W

'It's incredible, Gilwyn," said Figgis. "You saw the Witch of Grimhold!"

'Did I?" Gilwyn wasn't so certain. "How can you be sure?"

'I've been reading about Grimhold, everything I could find. Your story matches much of what I've read. You said she was tiny, like a midget, and that she had striking white hair. That's what the stories say!"

'And she wore a coat," Gilwyn remembered suddenly. "With lots of colors."

'Like a rainbow," said Figgis excitedly. "The legends talk of that too, and how she controls spirits, like the ones you spoke of."

Gilwyn couldn't believe his ears. "All the stories say this?"

'No, not all of them," Figgis admitted. "That would be impossible. There's a lot of conjecture about Grimhold, a lot of nonsense and hearsay. But enough of the stories tell the same tale, enough to make me believe we've discovered something." Figgis sighed with deep satisfaction. "Amazing. I can hardly believe it's all true."

It was a night for miracles, no doubt about it. Gilwyn's head was reeling. "Figgis, she helped me.

That's all I know for sure. We don't know that she's the Witch of Grimhold. We don't know anything!"

" I know," said Figgis. "I feel it in my bones."

'But why?" Gilwyn got up from the chair. "Even if she is from Grimhold, what's she doing in Koth?"

'I don't know, but she has the amulet," said Figgis. "You saw it, and it's exactly like Cassandra's. It's the one I've been searching for, the other Eye of God." Still shaking with excitement, Figgis took his turn in the chair again. His watery eyes narrowed on the nubby candle. "So many questions," he whispered. "I was wrong about Kadar's wife having the other Eye."

'Who's Kadar?" asked Gilwyn.

'hen Gilwyn awoke he felt amazingly refreshed. He was still in the catalog room, but the great machine had ceased its whirring and now stood silent, stretching out into the dark recesses of the chamber. The single candle had burned to a nub. Alarmed, Gilwyn lifted his head and glanced around. Figgis was on the other side of the desk, kneeling next to it and quickly writing in a tablet.

'Figgis?" asked Gilwyn. "What happened? Did I fall asleep?"

Figgis kept writing. "In a manner of speaking. You told me the most remarkable tale. Do you remember any of it?"

Gilwyn thought for a moment, and suddenly a perfect picture of the little woman from the alley popped into his mind. "Yes! I can see her now. The woman."

'It's all right here," said Figgis. He stood up and held the 'No," chuckled Gilwyn. "He wouldn't hurt me."

'Wouldn't he? What makes you so sure? I told you, you don't know anything about Akeela. You don't know what he's become. You want to talk about monsters, start with Akeela."

A nervous dither began in Gilwyn's stomach. He had never imagined that his encounter in the alley could lead him to danger, but now Figgis' logic seemed terribly sound.

'So what do we do?" he asked. "If we can't tell the king, and we can't warn the Jadori ourselves, what then?"

The note Cassandra had given Gilwyn still lay on the desk. Figgis picked it up. "You've got a message to deliver, boy."

'Figgis, are you mad? After all you told me you actually want to me to do the queen's bidding?"

'It's the only way," said Figgis. "Someone has to get Cassandra out of Lionkeep, and someone has to warn the Jadori. I can't do it. I'm too old, and if I left the library I'd be missed. Akeela would start asking questions, then everyone would be in danger. But if you leave, well…"

'I'd never be missed," said Gilwyn sourly.

'Sorry, but that's right. We need Lukien, Gilwyn. If anyone can get Cassandra to safety and warn the Jadori, he can."

'But how? Do you even know where he is? Cassandra thinks you might."

'The queen flatters me," said Figgis. "I haven't the slightest clue where the Bronze Knight has been for the last sixteen years. But there is someone else who might know. A man named Breck. He was a lieutenant under Lukien, a close friend. When Lukien was banished, Breck resigned his commission in protest."

'Oh? And where is this Breck now?"

'Still in Lüria, living on the outskirts of Koth. The last time I spoke to him was five years ago. He made a promise to Lukien to stay close to Cassandra, to keep an eye on her for him." Figgis smiled sadly. "There was nothing Breck could ever do for her, of course, but that's the way Lukien wanted it.

Breck told me to come looking for him if I ever needed him, or if Cassandra was in danger."

'Well, looks like that day has finally come," said Gilwyn.

'Indeed." Figgis once more got out of the chair. He stood 'Kahan Kadar of Jador. He's like their king.

He was the one that had the first Eye of God. The legend said that his zirhah—his wife—had the other one. But I was wrong. I was wrong about a lot of things. You see, there's an old book I have from Jador. That's where I first learned about the amulets. It told me that the master of the hidden place wears one Eye, and that his wife wears the Eye's twin. But I was wrong about the hidden place, Gilwyn. It wasn't Jador at all. It was Grimhold all along."

'And the master of the hidden place?"

'The Witch," surmised Figgis. "She's the master of the hidden place, not Kadar."

'That would mean that Kadar is her wife," said Gilwyn. "That doesn't make sense."

'You're right," Figgis admitted. "It doesn't. But at least we know where the second Eye is now."

Gilwyn nodded. "Right. Now you can tell Akeela to call off his invasion."

Figgis shook his head sadly. "No, I can't."

'No? Why not?"

'Think for a moment, Gilwyn. What do you think Akeela would do if I told him the amulet was here in Koth?"

Gilwyn didn't have to think very hard. "He'd tear the city apart looking for it."

'Exactly. And worse, he would know for certain that Grim-hold exists. People like Trager would never rest until they found it. They'd all be in peril. Not just the Jadori anymore, but the people of Grimhold."

'What people?" asked Gilwyn, almost laughing at the notion. "The stories say Grimhold is full of monsters!"

'Monsters? Like that giant you saw?"

'Well, yes, I guess so."

'People, Gilwyn," corrected Figgis. "They must be people. Magic, odd people, maybe, but still people. They'd all be in danger if Akeela and Trager discovered them. And that's not all." Figgis grew pensive. "What about you?"

'What about me?" asked Gilwyn.

'You'd be in danger, too. If I told Akeela your story, he'd pick you apart for information."

before Gilwyn and put his thin, bony hands on his shoulders. "I can't do this alone, Gilwyn. It has to be you. But I won't order it. If you agree, I'll stay behind and try to stall Akeela. Maybe I can throw him off track somehow. But it's up to you. You'll have the hard part."

There really wasn't anything for Gilwyn to say. Part of him remained lovesick for Cassandra, and he had already given her his word to help.

'Will Breck take me to Lukien?" he asked. "I'll need his help—I won't be able to do it alone."

'If he knows where Lukien is, he'll take you to him," said Figgis. "You won't be alone."

'I'll need money. Queen Cassandra said she'd pay whatever I need."

'I can arrange it. I'll take the money out of the library's funds. Anything else?"

Gilwyn thought for a moment, but his mind was a jumble. There were a thousand questions, and not enough time to answer them. "Just one more thing."

'What's that?"

'Can I take Teku with me?"

The old man laughed and hugged Gilwyn to his breast. "Why not? Ah, you're a good boy, Gilwyn.

I've always been proud of you."

To Gilwyn, Figgis' praise remained stronger than any magic.

F.

'or Will Trager, the most dreadful place in the world was his own memory. It was a palace of dark corridors and locked doors, rooms for which only he held the key. It was a place where the dusty portraits of heroes hung, watching him from across the years, mocking him. Will Trager was over forty years old now, and was considered without peer by the military men of the continent. They feared and loathed him and the war machine he had built out of Lüria's riches, but their hard-earned respect was not enough for Trager. His memories pursued him, chasing him down like wild dogs. And the leader of the ghostly wolf pack, still and always, remained his long dead father.

Will Trager had come from a long line of accomplished knights. His father had fought at the first battle of Redthorn when he was only sixteen, driven no doubt by the barking memory of his own father, Will Trager's legendary grandfather. It was like a disease of the blood passed down through generations, and it had infected Trager badly. He could not hold a sword without thinking of his legacy, and he could not ride into battle without his dead father at his shoulder, whispering slurs. The older Trager had died young, forty-five by the time a Reecian arrow found him. He had been thirty when his young wife had given birth to Will, and by then he was already well-known throughout King Balak's court. He was considered a very fine knight, and so had drilled his son relentlessly in the arts of warfare, forcing him to take up the family mantle. He had pushed young Will onto a horse almost before he could stand, had given him a dagger for his sixth birthday, and had taught him how to swing a sword rather than throw a ball. He had hounded Will day and night, toughening his body and his spirit, scarring his flesh with blows and his mind with insults. Will Trager had been an accomplished adolescent, and any father but his own would have been immensely proud. But Rory Trager was a man of small compassion. It was not enough that his son could ride a stallion or joust with men twice his size. There was an insatiable legacy to be honored, and only the best could carry the banner of the Trager family into the future.

Only the best.

Will Trager's memory palace was full of trophies, but it was also laced with defeats. He had won ribbons at fairs and the adoration of young ladies, but he had never known the respect of his father.

Despite the abuse, the first years of Will's adolescence had been good. He had been welcomed in Lionkeep by the friends of his father, good knights all. They had taught him the use of the lance and the bow, and they had given him the praise his father withheld, enough to sustain him. Even Akeela, bookish and lean, had been a friend to him. Before the bad times. Before Lukien.

Lukien had risen like the sun on Lionkeep. From the moment he'd been plucked from the streets of Koth, he had eclipsed Trager. He was younger, stronger, and better looking than any boy in the keep, and his martial abilities were natural, almost god-given. Where Trager struggled day and night to master weapons and techniques, all these things came to Lukien with easy grace. It was not long before comparisons were made between the two, and even Trager's father saw the truth of things. His judgemental voice still boomed through the corridors of Trager's memory.

'Too slow."

'Too weak."

And the worst of all, "Not as good as Lukien."

Lionkeep fell under Lukien's spell. The men adored him, the girls swooned for him, and even Akeela succumbed to his glamor. Though they could not be more different, Lukien and Akeela became like brothers. King Balak showered Lukien with gifts and affection, and when he had graduated war college there had been no question of the Bronze Knight's path. Captain of the Royal Chargers. Remarkably, no one complained. Not even Trager. Instead he had remained in Lukien's shadow, growing accustomed to the dark.

It had taken Trager years to break the bond between Akeela and Lukien, yet he still yearned for the sunlight. The attention of the crowds, the adulation of his men, a simple nod from Akeela—all these things soothed Trager's burning memory and helped to quiet his father's voice. He had made great strides in his life, and now that Lukien was long gone the comparisons had all but stopped; still Will Trager wasn't satisfied. There was always someone still willing to question his abilities, and his father's memory remained the most critical.

Trager was proud of his accomplishments, though. The world credited him with spreading fear and propping up Akeela's tyranny, but Trager knew the truth of what he'd done. He alone had made Lüria the dominant power on the continent. He had taken a good army and made it great, swelling its ranks slowly, careful with his improvements. Lüria didn't just have their vaunted Chargers anymore—she had divisions of men, painstakingly trained, well fed and well quartered. Trager's innovations had been the marvel of the military world, not unlike Lüria's great library was to the world of scholars. Figgis brought education and enlightenment to the country, and those were good things. But Trager had never been a learned man. He was a soldier, and his best innovations were among fighting men. He had revamped the training of recruits, choosing only the best and making great knights of them, and he had built facilities for his burgeoning army, gutting the abandoned buildings of Chancellery Square and turning them into useful war schools and barracks. If there was a man of renowned fighting skills, Trager learned from him, and he spared no expense in bringing trainers to Koth for his knights. He had hired horsemen from the steppes of Marn and archers from Ganjor, weapon makers from the smithies of Dreel and mercenaries from Norvor, all for the sake of turning the But his father could see none of it. Will Trager cursed the Great Fate.

It had not been easy to live in the shadow of so many accomplished men, first his father, then Lukien, but Trager felt he had done an admirable job. Now he was about to spread his greatness to a foreign land. At last he would live out his great dream and lead men in an epic struggle. Jador was unarmed and peaceful, but that didn't matter to Trager. Proud people always fought, and he was sure that Kahan Kadar and his desert folk would resist. The thought made Trager wistful. Finally, he would use this famed weapon he had forged. Finally, he would test its blade.

The lateness of the hour made General Trager yawn. He had been up since before dawn, checking supplies for the journey and making inventory, and he longed for sleep. But Akeela was awaiting him.

The king was impatient and wanted constant updates on his progress. Sleep would have to wait a few more hours. Trager waved down from the battlement, signaling Colonel Tark. Tark was three years his senior but hadn't let the age difference irritate him. He was a good and loyal man who followed orders implicitly. It had fallen to Tark to lead the Royal Chargers and, therefore, the Jadori mission. Though Trager still had ultimate control over the brigade, Tark oversaw its day to day operation. He was in a circle of officers when Trager shouted to him from the battlement.

'Tark, I'm off to Lionkeep," he called. "See that those wagons are loaded and the new mounts quartered in the eastern stables."

Colonel Tark nodded. "Yes, sir," he called back. "Will you be back, sir? I can wait up for you."

'I'm going to get some sleep, Tark," replied Trager. "I suggest you all do the same."

'Understood, sir."

Tark's smile was picked up by the rest of the officers. Like Trager, they had all been up since dawn, preparing for the mission. They nodded their good nights to Trager as he turned from the battlement, letting the noise of the grounds fall away behind him. He was on the second level of the tiered structure, and when he entered the hall of his offices the lack of sound was astonishing. A few of his aides scribbled in ledgers, counting up the vast Lürian military into the greatest fighting force in the world. In sixteen years he had risen from lieutenant to general, displaced Lukien as Akeela's favorite, and remade the armies of Lüria. Now he was older and he guarded his accomplishments jealously, just as he guarded access to Akeela. And yet, despite the years and accomplishments, he still heard his father's voice mocking him.

General Will Trager heard his father's voice now as he looked out over his gathered troops. He was on a battlement of his headquarters, the former Chancellery of War. The battlement overlooked an expansive parade ground where his personal brigade, the Royal Chargers, were drilling and making ready for the long trek to Jador. Three hundred Royal Chargers had been rallied for the mission. They were Lüria's elite, and would lead the regular cavalry into battle with the Jadori savages, putting the total number near two thousand. Trager's eyes gleamed as he watched them, satisfied. It was late but his men were dedicated, and there were still many preparations to make before their departure. They worked by the light of dozens of torches, shoeing their mounts and polishing their long lances. To Trager's tired eyes, they looked brilliant. They were beautiful in the moonlight, and because they knew their general was watching them they worked with proud smiles on their faces. Trager could feel their adulation, even high up on the wall. He was as meticulous as ever in his silver armor and crimson cape, his head naked, his beard and moustache trimmed perfectly. His silver gauntlets curled around the stone of the battlement as he leaned forward, nodding happily at the men below. The Royal Chargers were better than they'd ever been under Lukien. They were better trained and better led, and because they knew this they were prouder. Lüria's elite force was envied across the continent, and this was another feather in Will Trager's hat. If only his father had lived to see it. If only the bastard hadn't died so early. He would have seen the strong man his son had become, a hair's breadth from the king. He would have seen how he'd become Akeela's closest advisor, closer even than Figgis or Graig. And he would have seen the lordly horsemen on the grounds of the square, looking up at Trager with admiration, calling him "sir."

first Trager had to make a report to Akeela. And that meant seeing Graig.

Craig's office was on the ground floor of the keep, not far from the main entrance. Candlelight glowed over the threshold, telling Trager that Graig was still awake. Trager paused in the hallway, listening. He didn't like having to see Graig before visiting Akeela, but such were the rules of Lionkeep. Graig still had enough influence with the king to get his way on small matters. It was just one more reason to hate the old man.

Trager headed to the office and knocked on the open door. Graig was at his desk, smoking. On his desk were papers and a flagon of wine. Trager noticed immediately that there were two cups, one half full, the other empty. Graig leaned back in his chair and studied Trager over the long pipe in his lips. The air stank of tobacco, a substance the immaculate Trager had always detested.

'Good evening, General," said the Head Warden. There was a hint of slurring in his voice and just the trace of a smile.

'I'm going up to see King Akeela," said Trager. He turned quickly to go. Surprisingly, Warden Graig called after him.

'Wait, General, a moment."

Trager peered back through the doorway and looked at him. "What?"

Graig waved him into the room. "Don't rush off," he said merrily. "I've got myself some wine from Akeela's private cellar. A gift for my birthday."

'Your birthday? How old are you? A hundred?"

'So witty. Here…" Graig hefted the enormous flagon and began pouring into the empty mug. "Have some."

'I have to see Akeela," said Trager.

'It's late. King Akeela is probably asleep."

'Akeela never sleeps, you know that."

'So then your news can wait all night, right?"

'What do you want, Head Warden?"

Graig shrugged. "Company."

Will Trager was by nature a suspicious man. He could read faces like playing cards, and Craig's face told him something was afoot. He had been waiting for Trager, and not just to bid him numbers of supplies that were arriving. Only the scratching of their pens disturbed the silence. Trager walked past them without a word. Making his way down a stone staircase, he found the first floor of his headquarters as empty as the second. A pair of Knight-Guardians, his personal bodyguards, stood at the bottom of the stairway. Silently they awaited his orders.

'We're going to Lionkeep, then home," he said tersely.

The Knight-Guardians did not reply. They simply followed him out to the stables, then all the way to Lionkeep.

In the last few years of Akeela's reign, Lionkeep had become remarkably desolate. It was no longer the place of gaiety it had been in the early days, when Lukien had hordes of friends and "Akeela the Good" was available to every visitor. Now it was a shadow of itself, a vast prison for Akeela and Cassandra both, and few people entered its ancient courtyard. Despite Akeela's wealth, most of the place had fallen into disrepair. The stones were covered with vines and moss and the gates creaked with rust. Even on the clearest night the keep looked haunted, collecting pockets of fog and throwing crooked shadows across the grounds.

