed for her comfort. He was tired of Hogon and the others, tired of the way Breck had been watching him.

'Oh, I'm sure you're right," seethed Akeela. "I'm sure Baron Glass has his reasons. That bloated toad never wanted my library built. And now he's defied me! Well, he won't get away with this . . •" Angrily he spun his horse around, heading back toward the road. "That lying whoreson will pay for disobeying me!"

Blind with rage, he spurred his mount forward, sending up clods of earth. Behind him, Breck shouted for him to stop. But Akeela's mind was wrapped like a bear trap around a single goal—destroying Baron Glass.

library hill, but Breck hurried alongside him, blocking his way. Akeela glared at him. "What are you doing?"

'My lord, listen to me. The queen needs you. Let's go back to Lionkeep. We can check on the library later."

'I'm the king, damn it!" Akeela yanked his horse away from Breck. "Stop treating me like an infant. I gave you an order, Breck. Follow it!"

'All right," said Breck easily. "I'll go with you, then. We'll check on the library together." He turned to Hogon. "The rest of you go on. We won't be long." He looked back at Akeela, smiling. "All right?"

Akeela studied Breck, not quite trusting him. He was a good man, but lately he'd been too close.

'If you must," said Akeela, then rode off toward the hill. Behind him, Breck and Hogon exchanged some words that he couldn't make out, and soon Breck was galloping up behind him. They rode in silence, avoiding the main road into the city and keeping instead to a less traveled path that led into the heart of the hillside. Akeela avoided looking at Breck, sure that he would see the familiar, concerned expression.

Before long they reached the library's hill, riding up a sloping road. Akeela listened but could hear nothing, not even the voice of a single workman. As the trees thinned and the site came into view, he saw that it was empty. His eyes narrowed, sure that he was missing something. But there was nothing to see.

He had a picture perfect memory of the place, and he knew that nothing had changed from the last time he'd seen it. His jaw began to tighten and his head throbbed. Not a single additional tree had been cleared; not one brick had been laid. Beyond the hill, Koth still loomed in the distance, its skyline unobstructed. Akeela gripped the reins of his horse with shaking fists.

'He's done nothing," whispered Akeela.

'My lord—"

'Nothing!" Akeela's voice tore through the hillside. "That motherless liar! He's betrayed me!"

'Akeela, stop," said Breck sharply. The order, overly familiar, shocked Akeela. "Just take it easy. I'm sure there's an explanation."

'hen Akeela reached Lionkeep, he found Graig in the courtyard, waiting for him. The warden's grin disappeared when he saw Akeela's twisted face. Akeela galloped into the courtyard. He tossed himself from the back of his lathered horse and thundered toward Graig.

'Where's Glass?" he demanded.

'My lord?" Warden Graig studied Akeela with alarm. "Are you all right?"

'Damn it, can't anyone give me a straight answer any more? Where is he, Graig?"

'My lord, stop," ordered Breck. He rode into the courtyard after his king. "Just wait, damn it, please!"

Graig was stupefied. "What's this all about? Akeela, what's wrong?"

Akeela could barely find his breath. He managed, "I want to know where that pustule Glass is hiding."

Breck dropped down from his horse. "My lord…"

'Shut up!" roared Akeela. "Graig, answer me. Where is Glass?"

'In your council chamber, my lord, meeting with Chancellor Hogon. The chancellor just arrived a short while ago."

'Then come with me," snapped Akeela, pushing past the warden. He didn't ask Breck to come, but the lieutenant did so anyway, following him through the doors of Lionkeep. Soldiers and servants greeted Akeela, smiling and welcoming him home. Akeela gave them each perfunctory waves. Graig and Breck trying to tell you before you left for Norvor—there are no funds for it."

Akeela scoffed. "A lie."

'It isn't a lie! I've spoken with Chancellor Sark. The treasury doesn't have the money. All of it's gone to pay for the battle with Norvor."

Akeela sneered, "Don't cloud the issue, Baron. You know how much that library means to me, yet you chose to disobey me."

'Yes," admitted Glass, "or risk seeing Lüria ruined by debt. That's the choice you left me with, Akeela! I did what I had to do."

'Indeed. You've made your choice, Baron. Now you'll have to pay for it." Akeela turned to Warden Graig. "Arrest him."

Craig's mouth dropped open. "My lord?"

'You heard me, Graig. Baron Glass is a traitor. Let's see how long he lasts in Borior prison."

'My lord, no!" cried Breck.

'King Akeela, this is madness!" said Hogon. He stepped between Glass and his king. "I won't allow it!"

Akeela glared at him. "You won't…? Listen to me, old man—you serve me. You follow my orders."

He looked at all of them, at all their shocked faces. "Do you hear me? I'm the king!"

Breck hurried out a hand. "My lord, enough, now…"

Akeela swatted him away. "No! I'm done listening. That's all I've been doing for months, listening to all of you tell me what to do, thinking you can run Lüria better than me and talking behind my back.

Norvor threatens and I do nothing. Glass plots against me, and I do nothing. Well not this time." He put a threatening finger in Glass' face. "This time you're going to pay, Baron. You won't stand against me any more."

'My god, he's mad," whispered Hogon. He stared at Akeela in disbelief. Akeela realized they were all staring.

'Graig, get that ridiculous expression off your face. Arrest Baron Glass. That's an order."

'Akeela, don't make me do this…"

'Don't disobey me," warned Akeela. "I'm warning you, I won't tolerate this lawlessness any more."

walked briskly behind him, trying to keep up. Breck urged him to calm down. Akeela ignored him completely.

At the end of the hall lay the council chamber. The doors were closed. Akeela didn't bother to knock.

He quickly grabbed the handle and swung open the door. It crashed against the wall, bringing Glass sputtering to his feet. The baron leapt from his chair, spilling the wine in his one good hand. Hogon turned toward the threshold, aghast.