When Trager arrived at Lionkeep he saw the moonlight reflected in the windows and a few lonely candles, and that was all. He rode at the head of his tiny column, bidding his Knight-Guardians to remain in the courtyard as he went to seek Head Warden Graig. The Wardens still held sway in Lionkeep, and Graig had complained more than once about the Knight-Guardians, a group he viewed as competitive to his own venerable order. Trager had stopped arguing about the issue years ago. He was safe enough in Lionkeep, and needed no wardens or Knight-Guardians to protect him. He left his men in the yard, heading through the portcullis. Two wardens, dressed in the timeless uniform of their order, greeted him as he entered but Trager did not speak to them. They let him pass without question. It was very late and Trager was impatient. He wanted to get home and sleep, or at least spend some time with Dia, his mistress. Dia had promised to wait up for him, and Dia always kept her promises. But access to the king.

Trager stepped into the little office warily. He detested Graig and always had, but the old man's forwardness intrigued him. And the late hour meant no one would see them together. Trager sensed an opportunity.

'All right," he relented. "It's been an arduous day, and I'm as dry as the Desert of Tears." He took off his cape and laid it over the chair. From the corner of his eye he caught Graig smiling, obviously pleased with himself. "I suppose Akeela can wait for his report," he continued. "Not much to tell, anyway."

'You're still arranging your men and supplies?" asked Graig as he held out the goblet.

Trager nodded, taking the cup and sitting down. His greaves creaked as his knees bent. Resting felt wonderful. "Lots to do, and not much time," he said with a sigh. He knew that Graig wanted to talk about the Jadori mission. He decided to oblige. Like nearly everyone in Koth, Graig was kept in the dark about the happenings with Jador. He only knew that masses of men were gathering for a march to Jador; he did not know why.

'Drink," bade Graig, hoisting his own glass. "Toast my good health."

'If I must," sighed Trager. They clinked goblets and Trager took a long, exquisite pull of the wine. It was excellent, the best he'd had in months. As he lowered his cup he stared at its ruby contents. "This is very fine. Akeela gave you this, you say?"

'For my birthday," Graig repeated. "Drink up. There's more."

The old jealousy rose up in Trager like a cobra. In all the birthdays he had marked in Koth, he had never received a single gift from Akeela, and certainly nothing as fine as this flawless vintage. What did a man have to do to curry such favor, he wondered? He took another sip, not caring how much of Craig's gift he consumed, and in a moment had drained his goblet. He slammed it down on the desk.

'More."

Graig obliged, filling Trager's cup. Trager watched him, thinking him remarkably stupid. He could see the Head Warden's plan a mile away. First he would ply him with wine, then with questions. But the wine was good and Trager was tired, and he knew that he could endure the Head Warden's company. Dia would wait for him. Like a loyal bitch she would stay up until dawn for her master to return. If he still hungered for her he would take her, and she would allow it unquestioningly. He knew that she loved him, and that her love had made her weak. She always tried to please him, and Trager recognized that weakness from his own past. It was so easy to use it against her.

Trager emptied his goblet again before Graig could speak. And again the old man filled his cup. This time, though, Trager slowed his drinking.

'Good," remarked Graig. "Take it easy. We are in no rush, you and I."

'Just trying to catch up with you," said Trager. "How long have you been sitting here?"

'Oh, a couple of hours. It's nice this time of night. Quiet."

'You were waiting for me," said Trager.

Graig's only reply was a smile. He took a sip from his goblet and leaned back in his leather chair, propping his feet up on the desk, Trager took notice of his comfort and realized that Graig was not setting up a pretense. He wanted to talk, and made himself plainly obvious. Trager was glad the man credited him with some sense.

He realized suddenly that in all the years they'd served together, he had never really talked with Graig.

They had argued, had fought for access to Akeela, but they had never actually talked. Trager instantly blamed Graig for the silence. He had been a willing part of the king's little clique, an inner circle from which Trager had always been excluded. Hatred bubbled up in Trager as he remembered all the old insults. Now, at last, he would take the chance to tell Graig what he really thought of him.

But not quickly. First, small talk.

Graig talked about the warden service and about his rheumatism, which had been acting up for years and kept him confined mostly to Lionkeep. He spoke endlessly about his service to Akeela, and occasionally dropped a question to Trager, to keep him in the conversation and, it seemed to Trager, to get him used to answering questions. The two continued drinking from the enormous flagon. Graig was liberal with his gift. He laughed and all of you shunned me? You had your little gang, your little circle of friends, so tight you couldn't slip a fingernail between you. And did you ever ask me to be part of it? Did any of you ever once show me some bloody courtesy?"

Graig looked away, unable to answer.

'I thought not," snorted Trager. "Beasts, every one of you. Just like my father. Will Trager was never good enough for you."

Now he was the one who looked away, his head pounding, bitterness choking his throat. Again the hateful need to weep crept over him, but he slammed it down hard. He would never let this horrible little man see him cry like a woman. He had already told him too much already.

Too much, he thought blackly. More than he deserves to know.

'I'm close with Akeela now," he said proudly. "Closer than you even, Graig. Closer even than that old fool Figgis. That makes me important in the world. And you know what you are? You're nothing."

Graig gave a thin smile. "If that makes you happy, General, I'm glad."

'No you're not. You've never been glad for me," countered Trager. "You opposed me when I became general, and you've opposed me every day since. But look at your history, old man. I'm the one Akeela listens to, not you. When I urged him to dissolve the chancelleries, he took my counsel. And when I told him to banish Baron Glass to the Isle of Woe, he listened. Akeela does what I say now, because he values my opinion. He knows I'm smarter than you or any of his other lackeys. You're the last of a dying breed, Graig. Your time is over."

Craig's face was hard as stone. He reached out for the almost-empty flagon, taking it from the desk and setting it on the floor next to him. "I think you've had enough," he said.

'Oh?" Trager flashed a menacing grin. "But it's so early, and you haven't even asked your questions yet."

'Questions?" asked Graig. "What do you mean?"

The evasive answer disappointed Trager. Apparently, Graig still thought him a fool. "Come now, Head Warden, I may be drunk but I'm not an imbecile. This was all a ruse. I knew it from told jokes, and was surprisingly good company. Trager listened and occasionally smiled, and spoke a little about his father, whom Graig had known and never really cared for. The wine loosened both their tongues, and within an hour they were thoroughly relaxed, admitting things neither had spoken of in years. Trager felt his inhibitions slipping away. He gloried in the ability to speak the truth to this man he'd always hated.

'My father was a bastard," he said. "The first time I fell off a horse he beat me. He was embarrassed, because there were friends around. The most important thing in the world to my father was the opinion of others."

'And you hated him for that," said Graig, his voice slurring badly.

'Yes," admitted Trager. "I did."

The memory of his father overwhelmed Trager suddenly. He set the goblet down on the desk, his head swimming. Remarkably, he felt like weeping.

'I was never good enough, you see," he continued. "No matter how much I accomplished, no matter how many tourneys I won against the other squires, he was always telling me to do better, always pushing, pushing…" Grinding his teeth, Trager shut his eyes. "And I was so glad when he died. I thought I was rid of that kind of jeering forever. But I wasn't, because there was Lukien to replace him. My new competitor."

Silence. Trager opened his eyes and saw Graig staring at him.

'What?" barked Trager. "Surprised to hear me say that?"

'A little," the old man replied. "I haven't heard anyone mention Lukien in years. Akeela forbids his name to be spoken."

'As it should be," sneered Trager. He picked up his cup and drank, stoking his anger. The temptation to slander his old nemesis was too great to ignore. "Akeela is wise not to perpetuate the Bronze Knight's legend," he continued. "I've done my best to bury it, and it hasn't been easy, let me tell you. I still hear men speak his name in the Chargers. Still, after all I've done for them."

'Lukien was a good man," said Graig. "You do wrong to injure him. If you had known him—

'How could I have known him?" roared Trager. "How, when the moment I sat down. You want to ask me about the Jadori mission. So ask."

'And you'll answer me?" asked Graig skeptically.

Trager laughed. "Why shouldn't I? We're old friends now, you and I."

'Old, perhaps," said Graig. "Not friends."

'Ask."

'All right." Graig folded his arms over his chest. "I don't like being kept in the dark, General. I don't like the access you've had to Akeela, and I don't like the idea of him riding off with you to Jador. I want to know exactly what's going on."

'Have you asked Akeela?"

'Of course I have. He keeps telling me to mind my own business, says that you're in charge of this mission and that it's a secret."

Trager grinned. In charge. He liked the ring of it.

'It is a secret," he whispered, leaning forward. "A great secret. And it's been going on for sixteen years, right under your nose."

Concern wrinkled Graig's brow. "What do you mean?"

'You're the Head Warden of Lionkeep," said Trager with contempt, "and yet you've no idea what's been happening all this time." He laughed, delighted by the man's ignorance. "Do you remember my last journey to Jador, Head Warden?"

Graig nodded. "Of course. You went with Lukien. You found the cure for Cassandra's illness."

'Cure. Hmm, what an odd of way putting it. What do you think it was? An herb perhaps? Some desert medicine?"

Shrugging, Graig said, "I don't know. Akeela would never say. All that I know is that it cured Cassandra."

'And made her a crone?"

'Well, a cancer will do that." Graig shook his head and sighed. "Poor girl. She was so beautiful."

Unable to contain his snickering, Trager said, "Remarkable." He rose and shut the door, much to the surprise of Warden Graig. The old man stared at him inquisitively.

'Why shut the door? Is this Jadori thing really that secret?"

'Oh, it's so much better than that," said Trager. He sat back against the desk, grinning through the haze of the wine. "Cassandra's not a crone at all, you fool. She's as bright as a penny, still and always.

She's not a day older then when I left for Jador." "What are you talking about?" asked Graig. "How do you know what the queen looks like? No one but Akeela's seen her for years!"

'Not even Akeela, actually," said Trager. "No one has seen her. She wears an amulet, Graig, a magic pendent that keeps her young, keeps her tumor from claiming her. That's what we got for her from Jador."

Graig seemed stunned, disbelieving. He blinked with drunkenness as he tried to comprehend the amazing story. "Impossible."

'The amulet is called the Eye of God. It's one of two such amulets in the world. Akeela has been searching for the other one for sixteen years. Now he's found it, in Jador. That's why we're going back, Graig. And that's why the mission is such a secret."

'I don't believe it," gasped Graig. His old mind was reeling. "It's incredible."

'It's the truth. Only Akeela and three others know about this. Obviously I'm one of them. See? I've always been valuable to Akeela. More valuable than you."

'I don't believe you," spat Graig. "Even if it's true, why would you tell me such a thing?"

Trager shrugged. "Because it amuses me. Because I like knowing something you don't know. You see, I've always hated you, Graig. I've always wanted you to know that you're not so important to Akeela after all. To be honest, I thought Akeela might have let the truth slip out to you after all these years. But he didn't. He doesn't trust you, and that pleases me."

'Scum," hissed Graig, rising from his chair. "You're a lying piece of filth."

'I'm many things, Head Warden, but I'm not a liar. Everything I told you is true." Trager sighed dramatically. "But now I have a terrible problem. I thought maybe you already knew the truth about Cassandra. Obviously I was wrong. This is very dangerous knowledge." He winked at Graig. "A secret."

Graig seemed not to take his meaning. "So? I don't even believe it."

'It doesn't matter what you believe," said Trager. "The sad fact is that I told you." He shook his head in mock regret. "Very sad, indeed."

'General, I think you should leave now," said Graig.

Trager nodded. "Agreed."

He turned to go. Graig stepped forward to escort him out. Trager reached for the door handle, then spun with his outstretched arm, catching Graig in the throat. The old man stumbled back from the blow, his neck snapping as he fell backward over his chair. His shock-filled eyes watched Trager as his back slammed into the stone floor. A wheezing gasp escaped his throat. Frozen horror fixed his twitching face.

On the floor, unmoving, he gazed up wildly as Trager hovered over him. Trager smiled, then roughly kicked over the flagon, sending its contents spilling along the floor.

'You shouldn't drink so much," whispered Trager. "Now look at you. You've slipped and hurt yourself."

Graig couldn't respond. His neck broken, he could barely breathe.

'Such an unfortunate accident," said Trager with a smile.

Warden Graig gasped, a garble of sounds that sounded to Trager like curses.

'You should have been nicer to me, Graig," said Trager. "It would have been so easy. Well, let me tell you something now. I've got what I want, and I'm not sharing Akeela with anyone." He poked at Graig's cheek. "Do you hear me? You're finished, Graig. You, Lukien, and someday that old waterhead Figgis.

I'm the one that tells Akeela what to do. And that's how it's going to be forever."

Trager didn't wait for Graig to die. The old man's face was already purpling. Confident he'd be dead in minutes, the Supreme General of Lüria retrieved his cape and left the office, closing the door behind him. But before he left he took his goblet with him.

'A man shouldn't drink alone," he sighed as he left the keep. "That's how accidents happen."

G lwyn rode out from the library at dawn, when the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. He had his wagon and his horse Tempest to pull it, Teku on his shoulder, and a pocketful of silver coins. The letter Queen Cassandra had given him was tucked safely into his trousers. Aside from those things, he had nothing. He was alone and afraid, but he was determined to reach his destination by nightfall. So he said good-bye to Figgis and did not look back, focusing instead on the long trek ahead. Figgis had given him sparse directions to Breck's farm. Never having actually been there, the old man wasn't exactly sure of its location. It was north of the city, he'd told Gilwyn, near the town of Borath. Borath was a shire of wheat and potato farmers, and Figgis was sure that Breck grew one of those crops. Find Borath, Figgis had explained, and you'll find Breck. It seemed an easy enough task, but Gilwyn had never ridden out of Koth before. And Figgis had been unable to offer any guarantees. It had been five years since he'd last heard from Breck, and it was very possible that the old knight had moved on. Figgis didn't think so, but the possibility made Gilwyn anxious. And Borath was a full day's ride from the library. Even with good weather, it would take determination to reach the shire by dark.

Blessedly, the morning was fair. Gilwyn did not stop riding until he was well beyond Library Hill. He kept to the northern outskirts of the city, watching it peripherally and marveling at its size. It was much bigger than it looked from Library Hill, tall and vast and mysterious. The road Gilwyn took afforded him an excellent view. It was cobblestone and lined with trees, and the day soon took on a beautiful aura. To the south, Koth reflected the sunlight like a mirror. To the north, a great expanse of golden grass swayed in the breeze. Gilwyn quickly forgot his thousand troubles. He felt remarkably free, untethered by his apprenticeship to Figgis or his mild deformities.

By late morning he located the river which would lead him north to Borath. The river was called the Trident, because it split into three smaller tributaries just south of the capital. The Trident was wide and crystal clear, and Gilwyn took the time to stop for rest, letting Tempest drink from the Trident's inviting bank. While the horse drank, Gilwyn and Teku rummaged through the food Figgis had packed for them, finding bread, meat, and fruit. Teku grabbed for the fruit immediately, snatching herself a shiny red apple harvested from the orchards of Lionkeep. She sat herself down on the carriage's bench seat and buried her snout noisily into the fruit. Gilwyn wedged some ham between bread, then leaned back, studying the blue sky as he ate. Though they had passed many others during the morning, the little place he had staked out by the Trident was deserted. The place was lovely and reminded him of Cassandra. He laughed, shaking his head. How stupid he'd been to think she was interested in him. But she had been kind, just as he'd imagined, and she had not shunned him or stared at his boot or crippled hand. Though she was a queen, she had treated him like an equal. And that, more than anything, was the reason he wanted to help her.

For the rest of the afternoon, Gilwyn, Teku, and Tempest followed the Trident north. They stopped when necessary for rest, letting old Tempest catch his breath, and came upon a town where Gilwyn took the time to talk to the locals. It was a farming village called Ferri, one Figgis had told him about.

'If you're not making good time, spend the night in Ferri," Figgis had said. "There'll be a bed for you there if you want it, but don't pay too much. And don't tell anyone why you're heading to Borath."

It was advice Gilwyn didn't need. He had no intention of ask ing anyone in Ferri about Breck, but he did ask directions to Borath. A brawny pig farmer with kindly eyes confirmed what Figgis had said—Borath was only a few more hours north. Follow the Trident, head northeast where it forks, and keep your eyes open for the shire. Gilwyn thanked the man, let his young daughter play with Teku a few moments, then went about his way.

By late afternoon, they were all exhausted from the ride, despite their frequent breaks. Teku had long ago stopped chattering on Gilwyn's shoulder, and instead curled up in a sleeping bundle on his lap. And Tempest, who had pulled the carriage without complaint throughout the day, began to show signs of weariness. Gilwyn was beginning to regret his decision not to spend the night in Ferri when he saw the fork in the Trident.

'Look," he cried, waking Teku. "There it is!"

His little companion spied the forking river, squawking with relief.

'Not much farther, Tempest old boy," Gilwyn encouraged, and gently guided the horse northeast.

They left behind the banks of the river and soon entered farm country again, a great flat plain with homesteads dotting the horizon. Gilwyn could barely make out the outlines of the little shire in the distance. The sun was beginning to sink, and the stone chimneys of Borath sent up evening smoke signals.

Grass and fruit trees flanked the road. Up ahead, a field of wheat rippled in the breeze, like the tide of a golden ocean. Gilwyn spied the homesteads. They were acres apart, and he wondered which one was Breck's.

'Potatoes or wheat?" he wondered aloud. The wheat looked more inviting, so he headed toward the waving grain. The closest farm took long minutes to reach, and when he did Gilwyn waved down a boy just coming in from the field. The boy was younger than Gilwyn and wore clothes of the field, patched and stained with soil. He eyed the carriage suspiciously as it entered the property.

'Excuse me," said Gilwyn. "I'm looking for the home of a man named Breck. Might this be it?"

The boy didn't answer. He didn't move a muscle.

'Do you know of a man named Breck?" asked Gilwyn hopefully.

Rebuffed, Gilwyn said, "Well, that's up to you. Can I see Breck now, then?"

'He's inside. We're just sitting down to eat. What's your name, boy?"

'Gilwyn, ma'am. Gilwyn Toms. I work in the library of Koth."

The woman's pretty face lit with alarm. "The library? You know Figgis, then?"

'I do. He's the one that sent me."

All the bravado left the woman. She simply wilted at the news. "Trouble then," she whispered.

"Gordel, go on inside. Supper's on the table. Your father's waiting."

The boy spared a last, troubled look at Gilwyn before retreating into the house. When she was sure he couldn't hear, his mother stepped toward Gilwyn and said, "I've been waiting for you or someone like you for a long time. My husband told me you might come someday."

Gilwyn joked, "I'm probably not what you expected. My lady, I mean no harm to any of you. I just need your husband's help. And that supper you've cooked up sure smells good."

For the first time, the woman smiled. "Come ahead then, Gilwyn Toms. I'm really not the shrew I pretend to be."

She led Gilwyn past the flowerpots flanking the threshold and into her modest home. It was a typical farmer's house, with stone walls and stick furniture and windows with open shutters to let in the fresh air.

Across the main room sat a table, near the cooking area, laden with food on iron plates. A man sat at the head of the table, talking to the boy, Gordel. The man had food in his mouth and was chewing slowly, listening intently to the boy. They both stopped when the woman entered with Gilwyn. Teku fell silent on Gilwyn's shoulder. The man swallowed and stared at them. He was rough looking, his skin tanned to leather by the sun, his hair bleached a faded orange. Though he was seated, Gilwyn could tell he was tall.

He was wide, too, with shoulders made brawny from labor and muscles fed by a huge appetite, evidenced by the pile of food on his plate. He did not smile or frown as he watched Gilwyn. There was simply blankness in his face. The boy stood silently beside him.

The boy nodded. "I do."

'Then would you mind telling me where I can find him? I've been on the road all day."

'You know Breck?" asked the boy. His eyes watched Gilwyn carefully.

'No, I don't," Gilwyn admitted. "But I've come to speak with him."

'Come from where?"

'Look fellow, it's getting late," said Gilwyn. "If you know where this man Breck is, could you tell me?

I'd like to find him before it gets dark."

'Gordel?" called a voice. It came from the nearby house. Gilwyn turned toward the cobbled structure and saw a woman emerge from the rounded doorway. She wore a patchwork frock dirtied by labor and a smile that melted away when she noticed Gilwyn. "Gordel, who is this?" she asked.

The boy eased toward the woman. "He's looking for… Breck."

'I see," the woman replied. She looked at Gilwyn. "And what's your business with Breck, young man?"

'I've come from Koth, my lady, with a message for him. I don't know who he is; I've never met him.

But it's important that I speak to him." Gilwyn smiled the best he could, trying to put her at ease. It was obvious she was protecting Breck. "I'd be grateful if you'd tell me where he is."

She studied him, clearly worried, but in a moment she shrugged. "Ah, what difference does it make—you'll find out soon enough. Breck is my husband. This is his home."

Gilwyn sighed with relief. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, my lady." Carefully he got down from the carriage, favoring his bad foot. Teku scrambled onto his shoulder. "I swear to you, I'm not here for trouble. But I do need to speak to your husband. And if you could spare a bed for the night?

I can pay…" He put his good hand into his pocket and retrieved a few coins. When he showed them to the woman she frowned.

'No need for that," she said. "If you've got bad news, you won't be staying."

'Breck, this is Gilwyn Toms," pronounced the woman. "From the library at Koth."

The man named Breck rose slowly. "From Figgis?" he asked.

Gilwyn nodded. "Yes. And from Queen Cassandra."

'Oh, my Fate…" Breck looked at his wife and son. "Kalla, I think you two should leave us to talk."

'But I'm hungry!" Gordel protested.

'Take your plates with you," said Breck. "This isn't for your ears."

Gordel complained but obeyed, scooping meat and potatoes onto his plate and waiting for his mother, who stood staring at Breck with troubled eyes. There was a charged tension between them.

'I'm sorry, Kalla," said Breck. "I need to speak with him alone. Please…"

'Get your plate, Mother," said the boy. "We'll eat outside where it's cool."

The woman touched her son's shoulder and guided him toward the door. "I'm not hungry," she said softly, then left with the boy. Breck watched her go with obvious regret. He collapsed back into his chair with a heavy sigh.

'Tell me something, boy. Was I difficult to find?"

'Not really," replied Gilwyn. He eased closer to the table. "Figgis said you'd probably be here near Borath."

'Ah, Figgis." Breck's deeply lined face cracked with a smile. "How is that old maniac?"

'Fine, sir."

'Do you work for him? Or do you work for Queen Cassandra?" Breck studied Gilwyn a moment, then answered his own question. "No, you're not blind. You must work for Figgis."

'I'm his apprentice," said Gilwyn. "I work for him in the library. But Queen Cassandra did send me, in a manner of speaking." He eyed the inviting table. "Sir Breck, if I could sit down while I tell you why I'm here, I'd be much obliged."

With his long leg Breck kicked out a chair. "Sit, Gilwyn Toms, and tell me your sad story. Is the queen all right?"

His directness surprised Gilwyn. He sat down, saying, "I'm ot sure how to answer that, sir. The n

queen's in no real danger, not yet, but there's trouble. She sent me to ask for your help."

'Tell me," said Breck.

'It's a long story, and I'm not sure where to begin." Gilwyn stroked Teku's head as she climbed down into his lap. "To tell you the truth, it's all kind of unbelievable."

'It's not her illness again, is it?"

'No, sir," said Gilwyn. He studied Breck, trying to gauge how much he really knew—or how much he should divulge. "Sir Breck, the queen needs your help. She asked me to find Lukien."

Breck gave a small smile. "Just a matter of time," he said. "I always knew she'd ask for him someday.

And you found me through Figgis?"

'That's right," replied Gilwyn. "Figgis thought you might know where to find Captain Lukien." He hesitated. "Do you know where Lukien is, Sir Breck?"

Breck looked toward the doorway, cocking his head a bit to listen. Satisfied that his wife and son couldn't hear, he said softly, "Maybe. But I need to know why Cassandra wants Lukien back. And I need proof you're who you claim to be."

Gilwyn reached into his pocket and took out the letter Cassandra had given him. "Here," he said as he handed it to Breck. "That's from Queen Cassandra, sealed with her royal mark. The only other person that uses that seal is King Akeela, and I assure you he didn't send me."

'No," mused Breck, studying the boy's clubbed hand. "I believe you. Akeela's clever, but even he wouldn't send a cripple after Lukien."

'I'm not a cripple," retorted Gilwyn. "I walk just fine now."

'Sorry," said Breck. "But you know what I mean. Besides, Akeela is smart enough to ferret out Lukien if he wanted to."

'Then you do know where he is?" asked Gilwyn. "Sir Breck, it's very important that I find him. There are lives depending on it, and not just Cassandra's. Figgis told me that you were a good man, and that if you knew where Lukien is you'd take me to him."

'Same question," countered Breck. "Why?"

Gilwyn didn't know how to answer, so he decided to tell the man the truth. Breck listened, rapt, as Gilwyn told him about , and how Queen Cassandra was still eternally young. It did not surprise him that Breck knew nothing of the amulets or their remarkable charm; only a handful of people knew the truth, and they had all done well in keeping the secret. Breck shook his head in disbelief.

'It's true, Sir Breck, I swear it," said Gilwyn. "And now King Akeela thinks he's found the other Eye.

He thinks it's in Grim-hold, hidden somewhere beyond Jador."

'Grimhold?" Breck began laughing. "Grimhold's a myth."

'No, it's not," said Gilwyn seriously. "It's real. I know, because I've seen the Witch of Grimhold. She's wearing the other Eye."

Breck put up his hands. "Easy, boy; slow down. This is all getting a little bizarre. Grimhold? Witches?"

'I admit it's hard to believe," said Gilwyn. "But it's all true." He proceed to explain how he had seen the witch in Koth, how she had entranced him, and how Figgis had learned of Grimhold from his old texts, just as he'd learned of the amulets' existence sixteen years ago. As he spoke Breck listened, not touching his food, occasionally glancing toward the doorway. When Gilwyn was done he got out of his chair and slowly began to pace. It was getting dark outside but his little family still hadn't returned.

'Amazing," he whispered. "But I still don't see why Cassandra wants Lukien to come. Why doesn't Figgis just tell Akeela that the amulet is in Koth?"

'He can't. If he did, all of Koth would be at risk. Akeela would tear the city apart looking for the amulet, and Cassandra would be just as trapped. And it still probably wouldn't keep him from marching on Jador. Now that Akeela knows Grimhold exists, he's going to want to find it."

'No," spat Breck. "Akeela's not the one that would butcher the Jadori. It's Trager." He picked up a knife from the table and twirled it absently in his fingers. "That bastard; he's the one that's behind this.

He's the one that wants to march on Jador, I'd bet anything."

'You might be right," said Gilwyn. "But it doesn't really change anything, does it? I still have to find Lukien. He has to get Cassandra out of Lionkeep somehow."

'And then they'll ride for Jador and warn them?"

Gilwyn nodded. "That's the plan." He shifted his chair around to face the former knight. "Sir Breck, Figgis told me about your promise to Lukien. He told me that you stay close to Koth, to keep an eye on Cassandra. Well, the queen needs you now. If you really made this promise, you have to help me."

Breck chuckled. "Boy, don't try to guilt me into this. I don't need you to remind me of my service.

Lukien was my captain. He was also my friend. But so was Akeela, once. You're asking me to betray one for the other. Should I take such a decision lightly?"

'Well, no," said Gilwyn. He hadn't thought of it like that before.

'And who do you think those people waiting outside for me are? Just friends? They're my family. I never told Figgis about them because I didn't want to put them at risk."

'Your wife knows why I'm here, Sir Breck," said Gilwyn. "I could tell."

'Aye, she's not good at hiding it. She's been expecting someone like you to come around for years now, someone who'd drag me back into my old life. But I'm not a soldier anymore, boy. I'm a farmer."

Gilwyn feigned disdain. "Is that right? I didn't think soldiers gave up their loyalties so easily."

'Don't lay traps for me," snapped Breck. He twirled the knife in his hands, brooding over it. "You're not just asking me to deliver a note."

'Yes, I am," said Gilwyn, springing to his feet. "That's all I want from you. Just take me to Lukien. Or at least tell me where he is, and I'll do the rest."

Breck shook his head. "You don't understand, it's not that easy. You're right about loyalty. It isn't easy to give up. I can't just tell you where Lukien is and send you on your way. I owe my captain more than that. And you have no idea what you're getting into."

'Why?" asked Gilwyn, suddenly worried. "Where is Lukien?"

Breck didn't answer. Lost in thought, he walked to the open 'Lukien gave you this?" asked Gilwyn.

'It was no good to him anymore," said Breck. "Not where he was going."

'Where?" Gilwyn pressed. "Where did he go?"

Breck smiled sadly. "He went to the only place he could go. He was a soldier, and that's all he ever could be."

'I don't get it," said Gilwyn. "Where's that?"

'Norvor."

The word struck Gilwyn. Of all the places he'd wished to hunt for Lukien, Norvor was on the bottom of the list. Norvor, land of war. Land of death. A land where a heartless king and a queen of diamonds struggled for the single throne.

'Uh, Sir Breck," said Gilwyn unsteadily, "if Lukien's in Norvor, I'm going to need your help."

Breck nodded. "I told you so." doorway and stood in the threshold. The sky had darkened considerably. Gilwyn and Teku went to stand beside him. Breck's wife and son sat alone in the distance, lounging on a bench and staring at the setting sun. They did not see Breck looking at them. They could not see the heartbreak on his face.

'If I go, they'll be alone," said Breck. "That's what Kalla's afraid of."

A pang of guilt surged through Gilwyn. "I'm sorry. If I'd known you had a family, maybe I wouldn't have come."

'You would have come," said Breck. "Because no one else can help you. Follow me. I want to show you something."

Breck turned and went back into the main chamber. Curious, Gilwyn followed him. But they didn't stop at the table again. Instead they walked past the main area into the only other room of the house, a small sleeping chamber. There was no door, only a rounded, narrow arch. Gilwyn hesitated in the threshold as he noticed the simple bed and realized this was where Breck slept with his wife.

'Come in," ordered Breck.

Against the wall were a collection of blankets and clothes. Breck shifted them aside, revealing a large wooden chest beneath them. Gilwyn drifted into the room, studying the chest as Breck undid the latches.

'What's in there?" asked Gilwyn.

Breck tossed open the lid. "This."

A dazzling display of golden metal met Gilwyn's gaze. Even in the dim light of the narrow window, the contents of the chest glistened. Gilwyn hovered closer to the box, stooping down next to it. At first he thought Breck had thrown open a treasure trove, but then he realized what he was seeing.

Armor.

Beautiful, unblemished armor, spiked and polished to a golden gleam.

No, not gold, he told himself. Bronze.

He reached out and touched the breastplate. It was cool and smooth, embossed with the image of a prancing stallion, the crest of the Royal Chargers. If there had been any question of Breck's ties to Lukien, they were instantly erased.

Of all challengers for Norvor's broken throne, Jazana Carr had been the craftiest. Because she ruled the north of Norvor, and because she controlled the gem mines, she was called the Diamond Queen, a title she had purchased for herself with the help of a family fortune. For sixteen years Jazana Carr had fought King Lorn for control of Norvor, pressing her war from her stronghold at Hanging Man. With her own diamond-bought army, she had retaken the fortress when the Lürians and their Reecian allies had left, and from there had built her tiny empire, spreading her reign over more and more of the north's teeming gem mines. Diamonds and rubies made Jazana Carr rich. Ever determined to secure her reign, she spent her burgeoning fortune on the best mercenaries in the world, keeping them loyal with lucrative contracts. She was not a true queen but she would be someday, she was sure. Until then, she was content to fight Lorn for the throne of Norvor.

K, ng Mor was dead, sixteen long years now. He had left no heirs, for his son Fianor had been murdered with him, leaving empty the throne at Carlion and leaving his army leaderless. There was no ironfist to replace King Mor, no easy means of succession. But Mor had been a man of many enemies, and there were vultures eager for his throne. Vying for the riches of Norvor's diamond mines and the fealty of her soldiers, they had fractured Norvor, spinning her into the maelstrom of civil war.

History had recorded Mor's murder as "the massacre at Hanging Man." Of the four hundred men stationed at the citadel, only a few dozen were spared. They had been forced to march back into the heart of their country with no food and water. Among these men was a Norvan colonel named Lorn. At Mor's castle in Carlion, Lorn told the court that their king was dead and his son with him. General Nace, Lorn said, was dead as well. And because he was the highest ranking man to survive the massacre at Hanging Man, he claimed the throne of Norvor for himself. Protestors to his ascension were quickly killed by the other surviving soldiers of Hanging Man, who were all too eager to avenge their defeat, even on innocent countrymen.

But Lorn's hold on power was tenuous, and always remained so. Though he continued to rule in the area of Carlion, calling himself king, there were others with ambition who saw opportunity in Mor's death.

he Bronze Knight was no more.

He had left his armor and loyalty behind, fleeing into Norvor without looking back. He knew the depth of Akeela's hatred, knew that to return to Koth meant death for Cassandra and himself. He had tried, briefly, to live a quiet life like Breck, but he was unskilled as a farmer and clumsy as a carpenter, and so had returned to the only thing he had ever excelled at—once again, he became a soldier.

He had entered Norvor fully aware of its grim reputation, sure that the usurpers of the broken throne could use his skills. In Jazana Carr, he had found a willing employer. And so he had waged the Diamond Queen's battles, fighting for money along with countless others. He had changed his name to live among them, but Jazana Carr knew his secret and kept it, for the Diamond Queen had ambitions even greater than the Norvan throne. Lukien, now called Ryon, knew this and did not mind. Like Jazana Carr, he dreamed of one day returning to Lüria, even if it meant returning as a conqueror. Then, perhaps, he would be reunited with Cassandra. It was the one bargain he had struck with Jazana Carr—if ever they should attack Lüria, and if ever Koth should fall, he was to have Cassandra.

Lukien had quickly learned that Jazana Carr was a pragmatic woman, endlessly patient. It had been over sixteen years now, and Carr was showing her age. But she still battled King Lorn for Norvor, and she still spoke of the day when Lüria, the greatest diamond of them all, would be hers. Perhaps it was treachery for Lukien to listen to such talk. At first it had felt like the highest heresy. But the years had hardened Lukien, and he had never forgiven Akeela for banishing him. That one great insult had stripped him of everything. After a lifetime dedicated to Lüria and its ideals, the endless struggle to climb Koth's complicated social ladder, he was nothing but a freelance. Now, sixteen years and countless battles later, it no longer bothered Lukien to hear Jazana Carr speak of conquering Lüria.

But his love for Cassandra had never died. He knew that she continued to live in Lionkeep, was still Akeela's captive. And it was this more than anything that fostered Lukien's loyalty to Jazana Carr. If the possibility to see Cassandra again ever existed, Lukien was sure it would come through her.

Before that day could come, though, there were battles to fight. Lukien had become an important pawn in Jazana Carr's struggle for power. Because of his prowess with a sword he was valuable to Carr.

There were borders to secure and skirmishes to fight, and towns under Carr's dominion that needed protection. Towns like Disa.

When Lukien fought, he forgot that he was just past forty. He forgot that his body was growing old or that he had lost an eye to a Norvan scimitar. He did not think of Cassandra or Lüria, or even remember that his true name was Lukien. When he fought, as he had at Disa for five dreadful weeks, he was simply Ryon, a mercenary fighting for Jazana Carr.