'King Akeela," said Glass. He put down his goblet and brushed at his stained tunic. "By the Fate, you startled me!"

'How dare you?" hissed Akeela. He stalked into the chamber, staring at Glass. "How dare you!"

Glass stepped back. "My lord?"

Akeela's hand shot out and slapped the baron across the face. The blow stunned Glass, sending him backward. He looked at Akeela in shock, then his face contorted in rage.

'You little …I"

Hogon grabbed his arm to keep him back.

'You lied to me," spat Akeela.

'What are you talking about?"

'I've just been to the library, Baron. There's been no work done since I left. You've done nothing!"

Glass gasped in astonishment. "Is that all? You struck me over that?"

'You promised that you'd help construct the library. You betrayed me!"

'I did nothing of the kind," said Glass, shaking off Hogon's grasp. "I halted construction of your library for a reason!"

'Lies!" cried Akeela.

'My lord, please," said Breck. "Let him talk."

Akeela whirled on him. "You would listen to this snake charmer? Of course. Why doesn't that surprise me?"

'Just listen," pleaded Breck. "Let Glass explain."

'All right," said Akeela. "Fine." He folded his arms. "Go on, Baron. Explain. This should be good."

'King Akeela, I didn't betray you," said Glass. He put his hand to his chin and massaged the reddened flesh. "It's true—I ordered work on the library stopped. But I had to. It's like I was narcotics Physician Oric had prescribed had done a remarkable job of curbing her pain, but they had the terrible effect of leaving her like a drunken fool. For more than a week now she had been unable to leave her bed or take solid food. Her cancerous growth had progressed rapidly in Akeela's absence. She had dropped weight and was now featherlight, and her hair had lost its sheen, falling around her shoulders in lusterless strands.

She expected to be dead soon and didn't really mind. Without her beauty, she was only half the queen she had been. And now that she was losing her mind, she wasn't even that. She opened her eyes at the sound of the voices, trying to focus. Oric's simples were very strong, and often made seeing difficult. Her groggy head tilted upward to listen. The offensive smell of her own body assailed her nose. How long had she been asleep? She couldn't remember, but she had dreamed of Lukien. "Cassandra?"

Cassandra turned toward the voice and saw Jancis in the doorway. Her friend's pretty face glowed.

'Good, you're awake." Jancis floated toward the bed and sat down on the mattress. She put a hand to Cassandra's face and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

'I…" Cassandra swallowed, finding it hard to speak. "I was sleeping. I heard voices."

Jancis reached for a glass of water on the bedside table. She put it to Cassandra's lips, carefully cradling her head as she sipped.

'I've got good news, Cass. Akeela is back." Cassandra pushed the glass away. "He's home?" "He's just arrived. He's coming up to see you." Cassandra shook the fog from her mind. She struggled to sit up.

"Is he all right? Did he say what happened?" She had a hundred questions suddenly, and it surprised her how worried she'd been about her husband. Then she remembered her horrible condition. "Look at me,"

she groaned. "I'm a crone. I don't want him to see me like this."

'You look fine," said Jancis, "and I don't think it will matter to him anyway. He just wants to see you."

'Great Fate, King Akeela, think for a moment," said Glass. "I'm not your enemy!"

Akeela ignored him. He kept a steely gaze on Graig. "Do it, Graig."

'Akeela…"

'Do it!"

Graig looked around blankly. Chancellor Hogon grimaced uselessly. Breck had turned the color of milk. Finally, the Head Warden relented.

'I'm sorry, Baron," said Graig. "I have no choice."

Baron Glass nodded. "Very well." He looked at Akeela. "Akeela the Good? Is that what they call you?"

'The people call me that," said Akeela proudly. "Not fat noblemen like you."

'You're going to ruin us," said Glass. Graig took his arm and began leading him to the door, but Glass wouldn't leave until he had his say. "There's no money for your library, you fool."

'Oh, but there is, Baron," said Akeela. "You're going to pay for it. You and the rest of your cohorts in the House of Dukes."

'What?"

'Enjoy your stay in Borior, Baron."

'Don't you dare touch my property!"

Graig hurried Glass out of the chamber. The Baron's threats rung down the hall. When he was gone, Akeela closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. His head was pounding. If he didn't rest soon, he knew he would collapse. When he opened his eyes again he saw Breck and Hogon staring at him.

'I had to do it," he said. "He was a traitor. He betrayed his word to me."

'He's a good man," said Hogon. "And you…" The chancellor shook his head. "You're not well, my lord."

'Chancellor, I am as fit today as the day I was born. It is the queen who isn't well." Akeela went to the door. "So if you'll excuse me, I must see my wife now."

A j_lone in her enormous bed, Cassandra listened to the voices outside her chamber. It was like awakening from a dream. The 'I look like a dead cat on the side of the road. Fetch a hairbrush."

'Shhh," urged Jancis. "Don't tax yourself. Remember what Oric said—you have to rest."

Jancis went to the side table and pulled a hairbrush from the drawer, then helped Cassandra sit up.

Even that small effort exhausted Cassandra. Her eyes blurred and the pain in her stomach flared anew.

Jancis began gently brushing her hair.

'The whole castle is talking about him," said Jancis, smiling. "They knew you'd be happy to see him back."

'Yes," said Cassandra sadly. "Happy…"

'Oric is outside waiting for him. I'm sure he'll tell him how you've been doing."

Cassandra laughed mirthlessly. "He'll tell him I'm dying."

'Cass, stop now."

Cassandra could barely keep from crying. She sat up in bed, too weak to brush her own hair, too blind to see clearly. Then she heard his voice. As the king stepped into the chamber, Jancis stopped brushing and gasped.

'My lady?"