Disa had been a nightmare, and Lukien was well pleased to have it behind him. Once Disa had been a pretty little town, with quaint old houses and neatly trimmed gardens. But its southern location had made it a battleground. Suddenly the sleepy town of metalsmiths and shopkeepers had become tactically significant. For five weeks Lorn's soldiers had battled for Disa, trying to take its bridge. Under the command of a colonel named Ness, the southerners had put up a worthy fight. But in the end they had retreated south, back to King Lorn's territory. They had not taken the bridge, but they had exacted a heavy toll on Lukien—Ryon—and his men. The protracted fight had laid waste to Disa, sending streams of refugees north, further into Jazana Carr's bosom. Finally, when reinforcements arrived, Lukien joined the refugees. He was exhausted and longed for the peace of Hanging Man. He was confident that Layton and the others could hold Disa.

Lukien had been on the road for barely an hour when the messenger reached him. He and twenty of his fellow mercenaries had left Disa early in the morning, eager to return north. They wore no armor, nor did their horses. And they bore no lances, only shields and swords. Jazana Carr had long ago secured the northern territories, and Lukien and his men felt safe as soon as they'd left Disa behind. The road was blessedly quiet, with only the singing of birds and the good-natured banter of comrades. Young Marke, who had become a friend to Lukien since joining their ranks a month ago, rode beside him. Marke was barely twenty and reminded Lukien of himself at that age, when he had been handsome and still had both eyes. Now he wore an eye patch to cover his disfigurement, and countless skirmishes had scarred his pretty face. Marke told jokes and sang bawdy ballads as they rode, making them all forget the horrors they had left behind in Disa And then, like the trump of doom, came the messenger's cry.

'Ryon!"

The twenty mercenaries turned in unison. A single rider thundered toward them, his black horse kicking up a furious dust cloud. Lukien recognized the rider at once. It was Garrin, one of the men he'd left behind at Disa. Marke also took notice of the man, his young face falling.

'Trouble," he said grimly.

Lukien spun his horse to face the coming rider. His companions formed a circle around Garrin as he reigned his steed to a skidding stop.

'Thank the Fate I found you," said Garrin. "Ryon, Ness is back!"

not to return to Carlion without having conquered the town. No retreat. If he failed, he would be executed.

After reading the dreadful note, Ness had let it fall from his hands into the mud. He had simply stared vacant-eyed at the two dozen new troops Lorn had sent him. Two dozen more corpses to litter the grounds of Disa. Carr's mercenaries were simply too good for them. Part of Ness had felt like weeping.

But he was a military man charged with a mission, and so he had turned back with his own battle-weary men to once again walk into the lion's mouth.

It was mid-morning and the war for the bridge still raged, as protracted as ever. Ness commanded his men from the safety of the rear, but there was nothing much for him to do. The bridge was too important.

And the only way to take the bridge was to throw wave after wave of soldiers at it. His cavalry still tried to ford the river in spots, but the current was too swift to make that practical. Men from both sides clashed in the water, spreading the bloody stalemate like a stain. On the bridge itself, his cavalry had pushed through the barricade of caltrops but had failed to crush the wall of lancers awaiting them on the other side. Horsemen and infantry tumbled over each other like a bloody waterfall, slashing and screaming and plunging down into the rushing waters below.

Colonel Ness watched, unmoved. He had a very clear vision of himself dying today, because he doubted he could take the bridge and because he'd rather die here, in battle, than on the gallows back home.

'What?" gasped Lukien. "When?"

'Soon as you left. They hit us at the bridge, not an hour ago He's got fresh men with him, dozens of them."

The news shocked Lukien. He was sure Colonel Ness had retreated. After such a bloody stalemate, even the stalwart Ness needed rest. Lukien cursed himself for underestimating the Nor-van colonel. But he had been so desperate to get home, so very tired…

'The bridge?" he asked dreadfully.

'Holding when I left," said Garrin. "Now, who knows. We need you, Ryon. There's no time to waste."

The image of home faded instantly in Lukien's mind. He knew the bridge wouldn't hold forever. And if the bridge fell, so too would Disa. Though there were only twenty of them, they would have to lend their swords to the cause.

'Every able man," shouted Lukien to his comrades. "Come on."

With Lukien in the lead, Marke and the others galloped back the way they had come, chewing up the road to Disa.

Colonel Ness sat atop his dapple gray, the visor of his winged helmet up, his eyes scanning the battleground and the town beyond. Here on the east side of the river, he was safely away from the raging battle for the bridge, on a swale of grass that afforded him an easy view of the melee. Exhaustion plagued his battered body. His armor hung on him in broken bits, dented and filthy from his countless clashes with the mercenaries. More than anything in the world, Colonel Ness wanted to return home to Car-lion, to be with his wife and to forget about this worthless town that fate had catapulted into importance. But Colonel Ness could not return. He had already tried that, just yesterday. Instead he had been met by a fresh contingent of men from Lorn, one of them bearing a note from the so-called king himself. Ness hadn't really needed to read the note; he was clairvoyant enough to know what it said.

King Lorn would brook no failure at Disa. Colonel Ness was When Lukien reached the riverbank, he called his party to a halt. The horsemen fell in line behind him, surprised. Garrin skidded up to Lukien with a troubled look.

'Why are we stopping?" he asked.

Lukien glanced around. They were not far from Disa and if he listened closely he could just make out the din of battle over the gurgle of the river. An ample cover of trees surrounded them, shielding them from sight. Lukien knew they'd come far enough.

'We're going to cross here," he said.

from dislodging them. Either that or they'd both be swept away. Slowly, carefully, he drove his mount deeper into the water.

J_ he bridge at Disa was a marvelous structure, thirty feet wide and built of granite, limestone and brick. It had stood for nearly forty years, effortlessly spanning the river and letting Norvans from either side cross in peace. Now it had became one more flashpoint in the bitter battle for Norvor. Layton of Andra watched men fight and die for the bridge, men who had become his comrades under the payment of Jazana Carr.

Layton was thirty years old, and he had never seen a battle like this one or watched so many men die so quickly. He had arrived at Disa only yesterday, but he'd been appalled by the losses inflicted on Ryon's men, and he had been shocked to see Colonel Ness attacking once again. The incursion had caught Layton unaware and had caused the needless death of fifteen men in an instant, men who'd been guarding the bridge from the western bank. When the Norvans had broken through the caltrops, Layton's fifteen men had splintered like twigs. It had taken an hour for them to beat back the Norvans, and now they fought to a standstill on the bridge itself, the wide span choked with men and horses, both sides unwilling to yield. Ryon had warned Layton of Colonel Ness' tenacity, but to the young mercenary the colonel's attack seemed more than ferocious. It seemed suicidal.

'Layton! I found them!"

Layton turned on his horse in the streets of Disa. He and four other men were evacuating the town, helping the shopkeepers and their families into wagons for the trek north. Already whole trains of people had left, abandoning their homes as their fellow Norvans fought to reach them. When Layton saw Garrin galloping toward him, his heart sank. The mercenary was alone.

'Well?" he shouted over the noise. "Where are they?"

'North," cried Garrin. Out of breath and drenched in sweat, he wheeled his horse through the throngs of fleeing families and came to a stop before Layton.

'North where?" barked Layton. "Are they coming?"

'Here?" Garrin was incredulous. "Why?"

'To surprise them," said Lukien, addressing all his men "We'll come down from their northern flank, attack Ness directly."

Marke spied the river with trepidation. "Can we cross here? It looks deep."

'It is deep," Lukien admitted. "But what good would it do if we can't get across the river? There's only so many men who can die on that bridge at once. If we're going to finish them, we have to get across."

'Agreed," said Travis, one of the more seasoned men. "We'll go slow and careful. The first man across can string a rope for the others."

'But the horses," said Marke. "They'll be swept away!"

'No, they won't," said Lukien. "Once the first man gets across with the rope, the others can hook on through their cantle rings. We'll take it easy, a few at a time."

'Ryon, there isn't time," Garrin protested. "We need men at the bridge now."

'Forget the bridge," growled Lukien. "If we don't take the battle to the east side of the river, we'll lose the bridge and Disa soon enough. Now hurry, Garrin. Tell Layton what I've planned. And tell him to send as many men as he can spare south, to cross the river there. They can ride up and meet us. We'll crush Ness between us."

'We can't spare anyone, Ryon! That's why I rode back for you."

'Do it," demanded Lukien. He was already riding down the river's shoal, testing its depth. "Quick as you can, Garrin. Like you said, there's not much time."

Seeing his commander's resolve, Garrin stopped arguing. "All right," he said, "good luck," then turned and continued riding south.

Marke sidled up to Lukien, smiling as they both guided their horses into the first few feet of the river.

"You first?"

'We'll go together," Lukien decided. He called back to Travis for a length of rope, then tied the cantles of the two horses together. The added weight, he hoped, would keep the current 'They're fording the river to attack from the opposite bank,' Garrin hurriedly explained. "They're going to hit Ness at his flank. Ryon wants you to send more men across the river at the south, somewhere where Ness can't see them." He had to pause to catch his breath. "They're to meet up with Ryon's men, crush Ness between them."

'What?" screamed Layton. "I can't spare anyone! Look at this bloody place! I need men at the bridge!"

'Ryon says the bridge doesn't matter. He says we have to bring the battle to Ness on his side of the river, try to take him out." Garrin watched Layton, waiting for his reaction. "It's orders, Layton. Ryon is still in charge."

'Orders," spat Layton. "Right."

Layton didn't mind taking orders from Ryon. Like everyone else, he admired the older mercenary.

But to spare men for this fanciful idea…

In the end, Layton could only acquiesce.

'All right," he said grimly. He turned to the four men with him. "All of you, go half a mile south. Find some cover and ford the river if you can. Take Kaj and his men with you. They're already mounted up."

'Then what?" asked one of the four. "What do we do after we cross the river?"

Layton was already heading for the bridge. "Then ride like the wind. Go for Ness, and hope that Ryon is there to meet you."

,'Vs soon as he thundered out of the thickets, Lukien saw Colonel Ness' army. They were pressing their attack on the bridge, and there were scores of them. Barely a quarter mile away, they did not see Lukien or his men against the backdrop of the forest, and Lukien quickly reined in his mount to prevent from being spotted. Behind him, his men fell into position, keeping to the trees and straining to glimpse the battlefield. The roar of the melee rang through the forest. Lukien and his men, all of them drenched and exhausted, spied the fight with trepidation. They had forded the river without incident, carefully guiding their mounts across the treacherous waterway, but that seemed hardly a parlor trick to the daunting task awaiting them. Lukien scanned the Norvan troops. As before, there were both cavalry and infantry. The infantrymen in their winged helmets and ornate armor battled on the bridge with swords and pikes, while the mass of cavalry stood detached, some trying vainly to cross the river.

'We're alone," Marke observed in a whisper. He spied the field carefully, looking past the Norvans to the southern plain beyond. "You think Layton did as you asked, Ryon?"

'I don't know," replied Lukien. Across the river, he could barely see his fellow mercenaries in the streets of Disa, organizing counterattacks. Townspeople continued to pour from the narrow avenues, fleeing north. Somewhere in that throng Layton was waiting, probably biting his nails in frustration. He was a good man, though, and Lukien was confident he'd obeyed the order.

'We'll charge for Ness," he decided. "Kill him, and the rest of them will scatter."

'That won't be easy," said Travis. "He's well protected, no doubt." He pointed toward a swale of grass and a collection of cavalrymen. "That's probably him."

'Doesn't matter," said Lukien. "He won't be expecting us."

There were no more questions from the men. They drew their weapons, awaiting Lukien's word.

Taking his own sword from its battered scabbard, the mercenary called Ryon gave the order to charge.

olonel Ness was about to order more men to the bridge when he glimpsed the mercenaries riding toward him. He had seen them only peripherally at first, thinking the vision a trick of the light. But as he turned slowly north, he realized with dread that he wasn't dreaming. A brigade of horsemen was riding toward him, swords drawn, steeds devouring the mossy ground. Not many of them, but enough to cause a very big problem. Ness hurriedly considered his options. Then a cry from his aide shattered his concentration.

'Colonel, look!"

Lieutenant Perrin was pointing south. Ness followed his finger and saw yet another brigade riding up the river bank.

'Assassins," he spat, knowing their mission in an instant. Taking out the enemy leader was a sound strategy. It's what he would have done.

'Colonel?" asked his aide. "What do we do?"

'What else is there to do, Perrin?" Ness drew his sword. "We fight."

Roughly sixty of Ness' men were free to fight. The rest of them were already engaged, battling on the bridge or in the churning river. Ness ordered half his men against the southern flank. All of them were on horseback and could outnumber the mercenaries. As for the northern assailants, Ness chose them for himself, for in the last moments he had spied something interesting in their ranks—they were led by a man with an eyepatch.

'Here I am Ryon, you son of a bitch!" Ness waved his blade in the air, rallying his men and taunting his attackers. He ordered Lieutenant Perrin and the other officers forward.

Suddenly Lukien was back at the tourneys. Suddenly it was Trager advancing on him, lance leveled for the killing blow. All the jousts in his experience told Lukien the right move. He pulled his charger hard left, letting the spear glance past him. His sword m came up in a flash, cutting through the young man's ar

gorget and shearing his head from his shoulders. The head rolled like a melon through the air. The body fell backwards from its saddle. And Lukien charged forward as if nothing had happened, a relentless killing machine.

the east side of the river, Layton watched in fascination as Ryon's brigade made their charge.

Apparently, they had accomplished their objective—Ness had already been distracted. From the south, dark-skinned Kaj and his crusaders were the anvil to Ryon's hammer. They screamed their peculiar Ganjeese war chant as they rode, twirling their curved blades above their heads. The sight of the counterattack buoyed Layton's sagging hopes. He was in awe of Ryon, and always had been. The one-eyed madman seemed to care nothing for his own life, yet made staying alive look so easy.

Around the bridge, the Norvans had seen the counterattack, too. Knowing they were suddenly surrounded, their assault lost its earlier precision. Men were screaming in confusion, wondering if they should retreat or push on. Instinctively Layton's men responded, counterattacking with renewed vigor.

Layton knew the time had come for full commitment. He had less than forty men to press their advantage.

'It's now or never, boys," he cried, pointing his broadsword at the armored mass of Norvans.

The last of his weary cavalry surged toward the bridge.

-L,'ukien saw Colonel Ness lift his blade. The Colonel was shouting something, baiting him. His Norvan blade caught the sunlight, an ugly reminder of another scimitar that had long ago plucked out Lukien's eye. The gesture enraged Lukien. He tucked himself behind the neck of his charger, galloping forward. Next to him, Marke had his own sword drawn and his shield against his forearm, prepared to parry the Norvan spears. Travis and the others were close behind. Out on the bridge, Ness' men continued their battle against the meres, while behind Ness another force was racing forward—Kaj's crusaders. The sight of the Gan-jeese mercenary heartened Lukien. Now he knew they had a fighting chance.

'Marke," he shouted, "Get ready!"

Marke bent low for the coming clash. Ness let his men swarm forward, their weapons poised against the advancing mercenaries. Lukien watched as a young horseman took aim, a lieutenant by the look of his armor braids. As he charged forward, the man leveled his spear at Lukien's chest.

Colonel Ness hardly noticed the new horsemen riding for the bridge. Something deep within him told him the bridge was lost anyway. He was tired of fighting for Disa, tired of losing men for the glory of Lorn. Behind him, a small group of Ganjeese mercenaries were hacking through his tired troops, and it occurred to erless to stop it. A good man; a boy really. One more death for a worthless cause.

'You may keep your precious bridge," Ness spat, "but there's o way you leave here alive."

n

'Call retreat, Ness," said Lukien. The words sprang from him vvithout thought. "Let's end it, right now."

Ness' face went momentarily blank. Then he snarled, "I can't end it! We're trapped, Ryon, both of us.

Trapped between Lorn and your bitch-queen!"

'No," said Lukien. "Just say the word and end it."

'I can't," raged Ness. "But I can kill you, pay you back for ruining me!"

Lukien shook his head. "It's pointless, you know it is. Even if you kill me, you'll die here sooner or later. If not today, then tomorrow."

'If not here, then back in Carlion," cried Ness. "On the gallows, like a coward. Now fight me, you one-eyed filth!"

If there had ever been a choice, it vanished in an instant. Lukien knew Ness would never retreat. He glanced at Layton's men at the bridge, valiantly pressing back the Norvan advance. In the distance Kaj's crusaders were knee-deep in bodies, some of them their own. It would have to end here, right now.

'Prepare yourself then, Colonel," said Lukien heavily. "Because in a moment, you'll be dead."

As soon as the words were spoken, Lukien was charging. His sword was up and his head was down and his stallion snorted as it sprang forward, propelling him toward the waiting Norvan. Ness was ready for the attack. His own seasoned sword blocked the first blow, knocking it aside. Lukien swung his horse around, avoiding the colonel's counterblow like a dancer and thrusting his blade like an arrow toward Ness. Too late, Ness saw the sword puncture his breastplate. He gasped, his own blade falling from his grasp. Lukien plunged his sword deeper. Face to face with the Norvan, he held him aloft on his sword like a piece of dangling meat. Ness' desperate gaze stared disbelievingly at Lukien.

'Ryon," he hissed, barely able to speak. "Ryon…!"

'No," Lukien whispered in his ear. "My name is Lukien."

He ripped the sword from Ness' chest, then leaned forward Ness as he watched the bloodshed that Jazana Carr must be pay. ing very well, indeed. But like a butterfly that thought, too, flew from his mind.

He had just seen Lieutenant Perrin's head fly from his shoulders. It had been surreal, and the sight had almost made Ness laugh. It was all so pointless. He began shouting orders. In his ears, his own voice sounded impotent.