Cassandra strained to see him, blinking to focus her eyes.

'Akeela. You're all right?"

'Yes," he replied.

As he came to hover over the bed, she finally saw him clearly. Even through her blurred vision she could see the poison in his features. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks were hollow. A twisted smile curled his lips. Cassandra's eyes widened, hardly believing she was seeing Akeela.

'Jancis, leave us," Akeela ordered. When she hesitated, he snapped, "Stop staring and go."

Jancis hurried from the chamber. Akeela took her place on the bedside. He gazed at Cassandra, taking her hand.

'My love…" His voice was edgy. "I was so worried about you."

'Akeela," gasped Cassandra, "what has happened to you?" "Happened?" Akeela frowned. "Oh, you mean in Norvor. We won, Cassandra. Haven't you heard?"

'No." Cassandra shook her head, which was swimming with confusion and pain. "I mean, what happened? You look different."

'Oric told me you're not seeing well. Don't worry, Cassandra. I look the same as when I left."

Cassandra didn't believe him. Her eyes were blurry, but she wasn't blind. He looked older, and vastly tired. Something in his expression warned her he had changed.

'It was glorious, Cassandra." Akeela tried to smile, but his voice betrayed the truth. It shook as he spoke, and Cassandra knew he was near tears. "We won. I beat them, Cassandra. I led the army and beat them. What do you think of that?"

'Yes," said Cassandra, not knowing what to say. "You won."

'And Mor isn't a threat to us any more. I killed him, Cassandra." He held out his hands. "I killed him with these, all by myself."

'No…"

'Yes I did." Akeela's breathing was shallow. "I killed him, just like a real solider. Just like Lukien."

Then he began to sob. And in that instant, Cassandra knew she'd been discovered. There was nothing left to confess—her adultery was known. She was sure of it. She reached out for Akeela, putting his head against her chest.

'I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to do this to you."

Akeela didn't answer. Cassandra knew he wouldn't, for there was nothing now to say. Suddenly she remembered her warning to Lukien, how she had begged him not to come to her, sure that their tryst would ruin Akeela.

She had been horribly prophetic that day.

the children in the yard. Since coming to Jador, he had seen a number of Kadar's children. Many of them were young, like the wrestlers in the garden. But others were much older, easily in their teens and twenties. It was just one more puzzle about the kahan, one more tantalizing hint. Kadar himself looked too young to have fathered them, and there was no way Jitendra could have birthed them. As he ate his date, Lukien pondered Kadar's true age. Fifty? Sixty, maybe? He didn't look a day over thirty.

Perplexed, Lukien took a sighing breath. The air was sweet with flowers.

Magic, he told himself. It's got to be.

The notion heartened him. Now he could save Cassandra. If she was still alive. And only if he could get the amulet away from the kahan. Worse, they had not been able to locate the second amulet. They had seen Kahana Jitendra twice more since coming to the palace, and never once did she wear any jewelry like Kadar's. Though Figgis clung to his belief in the second amulet, he could not explain why his precious texts had lied about it being in the kahana's possession. But time was running out, and they could wait no longer. They had found one of , and that would be enough to save Cassandra.

To the east, the great, unbroken mountain range ruled the horizon. Lukien studied it as he swallowed his one date and popped another into his mouth. The mountains were just one more of Jador's riddles.

Cahra hadn't wanted to talk about them, and it seemed that no one in the palace wanted to, either. He had tried to ask Kadar about them, but the kahan had merely smiled and changed the subject, pretending not to understand. Now Cahra's caravan was gone, probably back to the sands of the desert, and Lukien still had no answers. Lukien smiled, knowing he'd never have the chance to unravel the mountains'

secret. Tonight, if all went well, he would be on his way back to Koth.

He sat alone for a few minutes more, finishing his dates. When he had swallowed the last one, he noticed Trager making his way through the garden. Lukien wiped his hands and leaned back against the tree. The people in the garden smiled at Trager, but the lieutenant ignored them. His dark eyes darted about suspiciously as he stopped to hover over Lukien.

_L(ukien sat beneath a tree in Kadar's garden, slowly eating a handful of dates. He had discovered the place during his first day in Jador, when Kahan Kadar had showed off his royal residence, telling his Lürian guests that the garden, like all of the palace, was theirs to enjoy. Birds with exotic plumage chirped in the trees. Jadori children wrestled on the manicured grass. A blue sky swept above him, perfectly cloudless. Lukien heard a fountain gurgling in the distance and the noise of the city beyond the palace walls, but here in the garden he could not see the pressing streets of Jador. All he could see were green trees and flowers, the vista broken only by the range of brooding mountains in the east.

Kahan Kadar's palace was a remarkable haven from the bustle of Jador. It had the peace of the desert and the coolness of shade, and it didn't surprise Lukien at all that Kadar never seemed to leave it.

He and the others had been the kahan's guests for three days now, enjoying his hospitality and the graciousness of his people, and while the palace seemed to be open to everyone, neither Kadar nor any of his underlings ever ventured from its confines. Lukien supposed it was because his wife was pregnant, and that Kadar wanted to be near to tend her. Kahana Jitendra was, in fact, very pregnant. To Lukien's eye, she looked ready to drop at any moment.

He took another date from his palm and bit into it, studying In the way he had of always ignoring Trager, Figgis said to Lukien, "I'm sorry, Captain. I looked all over." He lowered himself to the grass, shaking his head. "I just don't know where it could be."

'In your imagination, maybe?" Trager suggested.

'I'm not wrong about the other Eye," Figgis snapped. "The text was very clear. It says that one amulet is worn by the kahan, and the other is worn by his zirhah."

'His what?" asked Lukien.

'Zirhah. It means wife."

'Well, Jitendra doesn't have the other amulet, and we don't have time to keep looking." Lukien glanced around, making sure no one could overhear. He whispered, "We have to take Kadar's amulet tonight."