'Edric, Birk, forward! Torr, Raswel, attack!"

His men slashed at Ryon's forces, fighting to reach the mercenary leader. Ness watched Ryon from three rows back, watched in detached horror as he hacked down men like weeds, his flashing blade splitting metal and brains, mindless and insatiable. Four of the mercenaries had already fallen, but Ness still didn't like the odds. Ryon and his ragtag army seemed unstoppable.

'Fight on! Fight on!" he cried. He only wanted one thing now, and that was to see the filthy Ryon fall.

Forget the bridge, forget Lorn's pointless war. Just kill the mercenary scum.

Driven by hate, Ness broke from the ranks and homed in on the one-eyed berserker. Another young mercenary blocked his way, rearing up suddenly on a snorting stallion. His blade slashed forward. Ness parried it easily. Enraged, he pressed his attack on the man, their horses dancing, their swords locking again and again. Ness had the advantage. He was stronger, fresher, and more skilled. Soon he had the ruffian in trouble. Ness saw Ryon glance toward them in alarm, heard the leader's frightened cry.

'Marke!"

Colonel Ness rained down blows. The young man struggled, his sword forced back again and again by the onslaught. At last his defenses expired. Ness' blade came down like lightning, tearing through his hand, sending fingers flying. The man-boy screamed. Ness finished him with a hack through his chest. His opponent tumbled from his horse and hit the ground.

Ness spun to see the stunned Ryon staring at him. As the melee exploded around them, the two leaders locked eyes.

L,'ukien watched Marke fall from his saddle, twisted and dying in the bloodied moss. It had happened so quickly he'd been pow and pushed him from the saddle. Ness hit the ground face-first Lukien stared down at him, then at the nearby body of Marke Around him the battle continued to rage. But for Lukien, it was over. Satisfied, he spun his horse away from the melee.

'Retreat!" he cried again and again, waving his sword so all could see. "Back to the forest! Retreat!"

His men broke off their attack and fled for the trees. As Lukien had guessed, Ness' men did not pursue. Shocked and ragged, they rode in confused circles on the field. One by one they realized their colonel was dead. Without Ness or his slain lieutenant, they were leaderless. To the south, Kaj and his men continued to fight, but Lukien knew they too would soon break off their assault. At the bridge, Layton's brigade had secured the eastern shore, while on the west bank, the fighting Norvans heard of Ness' death. Like their brothers in the flanks, the drive went out of their attack.

and the rest of the fallen. The sight of the carnage kept Travis and the others silent.

'Ryon, you did a fine job," said Layton. "You, Kaj, everyone."

'We lost Marke."

'I know," acknowledged Layton. "But you killed Ness. You held the bridge. You should be proud."

Lukien smirked. Pride was something he hadn't felt in years. "We did what we're paid to do."

'Will you go back now?" asked Layton. "To Hanging Man?"

'Yes," said Lukien, "once we've cleaned up this mess."

'Tell Jazana Carr what happened here, Ryon," Layton urged. "Tell her how we held the bridge. We'll all get bonuses."

'I'll tell her," said Lukien, then trotted his horse toward the bridge for the dirty work at hand.

It took another hour for Lukien and his party to ride north, ford the river again, and return to Disa.

When they did, the exhausted party saw that the Norvans had once again retreated. As it had been from the beginning, the bridge at Disa belonged to Jazana Carr. But the toll had been catastrophic. Of the twenty men Lukien had taken into battle, only twelve had crossed the river a second time. The bridge itself was slick with blood, the water beneath choked with bodies. Except for the mercenaries, Disa was deserted. An unearthly silence shrouded the place as Lukien and his men trotted into town. Layton greeted them on the outskirts, walking toward them alone along a desolate street. The mercenary was limping, a bloodied bandage tied across his right thigh. He raised his hand to Lukien as he approached.

'They're gone," he reported simply. "Back into the forest, I suppose."

Lukien brought his horse to a halt. "They'll be back."

'Probably," admitted Layton. "But we held the bridge."

'How wonderful."

In the distance, Lukien could see the mossy battlefield, polluted with corpses. He'd have to go across and retrieve Marke ana Carr's employ. Gilwyn spied the stout towers and grounds, dotted with figures in z

a peculiar mix of uniforms. Even from their safe distance, giant Hanging Man looked ominous.

Sitting beside Gilwyn in the wagon, Breck watched the fortress rise above them, sizing it up through narrowed eyes. "Lots of bad memories here," he sighed.

Gilwyn nodded, sure that he'd soon have his own bad memories of the place. But Breck had been sure this was the place to start their search for Lukien. Despite his misgivings, Gilwyn had agreed. But they hadn't really spoken of their strategy to deal with Jazana Carr. Breck had confessed that he knew almost nothing about her, and Gilwyn's knowledge of the Diamond Queen was spotty, also. The library didn't get many visitors from war-torn Norvor, and those that did come never spoke of Jazana Carr. It was said that she was cunning and ruthless. And of course, she was wealthy. Other than that, Jazana Carr was a mystery.

'We're no threat to her," mused Breck aloud. "Hopefully she'll speak to us, tell us where Lukien is, and let us be on our way."

'You think so?" asked Gilwyn hopefully. The knight gave one of his tight smiles. "Let's find out." He snapped the reins and sent old Tempest ambling down the road. The shadow of Hanging Man fell upon them, dropping down across the River Kryss. The fortress itself clung to a mountainside, one sheer face of it turned to the tumultuous river below. From this wall Norvan kings had once hung their dead enemies, dangling them as warnings to the world. It had been years since anyone had hung on the death gallery of the fortress, but Gilwyn could clearly imagine them there now. Tempest was slow but surefooted as he made his way up the inclined road. Gilwyn could hear the roar of the Kryss in the distance, churning violently down in Hanging Man's Gorge. Up ahead loomed the fortress, surrounded by a tall iron gate. Beyond the gate was a flat courtyard. Inside the yard milled scores of fighting men. The great turret of Hanging Man rose up from the fortress like an outstretched hand, its shaft spaced with arrow slits, its top crennelated with battlements. There was no flag at the top of the G, lwyn Toms had spent his entire life in Koth, a city many considered the most advanced in the world. Yet he had never seen anything like Hanging Man fortress.

He had traveled the long way to the Norvan border, leaving his home behind and letting Breck, the former knight, guide him south. Along with Teku and his horse, Tempest, they had crossed south through Lüria, stopping each night at homesteads along the way. It had been a good journey, mostly, with fair weather and decent company, and Gilwyn had found Breck an amiable companion. After the first day, Breck had lost most of his gruff-ness and had adjusted to the pain of leaving his family. He had even begun to tell stories to Gilwyn, about Lukien and the "good days," and about the death of King Mor at Hanging Man. Breck explained how Akeela had murdered Mor, and how that one bloody act had damaged the young king irrevocably.

But despite Breck's tales, Gilwyn had been unprepared for the sight of Hanging Man. He had already known the story of King Mor, and how Akeela had killed him. Now, staring up at the fortress from the riverbank, Gilwyn was breathless. Hanging Man was a garish citadel of sandstone and iron. After years of weather and war, she remained the gateway to Norvor, and there was simply no good way to find the Bronze Knight without first knocking on her door. It had been years since Breck had heard from Lukien, but he was sure that his old friend was still in Ja hand on the pommel of his saber, a long curved blade in an or- te leather scabbard. "Well come on, what's his name? I know all the men in Hanging Man."

na

'I can't tell you his name," said Breck. He and Gilwyn had agreed to speak only to Jazana Carr. "I can only tell your mistress."

'Fellow," began the man, "My name is Rodrik Varl, and I am as close to Jazana Carr as her own silk sheets." He laughed at his own joke. "Well, not that close perhaps. I've not gotten so lucky yet, eh lads?"

The sentries laughed. Other mercenaries began gathering near the gate.

'You can tell me anything you can tell Jazana Carr," said Varl haughtily, "or you can just turn that fleabag horse of yours around and head back to Reec."

'We're not from Reec," said Gilwyn, riled by the insult. "We're from Lüria."

Rodrik Varl's eyebrows lifted. "Lüria?"

Before Gilwyn could answer, Breck hurried a hand onto his knee and said, "We came from the Reecian side because it was easier to cross the Kryss. But yes, we're from Lüria."

'Indeed," said the man, stroking his chin. "Are you a soldier? Jazana Carr has a thing for soldiers, especially those from Lüria."

Breck replied simply, "Why don't I just tell Jazana Carr who I am?"

Rodrik Varl laughed. "Well, you don't look like much of a threat. The boy, neither. The monkey perhaps…"

More laughing from the mercenaries. Gilwyn bristled, feeling every guffaw like a knife. His face began to redden.

'Look, are you going to let us talk to your queen or not?" he said before he could help himself.

"Otherwise we'll be on our way."

'Oooh, easy now, boy," cautioned Rodrik Varl. He waved a finger through the bars. "Talk to me like that again and I'll have your pet for lunch."

Breck squeezed Gilwyn's knee hard with his big hand, an obvious warning to be quiet. He said to the mercenary, "We'll tell Jazana Carr all she wants to know. But we can't tell it to you; it's turret, just an empty pole where the proud standard of Norvor had once flown. The men in the yard watched the wagon as it approached, guarding the main gate. To Gilwyn's untrained eye, they were completely unlike the well-organized soldiers of Lüria, with their perfect and gleaming gray armor. Instead, the mercenaries of Hanging Man were a stew of colors and nationalities, hardly alike at all. They were a grimy, unappetizing lot, and the sight of them withered Gilwyn's confidence.

'Breck, are you sure this is a good idea?" he whispered. "I mean, look at them…"

'Steady," said Breck. He kept his eyes on the waiting guardians. When they finally reached the gate, he brought the wagon to a halt a safe distance from their spears. A pair of mismatched sentries greeted them from behind the towering metal bars. One wore a chain mail coif and a dented bronze breast plate.

The other wore Norvan armor with the winged helmet of Mor's loyalists. A traitor, Gilwyn surmised.

'Ho," Breck called to them.

The one in mail shifted his spear from one hand to the other. "What's your business?"

'We're travelers," said Breck. "We're looking for someone, and have need of an audience with Jazana Carr."

'Ja,'ana Carr doesn't see strangers," replied the Norvan.

'It's greatly important," said Breck. "If you could please speak to her for us, ask her good will."

'Good will?" came a voice. From around the stout guard tower a new face emerged, long and ruddy and split with a wild smile. "Jazana Carr isn't famous for her goodwill, friend." The man stepped forward and grinned at the strangers. A black vest strained across his broad chest and a blue beret topped his red head. "And if you're looking for a bed for the night, she'll tell you to be on your way."

'Please let us explain," said Breck. "We've come a long way to speak to your warlady."

'They're looking for someone," the Norvan guard said.

'Oh?" asked the man in the beret. "Who would that be?"

'An old friend," said Breck. "A comrade of yours."

'Ah, you mean a mere," said the grinning man. He rested his he was grinning when he entered the courtyard, strutting like a rooster and resting his hand nonchalantly on his saber.

'Well?" asked Breck. "Will she see us?"

'She will," said Varl, "but not right away. You're a very lucky pair—Jazana Carr wants you to sup with her tonight. I'm to find you some rooms. You can rest till then."

'Sup with her?" asked Gilwyn. "But we only want to talk to her."

'Ah, the warlady is a hostess without peer, boy. Don't beg off a meal with her," said Varl. Then he winked, adding, "It wouldn't be wise, anyhow."

'We appreciate it," said Breck, "but we really just need a few moments of her time. There's no need for her to go to any trouble."

Rodrik Varl, who was probably about Breck's age, gave a frightening smile. "Laddy, if Jazana Carr says sup with her, you sup."

Breck and Gilwyn looked at each other. Teku's tail coiled tightly around Gilwyn's wrist. They all came to the same quick conclusion.

'You know, I was just telling the boy how hungry I am," said Breck.

too important. And if your lady wants to talk about Lüria, I'll be happy to oblige. Just let us through, all right?"

'Jazana Carr doesn't like turning away soldiers," said Rodrik Varl. "You come on in, and I'll tell her you're here. Maybe she'll talk to you, maybe she won't."

'Good enough," said Breck. "My thanks to you."

The mercenary ordered the gate open, then disappeared into the throngs of the courtyard.As the great gates of Hanging Man swung wide, Gilwyn leaned over and whispered in Breck's ear.

'This could be a trap."

Breck shrugged. "So what if it is? We're not going to find Lukien without their help."

The sentries stepped aside and let the wagon enter. Breck drove into the courtyard, and the gathered mercenaries soon returned to their business. There were horses and barrels and sta-blehands in the yard and the familiar sounds of workmen cleaning stalls and women scrubbing laundry. Gilwyn glanced at the main keep, wondering where Rodrik Varl had gone. The turret of the fortress rose high above, piercing the blue sky. A handful of mercenaries stayed close, watching but not disturbing them. Like all the soldiers, they wore a varied scheme of tunics, mail, and vests from around the continent.

'Blazes, but there's a lot of them," said Breck as he spied the many soldiers. "Jazana Carr must be paying well to keep so many men."

'And they're all loyal to her?" asked Gilwyn.

Breck laughed. "Loyal? Hardly. Mercenaries are only loyal to one thing." He rubbed his thumb and fingers together. "Gold. As long as Jazana Carr pays them, they'll stay with her. But if a better offer comes around this lot will be gone like lightning." He looked around and, sure no one could hear, added,

"Mercenaries are scum, Gilwyn. They're not like real soldiers, not like Lukien and I were. Remember that."

Gilwyn nodded, still confused. Hadn't Lukien become a mercenary? What kind of scum was he, then?

They waited long minutes in the shade of the turret, never leaving their wagon, until Rodrik Varl finally returned. As usual Ixodrik Varl took Gilwyn and Breck to a room on the second level of the fortress.

The room had a wide window covered with frilled curtains and two beds with wonderfully clean sheets.

An unlit hearth graced the center of the chamber, complete with an ornate marble mantelpiece that had obviously been fitted into the spartan fortress after its construction. On the mantel were an assortment of feminine collectibles, little trinkets encrusted with gems and crystal and gold goblets overflowing with rubies. Breck's eyes bulged at the sight of them; Rodrik Varl laughed at his reaction. Gilwyn went to the mantel and scooped his hand down into a bowl of uncut diamonds, letting the gems fall through his fingers in amazement.

'Are these real?" he asked.

'Aye, they're real," said Varl. He threw open the curtains, letting sunlight flood the room. The chamber was exceptionally well appointed, not at all like the quarters of a border outpost. Gilwyn's eyes danced around the room, impressed with every detail. The rumors of Jazana Carr's wealth were apparently well-founded, and she'd spared no expense in transforming Hanging Man to suit her exotic tastes.

Breck picked up the goblet of rubies from the mantel, staring at them in disbelief. "Fate above, there's a fortune here."

'And another fortune like it in every room," said Varl. "But don't think about sticking any in your pockets. If you do, you'll be discovered. And if you're discovered, you'll be hanged."

Breck returned the goblet to the mantel. "I don't need Jazana Carr's charity," he said stiffly. "Still, I didn't know she was so wealthy."

'She wasn't always," said Rodrik Varl. "She started poor and worked for what she has, and she's been gaining wealth and territory ever since. Ah, but I'll let her tell you that herself! Jazana Carr likes to brag."

Breck scoffed at their gilded surroundings. "Apparently she likes to show off, too."

Varl merely smiled and headed for the door. "My lady usually eats at sundown," he said. "Rest until then. I'll come get you when it's time."

'Before you go," said Breck, "tell me something. What you said down at the gate, about being close to Jazana Carr; are you her man? I mean, is that what she pays you for?"

Varl tossed his head back and laughed. "Me? No, stranger, I'm not that lucky. I look after Hanging Man for her, and that's all. She's got another to look after her bed. Like I told you, she's got a thing for Lürians."

The mercenary left without saying more. Breck turned to Gil-wyn with a wicked grin.

'Hear that?" he asked. "She likes Lürians. Sleep lightly, boy. Maybe she likes younger men."

'Please, don't," groaned Gilwyn. His foot was aching and he was in no mood for jokes, so he chose one of the beds and stretched out on the soft mattress. Teku nuzzled against his clubbed hand. "Close the curtains, will you?" he asked.

He heard Breck draw the fabric over the windows. The world darkened.

'Sleep now," said Breck. "Maybe tonight we'll get some answers."

Exhausted, they both fell quickly to sleep.

When they finally awoke it was much later. Rodrik Varl had opened the door, loudly calling out for them to get up.

'It's time, lads," he said. "Let's go."

Gilwyn opened his groggy eyes. Teku was on his chest, staring up at the red-haired mercenary.

Rodrik Varl reached out to touch her, but she hissed at him and pulled away.

'Nice pet," said Varl sourly. "Come on. Jazana Carr is waiting for you."

Gilwyn sat up and saw Breck shaking sleep from his head. "All right," he told the mercenary. "Just give us a few minutes to clean up."

'There's a chamber pot under your bed," said Varl as he left the room. "I'll wait for you down the hall.

Be quick."

When he was gone, Breck and Gilwyn did their business, washed in the basin of clean water on the table between their beds, and generally straightened themselves for their meeting. Outside their chamber they found Rodrik Varl waiting for them, leaning against the stone wall and whistling merrily. His tune carried easily down the empty hallway.

'This way," he said, waving them forward.

With Teku perched on Gilwyn's shoulder, the pair followed Varl through the hall. Like the corridors of Lionkeep, this one was narrow and made of stone, with a floor of polished timber. But Jazana Carr had added more of her feminine flourishes to the hall, brightening it with flowers and flamboyant tapestries. As they descended a staircase, Gilwyn noticed columns of weapons along the wall, all polished to a grand luster and encrusted with jewels. In fact, there were jewels everywhere. The corridors were filled with nude statues, each with a sparkling gem in its navel. Dusty portraits hung on the walls, their frames rimmed with rubies. Diamond pendants swung from the servants that Rodrik Varl guided them further into the room. Tearing free of jazana Carr's gaze, Gilwyn studied the table. His empty stomach growled. The Diamond Queen had turned out a feast, an incredible selection of breads and meats and fish and fruit, all piled high on mirror-bright platters and steaming porcelain tureens. As if by magic, a pair of servants Gilwyn hadn't noticed before came alive, emerging from the far corner of the chamber. They flanked the table on either side of their mistress, each pulling out a chair with their white-gloved hands.

'Sit down, my friends," purred Jazana Carr.

Gilwyn sat down warily, opposite Breck. The old knight picked up the linen napkin at his place setting. The servant behind him plucked it from his fingers, settling it on his lap as he took his chair.

'Thanks," said Breck awkwardly. He looked across the table at Gilwyn, who was just as confused as his guide.

'There now, isn't this nice?" said Jazana Carr. She took her seat again, an ornate wooden chair as tall as a throne. Behind her, her own manservant stood at the ready, his neck circled with a diamond choker.

He was still as a statue while his mistress spoke. "Rodrik, thank you," said Jazana with a smile. "You may go now."

'As you wish, my lady." Rodrik Varl bowed with a flourish then turned and walked out of the vast chamber, leaving the three strangers alone at the table. Jazana Carr wrapped her jeweled fingers around a crystal goblet, raising it to her guests.

'It's so good to see you both," she said as if she'd known them for years. "I don't get many visitors here. Drink, both of you, please."

Gilwyn and Breck picked up their goblets, noticing they were already filled. They exchanged wary glances, which Jazana Carr picked up immediately.

'Oh, now you disappoint me," she pouted. "I assure you, my dears, there's nothing in those glasses but the sweetest wine."

Teku chattered a low warning in Gilwyn's ear.

'Yes, your little friend. Rodrik told me about him." Jazana Carr leaned across the table for a better look. "I've never seen a creature with such coloring before. Is he from Lüria, too?" passed them in the hall, encircling their necks like expensive slave collars. Up ahead, the oak doors of a great banquet room were open wide. Above the doors, a giant emerald lay in the stone arch, staring at them like the eye of an immense dragon. The emerald alone seemed priceless to Gilwyn, but beyond the doors glimmered the hints of still more fortunes. A grand table had been set with shining silverware and golden candelabras.

Both ends of the table disappeared into the unseen confines of the room. Gilwyn and Breck approached the chamber carefully, then heard music issuing over its threshold, the soft, pliant melody of a lute. Rodrik Varl paused beside the doors, waiting for them to catch up. When they did, he entered the room to announce them.

'My lady," he said simply, "here they are."

Varl stepped aside for the pair to enter, revealing the vastness of the chamber and the entire length of the table. A trio of huge round windows flooded the room with sunlight, their wavy stained glass reflecting colors off the walls and crystal stemware. Near the center window stood the lutist, smiling as he softly plied his instrument. Dressed in red velvet and lace, he had a woman's beauty, but he was nothing compared to the figure that rose when Gilwyn and Breck entered the room.

Like every one of her polished jewels, Jazana Carr was exquisite. She rose to her feet with grace, smiling with teeth as dazzling as the diamonds she wore on every finger. Long hoops of gold dangled from her ears and fine chains of platinum hung from her neck, and around her forehead was a scarlet ribbon pulling back her auburn hair, pinned with a golden brooch. She had a breathtaking face, mature but flawless, with ruby-painted lips and eyes the color of the deep ocean. When she saw the two strangers she stretched out her arms in welcome, revealing silver bracelets beneath her purple gown.

Gilwyn stopped on the threshold to gape at her. In all his life he had never seen a more striking figure.

Seeing her was like looking at a rainbow.

'Welcome, friends," she said. The music of the lute only complemented her honey-sweet voice. It was a strong voice, belying the grace of her features. Clearly she was a woman of mature years, but her skin, like her voice, was glassy smooth. Her feline eyes fell upon Gilwyn, bewitching him at once. "Please come in."

v ow all that already. We'll get to it. But first Jazana Carr wants to know about you."

n

Gilwyn's jaw tightened at the inquisition. Even as the servants began dishing up the food, his appetite disappeared. Clearly Jazana Carr wanted something, maybe entertainment, maybe something more.

'I don't get many visitors from Lüria, you see," said Jazana Carr. "Most of my men come from Reec or Marn. I've only had a handful of Lürian men serve me, and they've all been most adequate indeed."

Her perfect pink tongue slid across her lips. "If you are half as good as those men, I could use you, Breck."

'Ah, my lady, now you make yourself clear," said Breck. "You need another sword against your enemies."

'Hmm, something like that," said Carr. "I have many enemies. Some I haven't even made yet."

The enigmatic answer troubled Gilwyn. He said, "My lady, I don't think we can give you what you want. We're already occupied by our own important business."

'Hush, child," said Carr in a lullaby voice. She turned back to Breck. "You, sir, intrigue me. You're too old and weather-beaten to be one of General Trager's men, yet you carry yourself like a Royal Charger." Carefully she studied Breck's face for signs. A small twitch told her what she wanted to know.

"Yes," she drawled. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Finally, Breck lifted his wine glass. "My lady sees very clearly."

'You were a Charger, then? In the old days?"

'Does it matter?"

'Very much," said Jazana Carr. She seemed immensely pleased by the revelation. "If you are who you say you are, then you're an enemy of King Akeela."

'Nay, not an enemy," said Breck, lowering his glass and scowling. "I'm loyal to Lüria. Whatever happened in the old days is over, and I bear King Akeela no grudges. I left the service of my own volition. Besides…" He looked at Carr suspiciously. "Why would my past interest you?"

'Isn't it obvious?" said Jazana Carr. "I have need of strong men like yourself, men who know Lüria and have umbrage 'Uh, no ma'am," said Gilwyn. " She's from Ganjor."

'A girl!" chirped the warlady. "How wonderful! But you are from Lüria, yes, boy?"

'That's right," said Breck. He still hadn't tasted his wine.

'Well, I am Jazana Carr," pronounced the woman, "And now you must tell me what you're hiding."

Gilwyn lowered his goblet. "Hiding?"

'Your names. Rodrik told me you were a secretive pair, but I must say you're being awfully rude."

She wrinkled her nose playfully at Teku, then glanced between her visitors. "Well?"

'Forgive us, Jazana Carr," said Breck. He stood up and bowed. "My name is Breck."

'Breck?" asked the woman. She lost interest in Teku suddenly. "Just Breck? Nothing more?"

Breck grinned disarmingly. "Just Breck, for now."

'A man of secrets," sighed the warlady. "You may sit." She turned her probing eyes on Gilwyn. "And you, young man—what's your name?"

'I'm Gilwyn Toms, my lady." Gilwyn made to stand but Jazana Carr waved him down.

'Don't get up. I see from that strange boot of yours that you're a cripple." Her gaze dropped momentarily to his clubbed hand. "Your hand, too. Pity. You're a handsome boy."

Gilwyn bristled. "I assure you, my lady, I'm quite capable of getting around."

'Yes," cooed Jazana Carr. "You must be to have come all the way from Lüria." She sipped languidly at her wine, letting her gaze rest on Breck, her eyes twinkling over the rim of the goblet. Her dainty fingers lowered the glass. "So, Breck," she began, "Rodrik tells me you're a soldier."

'That was his supposition, my lady," replied Breck.

'Rodrik knows a soldier when he sees one. He can be a boor, like all men, but he's never wrong about such things."

'He recruits for you, then?" Breck asked.

Jazana Carr replied, "Tell me about yourself."

'My lady, the boy and I are here on business. We only want to ask—"

'Yes, yes, you're looking for someone," interrupted Carr. "I against King Akeela. Oh, you can deny your feelings all you like You may lie to me about them, but I know the truth. You see, Sir Breck, I know you better than you think." Without looking, she reached out and scratched Teku's head, but her eyes remained locked on Breck. "You're not the only Lürian ever to pass this way."

Breck and Gilwyn froze under her stare. Teku purred at the sensation of her long nails.

'You know me?" asked Breck. "How?"

A servant began serving Jazana Carr oysters. The warlady waved him away. "You're looking for someone, Sir Breck. You're from Lüria. You used to be a Royal Charger." Her long fingers ticked off the facts one by one. "I'm not a stupid woman. I can add."

'Then you know we're looking for Lukien?" asked Gilwyn.

Jazana Carr chuckled. "I do now."

'Is he here? Can we speak to him?"

'Easy, Gilwyn," said Breck. "Let the lady tell her story."

'Thank you, Sir Breck," said Jazana Carr. "Yes, the Bronze Knight works for me. He has for many years. In fact, he's been invaluable. A fabulous fighter, that one. From the first time I laid eyes on him, I knew he was something special." The warlady sighed. "Great Fate, he was beautiful. So blond, like the sun. He's not so lovely now, I'm afraid."

'Is he all right?" asked Breck.

'Oh, yes. Don't be concerned. I think your friend is quite invincible."

'He told you about me?"

'He did. He only mentioned you once, a long time ago. He warned me that a man named Breck might come looking for him someday. Knowing he was a Lürian, I made him confess his identity. I've kept that secret for years. Around here he's known as Ryon."

Confused, Breck glanced at the servants who had just overheard every word.

'Oh, don't worry about them," said Carr. "I assure you, if they breathe a word of what they've heard, I'll cut off their stones and make them eat them."

Gilwyn almost dropped his fork. Jazana Carr laughed delightedly.

'Can we see Lukien?" asked Breck.

'First, a question," said Carr. "What news do you bring him?"

'I'm sorry, my lady," said Breck. "I can't tell you that."

'Do you mean to take him away from me?"

Breck was silent. The warlady's expression grew stormy.

'Lukien is very important to me," she warned. "If you have plans to lure him away, I must know."

Still Breck said nothing.

'You don't trust me," said Carr. "Very well. Then I will tell you this—Lukien is not here, but he will return. He is on his way back from Disa and should return in a few days."

'And you'll let us speak to him then?" asked Gilwyn.

'I don't see why I should," said Jazana Carr petulantly. "Here I've offered you this sumptuous meal, told you the truth about your friend, yet you treat me like rubbish. You Lürians; always so damnably secretive."

'Forgive us, Jazana Carr, please," said Breck. "We mean no offense. You have indeed been gracious, and we're in your debt. But the news I bring Lukien is for him alone. We cannot tell you or anyone else."

'Is it about Lüria?" pressed Carr. "About your king, perhaps?"

Breck sighed. "My lady, you may question me all night and day, but I won't tell you what you want to know. And if you have designs on Lüria, then you best keep them to yourself."

Jazana Carr grinned. "Discovered."

Gilwyn sat up in alarm. "Designs on Lüria? You mean to attack, my lady?"

'Oooh, someday…" Jazana Carr smacked her lips as if eating a confection. "Wouldn't that be grand?

The greatest jewel on the continent!"

'But you can't," Gilwyn protested. "I mean, how can you?"

'Why else do you think she wanted to see us, Gilwyn?" said Breck. He was remarkably casual, swirling the wine he still hadn't tasted. "She doesn't just need swords against King Lorn.

'No, my lady," replied Breck. "I'm not looking for employment."

Jazana Carr took a diamond ring from her finger and tossed it into Break's plate. "There," she spat, "a first payment. A single gem worth twice whatever rat hole you call a house. The first of many payments if you join me."

Breck didn't even glance at the diamond. "I have a family back in Lüria. I'm not for sale."

'Liar. All men are for sale. Their love is like a rainstorm, here one moment, gone the next. Do not profess love for a wife over your love of money. I have seen how much love means to men, how they buy and sell it."

'Nevertheless," said Breck, picking up the diamond and tossing it back at the woman, "it is true."

This enraged Jazana Carr. She stood up and glared at Gilwyn.

'That monkey. How much?"

'What?" stammered Gilwyn.

'How much for your wretched little pet?"

'I'm sorry, my lady, but Teku's not a pet. She's a friend."

'Friend?" shrieked Carr. "Are you mad? It's not even human!"

'Still, Teku is a friend. She helps me. She fetches things for me that I can't reach with my bad hand."

'Boy, with diamonds you could buy a house full of servants to bring you things. You don't need a stinking monkey!"

Gilwyn was about to speak when a new voice rang through the room.

'You can't buy everything, my dear."

A figure crossed the threshold, a giant of a man dressed in a black leather jerkin and tall black riding boots. He had a face like granite, with a gray-speckled beard and a pair of smoldering eyes. The left sleeve of his snow-white shirt looped up to his shoulder, pinned and armless. The mere sight of him wiped the venom from Jazana Carr's face.

'Thorin," she said excitedly. "You're back."

She went to him at once, forgetting her guests and their argument, throwing her arms around the man and peppering his She needs insiders against Lüria. What did I tell you earlier, do you remember?"

Gilwyn had to think for a moment. "You said that all mercenaries are scum."

At last Breck drank from his goblet, toasting, "Exactly."

The insult riled Jazana Carr. She said, "You may think what you wish of me, Sir Breck. You may mistake my ambition for treachery. But I have made a life out of fighting. I started with nothing, one small diamond mine. From that I built an empire, one that even your King Akeela cannot match. While that addle-brained whelp's been spending his money like piss, I've been amassing my riches. And waiting."

'You're indeed impressive, Jazana Carr. And I take it you have King Lorn on the run, too."

'Do not patronize me, sir," she spat. "I have spent my life in the shadows of men like you. Because I am a woman you think me weak, not to be taken seriously. I am like a whore to you, because I crave success. Well, let me tell you something. I can buy anything I wish. See these men that serve me? Dogs, all of them. I throw them meat and they beg for more. Even your precious Lukien. They are the whores, sir, not I."

'Lukien is no whore," said Breck. His voice held a dangerous edge. "If he has become one, then surely you are to blame."

'Whores," said Carr again. "Like all the men that serve me." She gestured to the lute player. "Like that useless musician. I call a tune, he plays it. Why? For money. Men are the whores of the world, Sir Breck. Every last one of them is for sale."

Breck placed his napkin on the table and rose to his feet. "Since Lukien isn't here, I think we'd better go."

'I have not dismissed you!" thundered Carr. "You will sit until I have said my piece!"

Gilwyn didn't move. Nor did Breck, who remained standing. Jazana Carr fought to compose herself, putting her hands to her cheeks.

'You see?" she said. "You see how men madden me? Well, to business, then. Sir Breck, you wish to speak to my servant Lukien. And I wish men to serve me, men who are talented with weapons and have knowledge of Lüria. So we can barter, yes?"

bearded face with kisses. The man circled his single arm around her waist, drawing her near.

'Rodrik told me we had visitors from Lüria," he said, "i thought I should come at once."

Gilwyn stared at the man, purely fascinated. He wasn't Lu kien, surely, yet he had the presence of a hero. His piercing eyes met Gilwyn's.

'You, boy," he boomed. "What's your name?"

Gilwyn could barely find his voice. "My name is Gilwyn Toms."

'Gilwyn Toms," the man repeated. "Well, Toms, I am—"Thorin Glass," said Breck. He was still standing, staring at the stranger. "I don't bloody believe it."

'Do you know me, sir?" asked the big man.

Gilwyn looked at Breck in amazement. "Do you, Breck?"

Breck nodded. "I think I do. You're Baron Glass."

The one-armed man grinned. "Ah, now that's a title that no longer applies." He guided Jazana Carr toward the table. She clung to him adoringly. "And you?" he asked. "What's your name?"

'I'm Breck. Baron, I thought you were dead!"

'And I very nearly was, no thanks to your king." The man studied Breck carefully. "Breck you say?"

'You know me, sir. I was a Royal Charger under Captain Lu kien."

The man nodded as he recalled the name and face. "Yes," he said softly. "I remember you."

Gilwyn was stupefied. "Baron Glass? But how can that be?

Baron Glass died on the Isle of Woe."

'Correction, boy," said the one-armed man. " Nearly died."

'But how?" asked Breck. "Sir, this is a shock!"

Jazana Carr led Glass to her giant chair, bidding him to sit.

She took her own wine goblet and put it gently into his hand.

'Thorin, these two are looking for Lukien." Glass' face lost his humor. "Lukien? Why?" "We have a message for him," said Breck. "It's urgent." Then he shook his head, still reeling with astonishment. "I can't believe it. It really is you. How's that possible?"

'You have a thousand questions, I know," said Glass. "And I'll tell you my ugly tale. But first…" He put the goblet to his lips and drank its contents in a long quaff. "Fate above, I'm thirsty. More." Snapping his fingers brought a servant from the corner, who silently refilled his goblet before disappearing. Another servant brought out a chair for Jazana Carr, seating her beside Glass.

'Breck, I'm confused," said Gilwyn. He watched Glass as he spoke, studying him "I thought Baron Glass was banished to Woe."

'He was," said Breck. He, too, kept his eyes on the baron. "First Borior Prison, then the Isle."

'All true," said Glass. "I rotted in Borior for two years until my sentence was up. Then I was to swing from the gallows. Your Queen Cassandra intervened." Glass looked into his wine pensively. "A good woman. I suppose I should be grateful. She thought banishment on Woe was better than death. She couldn't possibly have known the horror on that barren rock."

'But you escaped," said Breck. "How?"

'Lukien," replied Glass. He put down his glass and took Jazana Carr's jeweled hand. The warlady smiled at him, her teeth like sunshine. "He was already in Jazana's employ by then. He heard about my banishment and saved me."

Gilwyn was astonished. "He went to Woe?"

'He did, with a handful of Jazana's men. They hired a ship and a crew that wouldn't talk, thanks to this dear woman." Glass lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Jazana Carr melted at the gesture. "It wasn't easy but they found me," he went on. "Half dead I was, a skeleton from my days in Borior and the hot sun of Woe. Fate above, that island's a giant hearth. It ripped the skin right off me."