Trager nodded. "Yes. Let's stop wasting time and get home. What's your plan, Captain?"

'Surprise. I think we've already earned Kadar's trust. I'm sure he doesn't expect any trouble from us."

'I'm sure," said Figgis sourly.

'That means we'll be able break into Kadar's chambers without much trouble."

'Shouldn't be a problem," Trager agreed. "The fool doesn't even guard himself."

'Because he doesn't have to," flared Figgis. "Because this is a peaceful place."

Trager grinned. "It won't be so peaceful tonight."

'No," said Lukien. "I don't want anyone hurt. We'll just slip into Kadar's chamber, take the amulet from him, and be on our way as fast as we can. Figgis, you'll need to get the drowa ready for us. Stay with them and wait. As soon as we reach you, be ready to ride."

Figgis nodded glumly, but said nothing.

'And what if Kadar doesn't want to give us his precious amulet?" Trager asked. "What do we do with him then, Captain? Ask him nicely?"

'We won't hurt him," Lukien insisted. "We'll force the amulet from him if we have to, but I want no violence. Kadar's been 'Where's Figgis?" he asked.

'He'll be here. Sit down."

Trager clucked at the lack of chairs, than sat down on the ground before his captain.

'Well?" Lukien asked, keeping his voice down.

'Nothing. I tried to keep close to the kahana, but she's been in her chambers a lot, and none of her maidens seem to have the amulet, either."

'All right," said Lukien. The bad news wasn't a surprise. "We tried."

'We've wasted enough time. That waterhead Figgis probably read his texts wrong."

'That waterhead just might have saved the queen," said Lukien sharply.

'Yes," drawled Trager. "It's all about the queen, after all."

Lukien glanced at him."What's that supposed to mean?"

'Mean? Nothing, Captain. We're all just worried about the queen, that's all. I know you're worried, aren't you?"

'Of course," said Lukien. He struggled not to look away. "I'm the queen's protector, after all."

'And you do a fine job of looking after her. Really admirable."

'Trager, if you've got something to say…"

Trager's smile grew. "I think I've said it all, Captain."

Their eyes locked. Lukien could feel Trager's burning ga,'e. For a moment he couldn't speak, terrified that Trager had discovered his affair. But that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

Suddenly, Trager leaned back against his palms and sighed. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it? So much nicer here than in Koth. Do you think it ever rains here? It must, I suppose; all these flowers."

'Trager…"

'Don't worry, Captain." Trager grinned. "We'll be leaving soon. You'll see Cassandra soon enough."

Lukien groped for a response, but before he could Figgis appeared. The old man approached with a dejected expression.

'Ah, here's our court jester now," said Trager. "Come, old man. Sit down before you fall down."

too good to us for that. Once he sees our weapons and knows our intent, he'll give it to us."

'Right. Then as soon as we're gone he'll scream like a maniac. Face it, Captain—we have to kill him."

'No!" Lukien leaned forward angrily. "Now you listen to me, you idiot. Kadar is not to be harmed, not if we can help it. We'll tie him up and gag him, but we're not going to hurt him. And we're certainly not going to kill him, understand?"

Trager looked away. Lukien kicked him.

'Lieutenant, I said do you understand me?"

'I understand," said Trager through gritted teeth.

'Good. Now be ready tonight. Get the rope from our supplies and bring a dagger and a sword."

Trager rose and glared down at Lukien. "Am I dismissed now … Sir?"

'Yes," said Lukien, then watched as Trager stormed off. He watched until Trager left the garden and disappeared into the palace, and when he was gone he cursed and leaned back against the tree. "That son of a bitch," he muttered. "I wish Akeela had kept him home."

Figgis didn't answer. He simply stared off into the distance, completely lost in thought.

'Hey," said Lukien, snapping his fingers in his face. "What's wrong with you?"

'I was just thinking," replied Figgis. "I wish there was some other way to get the amulet."

'I know, but there isn't. So stop thinking about it."

'It's just that these people are so peaceful. They've never harmed anyone, and here we are, ready to steal from them—"

'Shhh, keep your voice down," Lukien scolded. Then he softened, adding, "I don't like it any more than you do. I'm not a thief, Figgis. But this was your idea, after all. And we can't back out now."

'I don't want to back out," said Figgis. "I just wish we didn't have to hurt these people."

'We're not here to hurt these people. We're here to save Cassandra."

Figgis smirked. "Oh, yes. Does that make you feel better, Captain?"

'Figgis?"

'Yes?"

'Stop talking, please." ometime past midnight, Lukien awoke. Trager was standing over his bed.

Lukien's eyes opened to the soft glow of candlelight on Trager's face. The lieutenant wore his gaka, with his head dress pulled down around his chin. When he noticed Lukien awaken he said two simple words.

'It's time."

Lukien sat up and took a breath, letting his booted feet dangle off the silky bed. He too was already dressed. His sword belt waited nearby. He looked toward the keyhole-shaped window and saw the pale moon outside, lighting the distant mountains, and for a moment he wondered how long he had slept.

Trager put the candle down on a nearby table and picked up Lukien's sword belt.

'Here."

'What time is it?" Lukien asked. He stood and took his weapon from Trager, lifting his gaka to belt it around his waist.

'It will be dawn in three hours," whispered Trager. "I've scouted out the halls around Kadar's quarters. They're empty."

Lukien noticed a bag dangling off Trager's sash. "That the rope?"

'Yes. And a cloth to gag him."

'Good. What about Figgis?"

'He's already down with the drowa, waiting for us near the gate. I told him to keep to the shadows.

Far as I could tell, there wasn't anyone else around. The whole palace is asleep, Captain."

It took a moment for the words to come clear in Lukien's mind, but when they did he smiled grimly.