'And then they brought you here," said Jazana Carr gently. "To me."

'I have Lukien to thank for my life," said Glass. "He rescued me because he's loyal, and because he thought I deserved a better death than the one Akeela had planned for me."

'He always thought highly of you," added Breck with a nod. "He's a remarkable man."

Jazana Carr chuckled. "I have found that all Lürian men are remarkable." Her tongue darted out and playfully licked Glass' ear. "You'd be amazed at what a one-armed man can do in bed."

Glass cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Jazana, stop now."

'Why, sweetling?" she asked, caressing his chest. "They've already guessed we're lovers." She smiled proudly at her guests. "Lukien brought a great prize back from the Isle of Woe."

Glass hurried to change the subject. "And now you're looking for him? Why?"

'We have news for him, Baron Glass," said Gilwyn.

'News we can't share with you," Breck hurried to add.

Jazana Carr's expression turned gloomy again. "You hear? They flaunt their secrets in my face."

'Easy, love," bade Glass. He looked at Breck carefully. "You and the boy have come a long way.

Obviously your news is important. But we have trusted you with our identities. Surely you can trust us with your news."

Breck shook his head. "Sorry, Baron, no. What we have to say is for Lukien only. Jazana Carr has already told us he's on his way back here. When he arrives, we'll deliver our message and be on our way."

'And if my hospitality dries up before then?" asked Carr acidly. "What will you do? Rot in the wasteland outside?"

'Jazana, please," said Glass calmly. "No need to threaten. We'll let them stay until Lukien returns."

'Thorin…"

'I owe Lukien a debt, let's not forget. If these two have news for him, then we must treat them as his friends."

Jazana Carr began to smoulder beneath her many gems. Through gritted teeth she said, "As you wish."

Gilwyn had never seen anything like it. Glass' ability to tame her was amazing. "Thank you, my lady,"

he said, trying to appease her. "We appreciate your hospitality."

'Jazana, why don't you leave us now?" said Glass. "I'd like to catch up with Breck alone, if you don't mind."

Again the anger flashed through Carr's eyes, but only for a moment. She rose from her chair, leaned down and kissed Glass on the forehead. "As you wish."

Gilwyn watched the elegant woman drift out of the chamber without another word, astonished by Glass' power over her. Glass saw the amazement in his face.

'She loves me," he explained. The words came out in a burdensome sigh. "That's why she listens to me."

'I bet you're the only one that can talk to her like that," said Breck.

Glass nodded. "Not even Lukien, though she loves him too, in a way."

'Really?" asked Breck in surprise. "She doesn't seem to care much for men."

'Oh, she's got an appetite for them."

'That's not what I mean," countered Breck.

Glass nodded. "I know what you mean. And you're right. But don't judge her too harshly. Jazana has spent her life in Norvor, remember, and Norvor is not a place that's kind to women. Men have beaten and betrayed her. She doesn't trust them."

'Yet you work for her?" asked Breck.

'In a manner of speaking. She has many men working for her, but none with my experience in military matters. I'm valuable to her, as is Lukien." Before he continued he ordered the servants out of the room, along with the lute player. As the musician retreated, Glass barked, "And close the doors."

Alone at last, Gilwyn relaxed a little. Breck continued shaking his head, still amazed by the baron's presence. Glass poured himself another goblet of wine.

'You're troubled," he said. "I can see it in your eyes."

'You work for her, and yet she plans to attack Lüria someday," said Breck. "Yes, I'm sorry, Baron.

That does trouble me."

'But should it really surprise you? After what Akeela did to me? After what he did to Lukien?"

Breck was unmoved. "How long has she been planning this?"

'Forever," said Glass sourly. "Maybe that's why she let Lukien save me, I don't know. But it's why she values me so highly, and why she wants you to join her, Breck. Even the boy, if she can find a use for him."

iden- But be warned, both of you—Jazana Carr will not be keen to let You leave' especially now that you know her designs. I can nrotect you from her because she listens to me, but she can be j, ite u

tempting. She'll let you speak to Lukien, but if you try to take him away, there'll be trouble." The baron paused. "Will you take him away?"

'That will be up to him," said Breck.

The answer seemed to satisfy Glass. His one arm reached cross the table and dragged a platter of a

sliced meat toward him. "Then let's eat," he said, "and have no more talk of this until Lukien arrives."

For the next hour Breck and Glass ate and exchanged histories, saying almost nothing about Lukien or the mission that had brought them here. Gilwyn listened to the banter, unable to eat, pensively feeding Teku bits of fruit. He admired Breck's casual calm, but couldn't share it. He was frightened of Jazana Carr and he missed Figgis terribly. More than anything, he wanted to go home.

'But Lüria's too powerful," said Gilwyn. "There's no way she could defeat them, not even with all her riches."

'Don't underestimate her, boy. Jazana is richer than you think, and she's been pushing King Lorn hard these last two years. One day she'll defeat him. And when she does, she'll finally fulfill her use to me."

The statement disgusted Gilwyn. "So you're just using her, then?"

'Like she's using me," sneered Glass. Then he softened, saying, "All right, she loves me. But she knows I'm valuable to her. Would she love me so much otherwise, I wonder?"

'I can't believe it," said Breck sadly. "You've wasted all these years, working with this terrible woman just so you can have your revenge on Akeela? What about your family, Baron?"

'My family is forfeit," said Glass. "They were lost to me the moment Akeela sent me to Borior. How could I ever return to them? Akeela would have them killed. He promised me that, your gracious king.

Jazana Carr gives me hope. She's ambitious, but she's also patient. She knows she can't defeat Trager's army, not yet. But once she defeats Lorn—and she will—she'll have a real army to command, and all the riches of Norvor. And then we'll have a chance."

'That's treachery," said Breck.

'It is not!" Glass thundered. "After what Akeela did to me, it is justice!"

'And Lukien?" asked Breck. "He goes along with this?"

'Why shouldn't he? He has a score to settle with Akeela, just as I do."

Gilwyn gave Breck a sideways glance.

'Baron," said Breck carefully, "how much about Lukien do you really know?"

'I know as much as you do, I'm sure," said Glass. "Lukien's love for Cassandra is no secret to me, nor to Jazana Carr."

'And that's all you know?" Breck asked.

Glass looked puzzled. "What else is there?"

Breck shrugged off the question. "Not much. As I said, we've things to discuss with Lukien. Alone."

'And you'll get your chance," said Glass. "I owe that to Lu like a weed. The image of Marke slumping dead from his saddle haunted Lukien the whole ride home.

Home.

Home to Hanging Man, a fortress. Home to Baron Glass and jazana Carr and all the comforts diamonds could buy, but not a true home at all. Home was Lüria; Lukien had never forgotten that.

Sixteen years had not dulled his hunger for the streets of Koth or the accent of his countrymen. As he rode along a cool, green road, surrounded by summer flowers and chirping birds, Lukien thought of home.

The next day he reached the Bleak Territories, where the roads were rugged and splayed out along rocky hills and gorges. The River Kryss pointed the way north. Lukien followed the waterway, stopping periodically to rest and water his horse. In the whispering desolation of northern Norvor he felt alone in the world, and he relished the experience. Suddenly he was no longer anxious to reach Hanging Man.

Suddenly all he wanted to do was to keep riding, perhaps to a place where no one knew his name.

But within a few more hours, Lukien put this daydream to rest. As he rounded a hill along the riverbank, the great turret of Hanging Man appeared on the horizon. The imposing fortress cut a jagged scar against the blue sky. Lukien was glad he'd sent Travis and the others ahead without him, glad that he wouldn't have to explain the battle at Disa to Jazana Carr. She would be happy with the outcome, Lukien was sure, but reciting the bloody details didn't interest him. He wanted a hot bath, a good meal, and his bed, and that was all.

Jazana Carr, however, had other plans. Still more than a mile from the fortress, Lukien caught a glimpse of two riders coming toward him. It did not take long to recognize the warlady or her bodyguard with the blue beret. Jazana Carr's horse was resplendent in flowing golden headgear and flanking skirts.

Unlike a real queen, she did not ride sidesaddle but instead galloped out to greet him as though she were a man, her fearlessness buoyed by the skilled swordsman at her side. Rodrik Varl stayed a respectful distance behind Jazana Carr. The sight of the odd pair J-,'ukien had taken his time returning to Hanging Man. Along with Travis and the others, he had ridden out of Disa the day after the battle—once they had buried their dead and satisfied themselves that the remains of Colonel Ness' army had scattered. The forests around Disa were quiet for the first time in weeks. So Lukien and his fellows had headed north from Disa at dawn, making their way deliberately toward Hanging Man but taking the time to enjoy the peace of the road. Halfway to their destination, Lukien had sent the others on ahead of him. They had stopped for the night in a place called Calane, a small farming village with windmills and sheep and acres of rich, pungent soil. The next morning when they were to depart, Lukien simply couldn't bear another day on the road. He wanted desperately to remain in the village just a little while longer, to partake of its simple hospitality and be far away from soldiers and their talk of battle. Travis and the others had ridden off without him, assured that he would follow in a day or so. After enjoying Calane for two more days, Lukien kept his promise. He paid the family who had put him up for his brief holiday, then headed north again toward Hanging Man.

Now alone on the road, Lukien was spared the distractions of his fellow mercenaries. He had time to think. Mostly he thought of Marke, and how quickly the young man had died. Lukien had been unable to reach him in time; Ness had chopped him down made Lukien rein back his horse. Over the roar of the river he heard Jazana Carr's call.

'Ryon! Welcome home!"

She could be such a little girl sometimes, Lukien couldn't help but grin. At times like this, when Jazana Carr forget her station and did the most absurd things, it was easy to forget she was a dictator. She waved at him across the brown earth, her long hair streaking out behind her, catching the sunlight in its gray highlights. Behind her, the gates of Hanging Man were open. Men moved casually through its courtyard. These were friends of Lu-kien's, mostly, and he was glad for the sight of them.

'Ho, Jazana!" Lukien called, raising a hand. He could see Jazana smile at him through the dusty haze, her smile perfect. It was easy to see why Thorin bedded her. The warlady galloped quickly forward, then brought her horse to a stop a few paces away. Rodrik Varl parroted her motion but did not pull alongside her.

'Ryon!" she cried. "We saw you from the keep. We thought we'd come and greet you."

Lukien's smile widened. "Oh? Did you miss me that much, Jazana?"

Jazana Carr trotted her horse closer. "Indeed I did," she said, then leaned over and gave his cheek a hard kiss. "It is never the same in the keep without you, Ryon. You know that."

Lukien took her multijeweled hand, bending low to kiss it. From the corner of his one eye he saw Rodrik glance away. "Is that all, my lady?" he asked coyly. "You've come all this way to greet me, nothing more?"

'Come now, Ryon, you're a fox," said Jazana. "Why shouldn't I miss you so much?"

'Because you always have a gaggle of men around you, and they keep you company well enough,"

joked Lukien. "Now tell me why you've ridden out, before I start worrying."

'It's a fine day for riding," said Jazana Carr evasively. She spun her horse back toward Hanging Man.

"Isn't it, Rodrik?"

'Oh, that it is, my lady," replied Rodrik. He tilted his head toward Lukien. "Ryon."

Lukien returned the small gesture. "Rodrik."

The two rarely exchanged more words than these. There was a jealousy between Lukien and Rodrik that was good-natured but very real, one that Jazana Carr herself seemed to encourage and joy. In his en

younger days, before he'd lost his eye, Lukien would have been Rodrik's better. But time had changed his opinion of himself. He had seen Rodrik in action and knew that Jazana had chosen a capable bodyguard.

'Jazana, if you have bad news for me I'd prefer to hear it quickly," said Lukien. "Is Thorin all right?"

'Thorin is always all right," said Jazana. "He's waiting for you back at the keep."

'Hmm, but he's not as anxious to see me as you seem to be. Why?"

Jazana turned to Rodrik. "Rodrik, be a dear and ride back without us, will you? I'd like to speak to Ryon alone."

Rodrik Varl lost his customary humor. "Your pardon, my lady, but I'm supposed to protect you, remember? I'll stay with you, if you don't mind."

'But I do mind," said Jazana icily. "Besides…" She gave Lukien an adoring wink. "Who better to guard my person than Ryon? My safety is quite assured."

'As you wish," said Varl, turning and heading back toward Hanging Man. "I'll tell Thorin you'll be home straightaway, then?"

'Thorin is not my keeper!" shouted Jazana Carr after him.

Rodrik Varl chuckled as he rode away. "If you say so, my lady."

Jazana stared at him a moment, her eyes blazing. She had terrible tempers, but somehow Lukien had grown accustomed to them. When Rodrik Varl was safely out of range, he reached over and took the warlady's hand again. It was a good hand for a woman, soft yet strong as iron.

'He baits you, Jazana," he counseled. "Don't let him bother you."

'He doesn't bother me," said Jazana Carr. She turned her face toward him, once again full of sunshine.

"Rodrik likes to play. I indulge him, that's all. And he's good enough with his saber to merit his wandering tongue."

It was the first time in years she'd said his rightful name. Lukien felt a chill.

'Who?" he asked weakly. "Who's come for me?"

'That friend you told me about, Breck. He's got a boy with him. You couldn't know him, though; he's too young."

'Great Fate," whispered Lukien. "Cassandra…"

'Easy," cautioned Jazana Carr. "They wouldn't tell me why they've come. They've already met with Thorin and know who he is. They wouldn't tell him anything, either."

'They're waiting for me at the keep?" asked Lukien anxiously.

Jazana nodded. "We saw you coming. We've all been expecting you."

Lukien didn't waste a moment. He punched his boots into the flanks of his stallion, sending the beast sprinting forward.

'Ryon, wait!" called Jazana.

Driven by panic, Lukien hardly heard her.

'Ah, now you bait me, my lady, but I'm in no mood for games. You've heard the news from Disa?"

'I have. Travis and the others were back two days ago. ' t't shouldn't tell you how cross I was not to see you with them, Ryon."

'But you're pleased, I can tell," said Lukien. He began trotting toward Hanging Man. "It was not an easy victory, Jazana. Did Travis tell you everything?"

'He told me enough. Ride slowly, Ryon, I want to talk to you."

Lukien slowed his gelding. Alongside him, Jazana Can's golden horse fell into an easy gait. "We're alone, Jazana," he said. "Rodrik can't hear us. Tell me what's troubling you."

The warlady shrugged. "It may be nothing, I don't know yet. Tell me, Ryon, are you glad to be back?"

'Of course," said Lukien. "I'm always glad to come home."

'Are you? When the others returned without you I was worried. Travis said you wanted to be alone."

'Ah, well…" Lukien let his gaze wander toward the hills. "Disa was bloody. I was bothered about Marke. I needed some time to think about things."

'But you are happy here, aren't you?"

'Yes. I would say that I am content."

'And a man could do worse than be content," said Jazana. She smiled up at the blue sky. "What a day, eh? A man could slay a dragon!"

'Yes, lovely," said Lukien.

'It's a fine home, Hanging Man. I've been happy here myself. Thorin, too." The warlady regarded Lukien carefully. "I've tried to make things good for you here, Ryon. You've served me well and I've paid you handsomely for it. You know that don't you?"

'Enough, now, Jazana," said Lukien. "Tell me why you're here."

It took a moment for Jazana to reply. Her lips twisted sourly as she confessed, "There are people waiting for you in the keep. A man and a boy. From Koth."

Lukien stopped his horse midstride. "What?"

'It's true," said Jazana sullenly. "Lukien."

VJilwyn sat in a room of open windows, nervously awaiting Lukien's arrival. Sentries had seen the knight approaching from the watchtower, and Baron Glass had told him and Breck the news. Now the three of them waited in an echoing council chamber, idly milling around a giant circular table. Teku sat quietly in Gilwyn's lap, munching on a handful of grapes. Breck's face was tight with anticipation. He sat beside Gilwyn, drumming his fingers on the oak table. Baron Glass stood at one of the many windows, his one hand tightened into a fist behind his back.

As he waited, Gilwyn went over his story in his mind. He was nervous and that irked him, and he knew that the Bronze Knight would want quick answers to his many questions. Gilwyn only hoped that Lukien would believe him. He still had Cassandra's letter, which he supposed was proof enough.

Carefully, he laid the letter on the table in front of him.

A few moments later footfalls rang through the hall, ap-Proaching the chamber. Breck stood at once.

Baron Glass turned from the window and spied the open doors. His head full of worries, Gilwyn sprung to his feet and sent Teku sprawling to the floor, spilling grapes.

'Oh, great," he groaned. Teku shot him a nasty look then began climbing up his leg. Just as she reached his shoulder, a figure appeared on the threshold.

Lukien, the Bronze Knight of Lüria, was a shocking sight. With his eyepatch and rough skin and thin frame, he looked nothing like the hero Gilwyn had imagined. There were scars on his face and streaks in his hair and gray speckles in his eyebrows.

'I can't believe it," he said. "Breck, it's really you."

'Aye, it's me, Lukien," said Breck. He went to his comrade and put his hands on his shoulders.

"Thank the Fate we've found you."

They embraced. Lukien collapsed into Breck's arms, all the strength going out of him. Breck held him, slapping his back and laughing.

'Good to see you, my friend," he said. "You've been missed!"

'Yes," sighed Lukien. "You too." Then suddenly he collected himself. "Cassandra?"

'She's all right," said Breck quickly. "But we have news of her, Lukien."

'We?" Lukien glanced back at Gilwyn. "Who are you?"

Breck waved Gilwyn closer. "This is your messenger, Lukien. His name is Gilwyn Toms."

Gilwyn smiled awkwardly, unsure what to say. "Uhm, hello, Sir Lukien."

Lukien was plainly confused. He looked at Baron Glass for an explanation, but the one-armed man merely shrugged.