Trager had done a surprisingly good job of arranging things. For the first time since leaving Koth, Lukien was glad he'd come. He went to the basin by his bed, splashed his face with rosewater, then ran his fingers through his hair. There wasn't much time, but he was nervous and unsure. After days of planning, it had come down to a simple act of pilferage, and he was irritated that Akeela had reduced him to a thief. Behind him, he felt Trager's impatient eyes.

'Captain?"

'I'm ready," said Lukien. He took one final look around the chamber to make sure he hadn't left anything behind, but he and Figgis had already packed everything they would need. This was water, mostly, for the long trip through the desert. Almost everything else had been disposed of, in hopes of making their drowa lighter and faster. Still, Lukien surveyed his chamber sadly. Kadar's palace was comfortable, and the kahan had been very gracious. The silk sheets, the perfumed water, the fresh flowers brought in daily; it was all so different from his spartan quarters back home. When he returned to Koth, he wouldn't be a welcomed diplomat anymore. He'd just be a soldier again.

'All right," he sighed. "Let's go."

He went to the door and slowly pulled it open, peering out into the hall. Listening, he heard nothing, only Trager's eager breathing in his ear. Moonlight came in through the hall's many windows, lighting a pale path through the palace. The golden walls shimmered. Lukien stepped out cautiously, waiting for Trager to follow. The lieutenant lightly closed the door behind him, then pointed leftward.

Lukien knew the way. Soundlessly, he tiptoed through the marvelous hall, taking care as he passed each closed door. The quiet of the desert infused the palace—not a single servant stirred in its halls.

Lukien made his way past the chambers Figgis had vacated, heading toward a rounded staircase spiraling up into the main tower. Kadar's personal chambers were higher than the rest, but it wouldn't take long to reach the kahan's perch. Trager snickered when he saw the unguarded staircase.

'The fool," he whispered. "He flaunts his amulet, and doesn't even bother guarding himself. He deserves to lose it, I say."

'Yeah, well it isn't yours," Lukien hissed. "It's Cassandra's, and don't go forgetting that."

He peered up the twisting stairway. Glowing sconces of scented oil lit the way. The silence encouraged him upward. Deciding not to draw his weapon yet, he kept his hands out before him as he climbed, his boots scuffing softly on the stone. Trager followed close behind, one hand on the dagger beneath his gaka. The bag of rope bounced against his knee. Together they made their way up the spiral, eyes wide, ears alert to any tiny sound. The burning sconces stretched their shadows against the wall.

Lukien steadied his breathing as he climbed. His heart thundered in his temples. Slowly and with effort, he made his way toward the top of the staircase, emerging into another wide hall. Jadori artwork and vases lined the walls. At the end of the hall were a trio of archways, each one black with emptiness. As Trager reached the last stair, Lukien shrugged at him. "Which one?" he whispered. Trager's eyes narrowed. "The center one." The choice seemed logical. The center arch was the biggest and partially curtained with beads. Lukien slunk toward it, keeping close to the walls and deftly avoiding the tall vases.

Now that he was close, he let his hand slip down and retrieve his dagger. Its blade jumped in the moonlight. Prowling toward the curtained arch, Lukien held his breath. He fixed his eyes on the chamber past the beads and caught a glimpse of light streaming through a window. The room ahead was large, and probably connected to other rooms. He would have to find their bed quickly, and hope that Kadar and his wife were asleep. "Go on," Trager urged, his voice barely audible. Lukien spread the beads with his dagger and poked his head into the room. His eyes scanned the darkness, picking up the outlines of soft pillows and ornate furniture, the kinds of things that adorned all the rooms. But there was no bed, and the chamber was empty. Lukien spied another beaded doorway at the far side of the room. Without a sound, he moved through the beads and bid Trager to follow, then stalked toward the next door. Dagger in hand, he repeated his actions, parting the new curtain with the blade. This time, he was rewarded.

In the center of the room, lit by moonlight from a nearby window, stood a bed with saffron sheets.

And in the bed was an unmoving mound, all but hidden among the fat pillows. Lukien moved aside for Trager to see. The lieutenant nodded. Lukien's eyes darted about, but he could see no one else, only another doorway leading to yet another hidden room. From the looks of it, Kadar and his wife were asleep. Lukien and Trager shared a soundless glance. Both men held their daggers out before them, then floated toward opposite sides of the bed. The sheets didn't stir. Lukien reached out, his hand hovering over the pillows, hoping he was on Kadar's side. Blinded by blackness, he carefully took the sheets and pulled them down… and heard a shout behind him.

Lukien jumped back and whirled toward the doorway. Kadar was standing there, dumbstruck. The figure in the bed rose suddenly. Kahana Jitendra's eyes shot around the room in a panic. She scrambled upright, clutching the sheets.

'Damn it!" Lukien growled. Barely thinking, he turned on the kahana and dragged her out of the bed.

Kadar rushed forward, but stopped abruptly when he saw Trager vault the bed toward him. Trager's dagger warned him off, and Kadar backpedaled. "Quiet!" hissed Trager. "Don't say another bloody word!" Lukien struggled to bring Jitendra to her feet. He wrapped his arm around her throat as gently as he could, careful to keep the dagger from the throat, yet close enough to give the kahana the message.

Jitendra gasped.

'All right, nobody move," Lukien said. He was panicked, unsure what to do. Kadar's shouts might have awoken the palace, but so far no one was coming to his aid. Kadar seemed to understand Lukien's demands and fell silent. He held up his hands, wordlessly pleading for Jitendra's release.

'Yes, that's it," Lukien encouraged. "Keep quiet and no one gets hurt." He twirled his dagger, making sure Kadar saw it. "I don't want to hurt her, Kadar. Just give us the amulet and we'll be on our way."

Kadar looked at his pregnant wife, confused. He said a soft plea that Lukien didn't understand.

'The amulet, you idiot," whispered Trager. He slid toward Kadar. "Give it to us."

Kadar looked bewildered. Lukien bit his lip. His plans were unraveling, and he didn't know the Jadori word for amulet. Then, like a miracle, it struck him.

'Inai!" he cried, remember the word Figgis had taught him.

He pointed at Kadar's chest. The amulet dangled there, glowing furiously. He repeated the phrase, unsure if it was right. "Inai ka Vala!"

Kadar looked at him, then nodded, still holding out his hands. But Jitendra understood, too. As her husband began removing the amulet, she shrieked.

'Inai ka Vala! Kadar!"

'No!" Lukien struggled to hold her back.

Jitendra went on screaming.

'Stop!" Lukien snapped. "Please!"

Not wanting to hurt her, he lowered his dagger. Jitendra fought off his grip. Lukien lunged toward her, reaching for her arm. Jitendra slipped away, hurrying toward Kadar. Seeing her escape, Trager whirled, slashing his dagger. The threat surprised Jitendra. She screamed, stumbling backward, falling into Lukien—and his brandished blade.

'No!" cried Lukien. He fell back, too late to pull the dagger from the woman's back. Jitendra hung there as if suspended, her eyes wide with shock, the back of her night garb blooming crimson. A second later her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor.

'Jitendra!" cried Kadar. He dropped the amulet and ran to his wife, falling beside her. Lukien watched, horror-stricken. His dagger erupted from Jitendra's back.

'Captain, let's go!" said Trager. He raced toward the abandoned amulet and scooped it up. "We got it!"

'Oh, no," Lukien groaned. "Oh, Fate, help me. I didn't mean it___"

Kadar was sobbing, lifting Jitendra. Jitendra writhed in his arms, still alive but losing blood in waves.

Neither looked at Lukien, or even seemed to hear him.

'Captain, come on!" urged Trager. He hovered in the doorway, ready to bolt. "Let's move before we're discovered!"

But Lukien couldn't move. He could only stare. Jitendra let out an agonized wail. Kadar was covered in her blood. Jitendra's pregnant belly swelled with gasps.

'Damn it," swore Trager, then raced into the room to grab ; Lukien. He dragged his captain toward the door. "Figgis is waiting for us, you fool. Now come on!"

'I didn't mean it," whispered Lukien desperately. He continued watching Jitendra. "You saw. I didn't mean it…"

'God almighty, will you shut up and hurry? We have to go!" Something in Trager's voice snatched Lukien from his stupor. Jitendra was as good as dead, and there was nothing to be done now but flee.

With one last look at the kahan and kahana of Jador, Lukien turned and hurried from the chamber.

'You got it!"

'Indeed I did! Now get on your ugly beast and ride, old man!' "Lukien?" asked Figgis, studying the Captain. "What': wrong?"

Lukien's expression was vacant. He was breathing hard anc his eyes were glazed, and his skin was the color of curdled milk.

'No time. Got to move…"

'What? What happened?"

'Shut up and ride!" bellowed Trager. The lieutenant threw himself onto his drowa, then watched as Lukien and Figgis did the same. "Follow me," he ordered. A snap of the reins sent his mount galloping out of the yard. Figgis followed, with Lukien close behind. Figgis glanced back at the knight, who had tucked himself behind the drowa's neck.

'Lukien?" he pressed. "What happened?"

Lukien could barely speak. "I killed her, Figgis," he managed. "Jitendra." His eyes closed in pain. "I'm not a thief. I'm a god-cursed murderer…"

_t)y the gates, Figgis kept to the shadows. A remarkable hush had fallen over Jador, and the grassy courtyard was abandoned, occupied only by statues and buzzing insects. Past the open gates, Figgis could see the empty streets of the city, so calm and beautiful. A handful of straggling figures moved along the avenues, shopkeepers getting ready for the morning. They would pose little trouble to the trio when they fled the city, but Figgis knew the real trouble would come in the desert. They would be out in the open there, an easy target for Kadar's men. Their only hope was to make good time, as much time as possible before the inevitable hunters came after them.

The three drowas stood ready in the moonlight, peacefully chewing their cuds. They were far more at ease than Figgis, who shifted uneasily from foot to foot, anxious for Lukien and Trager to arrive. Lukien's plan had been a good one, he supposed, because Kadar and his people were far too trusting, and they had learned to like their visitors from Lüria. Figgis felt ashamed. All his life he had wanted to reach this place, and it had not disappointed him. It had been the paradise he'd imagined. Now he had poisoned it.

'Figgis!"

The cry startled Figgis from his daydream. Out of the darkness came two figures, racing desperately toward the gate. Figgis waved, then hurried to bring the drowas out of the shadows. Trager's face was a mask of mania, dripping sweat and smiling wildly. He skidded toward Figgis, holding up the amulet like the severed head of an enemy.

l't'tahan Kadar stood over his wife, fretting as her maidens dabbed her forehead with cool clothes and Argadil, the healer, packed her wound. They had managed to remove the dagger and lift her into the bed, and now the sheets were soaked with blood. Jitendra barely clung to life, but the infant inside her belly fought to escape. The shock of her stabbing had induced labor. The ka-hana's midwife was at the foot of the bed, white-faced as she stared into the womb, wondering if the child could be coaxed out before Jitendra expired. Kadar held his wife's hand. It was soft and cold and trembled; its familiar strength was gone. Jitendra's breath came in wailing pants. Each groan bloodied her bandage anew, yet she was determined to fight on for her unborn baby—her first with Kadar.

'You will live," Kadar told his wife. She was decades his junior, but he loved her more than any of his previous mates, and the thought of losing her was crushing. "Hold on for me, Jitendra. Hold on for our young one."

Jitendra squeezed his hands. "They have taken the Eye," she moaned. It was the same thing she'd been repeating since the northern thieves had fled. "You must stop them, Kadar."

Kadar tried to smile. "It doesn't matter."

Jitendra winced as Argadil worked, feverishly trying to stem the bleeding. The midwife studied her womb, her face twisted with concern. Yet Jitendra seemed to ignore these things. Remarkably, her concern was for Kadar.

'Why, Kadar?" she gasped. "Why don't you stop them?"

'It is no matter," said Kadar.

'It does matter." Jitendra began to sob. "Without the Eye you will die."

'I will not die," said Kadar. "I will grow old."

'Thieves," cried Jitendra. "They must pay. Send men after them…"

Kadar shook his head. His wife was dying, and that was all that mattered. "They will pay, beloved. I do not need to hunt them for that."

JL,'ukien and his party fled through Jador, expecting Kadar's men to follow. But they did not. And when Lukien reached the edge of the desert, he paused to look back at the golden city; all was silent. So they plunged into the desert and were soon swallowed by its blackness. They rode as quickly as they could, always waiting for Jadori men and kreels to hunt them. But they did not.

After hours of endless riding, Lukien, Trager, and Figgis finally paused to rest. Even their hearty drowas were exhausted. When the beasts came to a stop, the silence of the desert enveloped them. It seemed to Lukien that he could hear for miles, but all that reached him was the soft whisper of the sand crawling over the dunes. Dawn was edging nearer. Jador had disappeared in the distance; even the mountains were gone. They were alone in the world. As Trager and Figgis slaked their thirst with water, Lukien scanned the horizon.

'Why don't they come?" he whispered. He took a step toward Jador. The desert sand pulled at his boots. "I don't understand." "Don't argue with it, just be glad," said Trager. He had emptied the rope from the sack at his belt, replacing it with the stolen amulet. Now he patted the sack happily. "We got what we came for, and got to keep our skins in the bargain. A good night, I'd say."

'Yes," said Lukien gloomily. "You would say that."

In the east the sun was rising, beginning to paint the sky with light. But toward Jador the world remained dark. Lukien could feel the blackness, the misery. Kadar's cries still rang in his head. His gaka was stained with Jitendra's blood.

'She was pregnant and I killed her," he said. "Almighty Fate, what have I become?"

Figgis put a hand on his shoulder. "There's no sense in this, Captain. It's done, and we have a long ride home. We're not safe yet."

Lukien stared into the distance. "Why don't they come, Figgis? What are they waiting for?"

The librarian shrugged. "I don't know."

'I do," said Lukien. "You weren't there, you didn't see Kadar. I think I killed him too, in a way. I don't think he can follow us. I think I crippled him."

'That's a good enough reason for me," said Trager. He climbed back onto his drowa. "Either way, I don't want to stay in the desert any longer than I have to. You two lovers can die out here if you wish, but I'm going home."

Trager began riding off. His pace was light, like his mood. Lukien watched him, knowing that he was right. Koth was a world away, and Cassandra needed the amulet. Though he had killed Jitendra, there was still a chance to save Cassandra. That, at least, he could do.

grown accustomed to its brutal company. Finally, by the seventh day out of Jador, they reached the end of the desert.

In Ganjor they rested, desperately needing sleep and proper food. They spent a day in the city, mostly asleep, and traded their drowa for horses. Jebel and his family were not in the city, and Lukien found himself missing their company. But the soft, clean bed of an inn eased his melancholy nicely, and he awoke the next morning refreshed and eager to head north.

From Ganjor they followed the Agora River until they reached Dreel, and from Dreel they skirted Nith and continued on to Far-duke. They were far from the dark-skinned southerners, and the language was once again familiar. The city of Farduke provided another badly needed respite. They were nearly out of funds now, but were able to trade their exhausted horses for fresh ones. It had taken nearly two weeks to reach Farduke from Ganjor, and the horses they had purchased there were almost beyond use now. Their last few coins went into three fine stallions, well-bred beasts that could swiftly take them to Lüria and Koth. In Farduke, they spent some time in a local pub, listening to the gossip and hoping to hear a hint of Cassandra's health. But instead the talk was of Norvor and King Mor, and how Akeela of Lüria had slain the Norvan king. Lukien stiffened when he heard the news, barely believing it. Figgis' old eyes widened, and Trager frowned in disbelief.

'Did you hear that?" Trager asked. He cocked his head to listen to the conversation. The men around the nearby table laughed and shook their heads, all agreeing that the new king of Lüria was not what they expected.

'Akeela killed Mor?" said Lukien. "That's impossible."

But it was true, or at least that was the consensus of the pub's customers. Mistaking Lukien and his companions for merchants returning from the south, they explained how Akeela had arranged for Mor's destruction at Hanging Man, ambushing the Norvan army with help from the Reecians. Akeela, they said, had killed King Mor himself. The news shattered Lukien, who sank back in his chair and refused to talk about it any more.

They were only days from the Lürian border, and so set off the next morning for Koth. The simple thought of returning home JLhe trio made good progress the first day. Without Jebel's caravan to slow them, they crossed the miles easily, following a crude map Figgis had drawn on their first trek through the desert and heading east toward the waiting oasis of Ganjor. The second day was much the same as the first, and by the third day even Lukien was convinced they would make it. None of Kadar's men had entered the desert after them, and all was peaceful among the dunes. Loneliness and heat plagued them, but nothing more. The Desert of Tears seemed to forgive their crimes and did not conspire to keep them in its grasp. There were no sandstorms and few mirages, and though the sun was hot, they had almost Cassandra was still alive, though only barely. Lukien almost chuckled at the good news. He told Jiri and Neel to accompany them to Lionkeep, and the four horsemen rode triumphantly through the city, Lukien carefully guarding his secret prize. Soon they reached Chancellery Square, which was remarkably quiet for the hour. Seeing the great buildings, Jiri turned to Lukien.

'Captain, there's something you should know."

'I've already heard," said Lukien. He shook his head sadly. "I told Akeela not to make war on Norvor without me. But he's like a child sometimes; he never listens."

Jiri and Neel looked at each other, confused.

'No, Captain, that's not it," said Neel. "It's about Baron Glass. He's been arrested."

'Arrested?" said Lukien. "Why? What happened?"

'Akeela's orders, Captain. He says the Baron betrayed him, went against his demands while he was in Norvor."

" Akeela ordered Glass arrested?" said Trager. "Come now—I don't believe that."

'It's true, sir," said Jiri. Because they were nearing Lionkeep, the soldier kept his voice low. "The king's changed since you've been gone. Something's wrong with him. He doesn't leave the keep anymore, and he barely speaks to anyone."

'And he's confiscated Baron Glass' property," added Neel. "That's how he's funding his library."

Lukien couldn't believe it. He rode on, a bit slower now, wondering what had happened to his king.

Cassandra's illness was a burden, surely, but how could it have affected Akeela so badly? It didn't make sense.

'I have to see him," he said. "I have to talk to him, make sure he's all right."

'He isn't all right, Captain," warned Jiri. "Even Warden Graig thinks he's lost his mind."

'Don't say that," snapped Lukien. "He's your king."

Driven on by the shocking news, Lukien hurried his mount toward Lionkeep. He entered the courtyard, throwing himself off his horse and not talking to anyone. Jiri and Neel rode into the yard after him, but only Trager followed Lukien into the keep, where they immediately found Warden Graig.

quickened their pace. Two days after leaving Farduke, they entered Lüria. They stopped infrequently, barely sleeping or eating, taking meals from their packs as they rode, and quickly crossed the southern grain fields and fruit orchards. Finding a main road, they joined the many travelers heading to Koth, making inquiries into the health of the queen and being met with odd stares. Because they had doffed their uniforms for simple riding clothes, no one recognized them, nor did anyone seem to know of the queen's illness. Lukien supposed that was good news. If Cassandra was dead, it would have been common knowledge by now. If she was merely ill, then Akeela had done a good job of concealing her fading health.

The road to Koth was wide and quick, and within a day the companions saw the capital. Seeing Koth, Figgis let out an enormous sigh. He was hearty for his age, but the difficult trip had exhausted him.

The outlines of the chancellery buildings rose above the city, and Library Hill glimmered in the distance, easily recognizable by the construction rising from its surface. It seemed to Lukien that much had been done on the library since they'd left. Figgis, too, took notice of the progress, grinning happily.

'Ah, look at it," he said proudly. "My library. It's going up!"

'Your library, Figgis?" asked Lukien playfully. "I thought it was for the people."

'Yes, well, it is," Figgis corrected himself. "But I designed it. And I can't wait to see what's been done.

Come on."

Now Figgis led the way into the city. Lukien let him go, knowing that he himself could afford no detours. He had the amulet safely at his belt, having taken it from Trager, and he wanted to reach Lionkeep as soon as possible. Trager rode at his side, eager to take some credit for their prize. The lieutenant kept pace with Lukien as he hurried forward. The gates of Koth were open for commerce and the streets were typically choked with traffic. As he entered Lukien heard the cries of friends, waving and welcoming him home. He smiled, despite his aches and sunburn. Near the center of the city he met up with two more of his Royal Chargers, Jiri and Neel. The men embraced, leaving Trager conspicuously out of their huddle. Jiri and Neel told Lukien that man. "Where have you been hiding for the last month?

In a cave?"

'What are you talking about?"

Before the stranger could reply, the doors of the throne room opened again and a man stepped out. It was Chancellor Sark of the treasury. Sark's expression was grim. Warden Graig followed after him.

'Lukien? Come in," said Graig. "Akeela wants to see you."

Lukien found it hard to move. He stared at Sark, wondering what bad news had befallen him, then fixed his confused gaze on Graig.

'Graig, what's happening? Why are all these people here?"

'I'll explain it later," said Graig. "Hurry, now."

Lukien pushed through the crowd toward the door. Trager made to follow, but Lukien told him to stay behind. Trager agreed reluctantly, and as Lukien crossed the threshold he heard Graig close the doors behind him. The garish throne room spread out before him, all painted murals and iron candelabras. A red carpet ran toward the dais, where the carved throne sat imperiously between two burning braziers.

'Welcome home," said the man on the throne.

It was Akeela, yet it was not. He sat with his hands on the armrests, smiling insanely as his dark gaze bore down on Lukien. The skin of his face was pale and taut, an emaciation imitated by his bony fingers.

His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a tangle, and his wrinkled shirt hung limply around his slight shoulders.

He was alone in the chamber, and the sounds of the men outside echoed off the gilded walls. His smile grew as Lukien approached, but there was no warmth in the expression.

'Akeela," Lukien gasped. "What… what happened to you?"

'You are the thousandth person to ask me that question. Frankly, it's tiresome." Noticing the bag dangling from Lukien's belt, Akeela waved him closer. "You found the amulets?"

'I did."

'Let me see them."

Lukien hesitated. The man on the throne was hardly Akeela at all. He seemed vastly older, with a face ruined by troubles.

'Akeela, you look so different," said Lukien. He took a step 'Lukien!" Graig cried. "I wasn't told you were back. When did you get home?"

'Just now. Where's Akeela, Graig?"

'Akeela's in the throne room, Lukien. But listen—"

'The throne room?" said Lukien incredulously. "What's he doing in there?"

Graig's eyes darted between Lukien and Trager. Then he took Lukien around the shoulder and led him a little way down the hall.