'I don't know what their business is with you," said Glass. "They wouldn't tell me and I stopped asking." He moved toward the doors. "I'll leave you to it."

Glass closed the doors behind him. With him gone, Lukien looked even less comfortable. He stood in the middle of the room, bewildered and exhausted.

'Lukien, you should sit," suggested Breck.

He pulled out a chair and guided Lukien toward it. The Bronze Knight sat down, took an unsteady breath, then asked pointedly, "Why are you here?"

'Cassandra sent us," Breck replied. He pulled out two more chairs for himself and Gilwyn. Before going to sit, Gilwyn retrieved the letter from the tabletop. He handed it to Lukien. "Sir, this is for you," he said. "It's from Queen Cassandra." Surprised, Lukien took the letter. "She wrote this?" "She gave it to me to bring to you," Gilwyn explained, "the second time I saw her."

'What?" Lukien sprang from his chair. "You looked at her?" "Easy, Lukien," said Breck. "Let him explain." "Did you see her?" Lukien demanded. "Did you look at her?" "Yes, I did," answered Gilwyn.

"But sir, I know about the curse. It's all a hoax."

'Hoax?" Lukien hovered, staring at Gilwyn, then dropped back into the chair. "Hoax?" He studied the letter in his hand. "How…?"

'It's true," said Breck. "Gilwyn Toms lives in the library. Remember Figgis? He's the boy's mentor."

'I remember Figgis all too well," said Lukien. "You work with him, boy?"

'Yes, sir," said Gilwyn.

Lukien pointed with his chin toward Teku. "The monkey, too?"

'In a way." Gilwyn showed Lukien his clubbed hand. "Teku helps me get things. We've both been with Figgis for years now."

'Well, Gilwyn Toms, you've managed to surprise me almost to death. This letter bears the royal seal of Lüria, so it could have only come from Cassandra or Akeela, and I doubt it's from Akeela. But your story makes no sense. It's impossible for you to have seen Cassandra; her curse is no hoax, I assure you."

'But it is, Sir Lukien, I swear," said Gilwyn. "Figgis had it all wrong. I've seen Queen Cassandra with my own eyes!"

Lukien frowned in frustration. "That just can't be. The amulet she wears…"

'The Eye of God; yes, I know about it," said Gilwyn. "She still wears it. She was wearing it when I met her. But there's no curse on it."

'Lukien, you should believe the boy," urged Breck. "He's telling you the truth. He happened upon Cassandra one night by accident. He looked right at her, talked to her."

'More than once," Gilwyn added. "And she's as young and beautiful as when she first put on the amulet. It's amazing, Sir Lukien."

Lukien grimaced at Breck. "You know the whole story, then?"

'At first I didn't believe it," admitted Breck. "But Gilwyn convinced me otherwise."

'And we both know about your trip to Jador with Figgis, too," said Gilwyn. At last he sat down, watching Lukien carefully. "The amulet you brought back for the queen—the Eye of God—it's done its job. It's kept her young and healthy."

'I'm glad for that," said Lukien. The relief on his face was obvious. "But no curse? I can't believe it."

Breck reached out and tapped the letter in Lukien's hand. "Read her note, Lukien. I'm sure it's all in there."

Lukien looked at Gilwyn. "You came all this way because Cassandra needs me," he surmised. "Tell me why."

'Lukien, read the note," Breck repeated.

'I'll read the damn note once you've told me why you're here!" flared Lukien. "Now one of you, please, tell me what Cassandra wants!"

His outburst startled Gilwyn, but Lukien's countenance didn't soften.

'All right," said Breck easily. "I'll let the boy tell you. It's his mission, anyway. Gilwyn?"

Gilwyn didn't know where to begin. "Well, it's like Breck told you," he said. "I met Cassandra one night by accident. That was back when she still thought she was cursed."

'When was this exactly?" asked Lukien.

'About a month ago, I guess."

'Go on."

'Well, it was night when I saw her. She didn't see me that first time, but I arranged to see her again."

'Really? Why'd you do that?"

Gilwyn shifted, embarrassed. "Because I liked her, my lord. I thought she was pretty."

Finally, Lukien smiled. "She still has that effect on men, eh?"

'Yes," Gilwyn replied. "But I didn't know she was the queen, you see. She looked so young, I thought she was my age."

'Gilwyn, get to the important part," said Breck gently.

Lukien put up a hand. "No, let him tell his story." He grinned. "I'm enjoying this."

So Gilwyn continued, carefully recounting all that had happened. To his surprise, Lukien listened quietly as he spoke of his meeting in the garden with Cassandra, and how she had hit her head against the tree limb trying to escape. And when the tale turned to Akeela's madness, Lukien grew pensive. He did not interrupt Gilwyn, though. He didn't utter the smallest sound, not even when Gilwyn told him about the second Eye of God.

'Now Akeela's after the other amulet," said Gilwyn. "Figgis told him it's in Grimhold. He's raising an army with General Trager to find it. He wants to live with Cassandra forever, Sir Lukien, and he thinks the amulet will let him."

'And Cassandra hasn't told him about the curse?" asked Lukien. "Akeela still thinks it's real?"

'Yes," said Gilwyn. "She's afraid to tell him. If she does, then he'll…" Gilwyn stopped himself. "Well, you know."

'Come to her bedroom," said Lukien. "But the other Eye isn't in Grimhold? You said you saw it in Koth?"

'That's right," said Gilwyn. "At least I think I saw it. I told Figgis what I'd seen, and he's convinced the Witch of Grimhold has it. He believes she really exists."

'So why is she in Koth, then?" asked Lukien. Gilwyn shrugged. "We don't know. But Figgis didn't tell Akeela about her. He was afraid of what the king would do if he found out the Witch was in Koth."

'He'd tear the city apart looking for her, Lukien," said Breck. "I'm sorry to say, he's not the same man he used to be. Ever since you left—"

'I was banished, Breck," spat Lukien. "I didn't leave." Breck merely nodded. A sudden silence overspread the chamber. Gilwyn stroked Teku's neck, wondering what he could say to put the miserable knight at ease. He had hoped that Lukien would be pleased at the news of Cassandra's well-being, but bringing up her name had only stirred a cauldron of bad memories.

'My poor friend," whispered Lukien. "I'm sorry that Akeela's gone so mad. I still blame myself for that sometimes. I betrayed him. I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I know what I did was wrong. I knew it even back then, but it didn't stop me." He looked at Breck for reassurance. "I loved Cassandra. I still do."

'Is that why you're partnered with Jazana Carr?" asked Breck.

Lukien frowned. "What do you know about that?"

'We know enough," said Breck. "You're in league with her, you and Glass both. She's planning to invade Lüria someday, and you intend to be right there by her side."

'A dream," scoffed Lukien. "Jazana Carr's been talking about it for years, and she's never done a thing about it."

'Baron Glass says otherwise," said Breck. "He says that Carr is close to defeating King Lorn, and that when she does she'll turn her appetites toward Lüria." He was ruthless in his accusations, barely giving Lukien room to escape. "I'd rather you didn't deny it, Lukien. I'd rather you just admit your treachery."

'Treachery?" Lukien laughed. "You can call it that if you like, old friend, but you weren't the one sent away from his homeland. Akeela let you retire, remember? He gave you a farm and promised to forget your association with me. He let you live." With a grunt of disdain he rose and went to one of the many windows. "Was I granted any of his famous mercy? No. Instead he banished me, practically a death sentence. If it wasn't for Jazana Carr, he'd have gotten his wish."

'You betrayed him, Lukien," Breck reminded. "You said so yourself."

'Both of you, stop, please," said Gilwyn. He lifted himself awkwardly from his chair and stood between them like an official at a tourney. "You can argue all day, but none of this matters anymore.

Forget the past. We have to figure out what we're going to do."

'You still haven't told me what Cassandra wants from me, boy," said Lukien. Then he added sourly,

"Though I suppose I can guess."

'Cassandra wants you to come back for her," said Gilwyn. "She wants you to take her away from Lionkeep and keep her safe from King Akeela. Then you can ride to Jador and warn them about the invasion." Gilwyn grinned. "Simple."

'Oh, yes," said Lukien bitterly. "All in a day's work for the great Bronze Knight."

Breck got out of his chair. "Lukien, we need you. Cassandra needs you. Great Fate, you said you love her! Won't you help us?"

Outside, the sun was hot on the rocks of Norvor. It dappled the rugged landscape, holding Lukien's attention. When at last he answered, his voice was soft.

'This is the only home I've known for sixteen years now. Jazana Carr may not be perfect, but she always accepted me. Now you're asking me to betray her. Believe it or not, it's not that easy."

Gilwyn stepped closer. "If you don't help us, Cassandra may die. I can't take her out of Lionkeep by myself, and neither can Breck. She needs you to protect her, Sir Lukien. And the Jadori need you, too."

'The Jadori! Now there's a people I'd like to forget." "I know what happened with them," said Gilwyn. "I know how you killed their queen to get the amulet."

Lukien seemed shocked by this. "Figgis told you about that, too?"

'Yes," said Gilwyn. "To be honest, he wanted me to remind you about it. He hoped it might convince you to help them. Something about owing them a debt."

'That old man is a devious bastard," said Lukien with a grin. "But he's right. I do owe the Jadori a debt. And it's plagued me for years."

'Well, then maybe you'll help us," said Gilwyn. "Or maybe the letter will convince you."

'Yes, Lukien, read the blasted letter," said Breck. "Stop dallying over it, for Fate's sake. We haven't the time for—"

'No," said Gilwyn, gently interrupting. "Please, Breck. I think we've given Lukien enough to think about. Sir Lukien, Cassandra told me that you're a man of principles. And me—I'm just a kid.

he had composed himself by the time Thorin Glass opened the door. The old Lürian poked his head inside the room. Spotting Lukien seated by a window, he announced himself very softly. "Ryon, it's me.

May I come in?" Lukien nodded. "Close the door behind you." Thorin did as he asked, shutting the big door quietly before drifting over to the window. He saw the note in Lukien's hand and immediately guessed at its contents. "From Cassandra?"

Again a nod. "She wants me to come back for her, Thorin. All this time, the curse has been a hoax."

'So they did know about it, then," said Thorin. "I thought they might, but they wouldn't tell me. Nor did I tell them what I know."

Lukien handed the note to his old ally. A long time ago, he had told Thorin Glass everything about Cassandra, including the remarkable tale of . It took a while for the baron to read the note, so surprised was he by its contents. When he was done he simply lowered the note and gazed at Lukien. "What will you do?"

'Go to her," said Lukien. The answer came without hesitation. "She needs me and so do the Jadori."

'You're certain? The letter speaks of Grimhold, Ryon. This may all be some wildness of Akeela's mind, some symptom of his madness."

'No, I don't think so. Akeela may be mad but Figgis surely isn't. You don't know him, Thorin. He was a brilliant man and I trusted him. I trust Breck, as well. If they believe this tale, then there's truth to it."

Lukien folded the letter and put it into his shirt. "I'm going."

'Then I'm going with you," said Thorin. Surprised, Lukien looked up at the older man. "You can't."

Thorin sneered, "I don't take orders from you, remember?" "Thorin, there's no reason for you to take this risk. You don't owe the Jadori anything."

'No," agreed Thorin Glass, "but I owe you my life. That's a debt I've never been able to repay until now. So don't argue with I can't force you to help us. I've delivered my message. I've done my part. The rest is up to you."

Satisfied, Gilwyn turned and limped from the room. He did not look back, not even to see Breck's stunned expression. As he left, a little smile crept over his face. He was proud of the way he'd handled Lukien, sure he'd laid on the guilt in just the right amount.

Working with Figgis had taught him a lot.

_L,'ukien remained in the council chamber for another hour. Breck had not stayed with him; the old friends had nothing more to say to each other. When he was sure that he was alone and would not be interrupted, Lukien sat down in one of the dozen chairs and opened Cassandra's note. Seeing the gentle penmanship erased all his doubts. Cassandra's lilting style was as memorable to him as her voice or flawless face. And when he read her words, Lukien wept.

He had not wept for years, not when he lost his eye or saw comrades die in battle. Even when he'd been banished he had not wept, for to weep like a woman was a sure weakness and the toothy jackals of Norvor would have devoured him. But he wept now because he could not help himself. His past deluged him.

Cassandra had been succinct in her note. She had quickly confirmed everything Gilwyn Toms had told him, how she was still young and how the amulet's curse had been a horrible jest and how Akeela still longed to be with her. He was mad, Cassandra said, and his madness might mean the doom of the Jadori. Unless, of course, he helped her.

Strong as always, Cassandra had not stooped to begging in her letter. She had asked Lukien to come to her. But only if his love for her was still alive. If not, she claimed, she would be unable to face him.

Come and I will know you love me, read the note.

Lukien read those same words over and over, amazed that she had harbored love for him these many years. He hadn't thought himself worthy of such loyalty.

By the end of an hour he had stopped weeping. Thankfully,

me, Ryon. You need my help and I'm going. And if you say i'rn too old I will poke out your other eye!"

Lukien laughed. "A one-armed baron and a half-blind knight, led by a crippled boy. Great Fate, help us!" He rose and faced Glass, grateful to have his aid. "You're right, I will need your help. But remember, Thorin, we're outlaws in Lüria. If Akeela or Trager or anyone else discovers us, we're dead." "I've been dead before," said Glass with a shrug. "And what of Jazana Carr? Doesn't she frighten you?" Glass grimaced. "I admit, that will be more difficult." "She loves you, Thorin." Lukien grinned at his friend.

"Don't ask me why, but she does. If you leave her…"

'I'll handle Jazana," said Glass. "When do we leave?" "Well, there's no time to waste. We'll have to leave tomorrow or the next day. But Jazana—

'I told you, I'll handle her," Glass repeated. He was all sobriety suddenly, the same grim man who'd once led the House of Dukes. "You tell Breck and the boy about your decision. I'll tell Jazana."

'When?" asked Lukien.

Baron Glass headed for the door. "Right now, Ryon." "Thorin, wait," Lukien called after him. When Glass paused to face him, he said, "Don't call me Ryon anymore. From now on, my name is Lukien."

Jazana Carr hadn't always been wealthy. She was the only child in a family that wanted sons, a family that struggled until her father had staked his claim to a small diamond mine thirty years ago. Until then, the Carr family had enjoyed very little. Northern Norvor was a rugged place, and the Bleak Territories were infamous for fickle weather and failed farms. Gorin Carr, Jazana's father, had lost his little farm to the whims of a Norvan drought. Finally driven to madness by deprivation, he had murdered the rightful owner of his little diamond mine and used the proceeds to buy protection. It was the first time Jazana had heard the word "mercenary," and she had learned it well. Finally, there had been food on the table and the chance at a future. But there were still no sons.

When Jazana Carr was fourteen, her mother died. Her father, an ugly man by any standard, did not turn to other women to satisfy his lusts. He had a budding daughter at home and that was enough for him.

Jazana Carr didn't know the word rape then, but she learned its meaning nonetheless. She endured her father's bed for three gruesome years, never telling anyone and barely acknowledging the gnawing shame within her. But by seventeen she was a grown woman and had gathered the courage to refuse her father's demands. He had never touched her again, never spoke of it nor apologized nor made good for his acts in any way. She was a daughter, he reminded her, a powerless Jazana paused. Her shoulders slumped and the brush dropped to the ground. "Damn him."

'It's for Cassandra," Glass explained. He had never told Jazana everything about the queen, and was careful now. "She sent a letter for Lukien. She wants him to come back." "After all these years?"

'You knew it could happen someday, Jazana." Glass bent down and picked up the brush. Handing it to her, he said, "We've talked about this. You said Lukien could go any time he wished." "Thanks for reminding me," hissed Jazana, snatching the brush from his hand. She went back to grooming. "After all I've done for him, this is how he repays me. Did you at least try to talk him out of it?"

Glass steeled himself. "I'm going with him, Jazana." This time, Jazana Carr was still as stone. She didn't drop the brush. She didn't move a hair.

'I have to," said Glass quickly. "I owe—She turned like an adder and tossed the brush at him. "You're going with him?"

Glass held his ground. "I am." "You're not."

'I am." Glass didn't blink. "You can't talk me out of it, Jazana. I've made up my mind. Lukien needs me. I owe him my life."

'You owe him?" asked Jazana, flabbergasted. "What about me, Thorin? What about us?"

'There is still us, Jazana." Glass reached out and touched her cheek. "When I'm done with this—"

Jazana swatted his hand away. "When you're done with this you'll be dead! You're an old man, Thorin. And if Akeela finds you he'll skin you alive."

'That's a chance I have to take," said Glass. He tried to smile at her, to make her understand. "I can't let Lukien go alone, not after he risked his life saving me from Woe. I'm a man, Jazana. You can't expect me to ignore my responsibilities."

'Oh, yes, a man," sneered Jazana. "What about your responsibilities to me? What about all we've worked for? I thought you wanted revenge on Akeela. Who else can give you that, eh? Only me!"

woman. Without a man, she was useless and unable to make her way in a world ruled by his kind.

By the age of twenty-one, Jazana Carr was finally free of him. Gorin Carr was dead from a gangrenous wound he'd gotten while hunting, and Jazana was his only heir. The diamond mine was hers, and Jazana Carr squeezed every last gemstone from it. She used her workers like slaves and built a tidy fortune from their efforts, hoarding the small diamonds they chiseled from the earth until she had enough to expand her empire. She brought another mine and then another, and in time she grew wealthy. And in those years she had a string of lovers, men she knew were attracted to her wealth and comely body, but who never lasted long. They were Norvan men, too proud to bow to a woman. They had tried to wrest control of the gem mines from Jazana, and when she refused they had left her. One by one, they disappeared.

Thorin Glass knew the sad history of Jazana Carr like an old lullaby. She had told him her tale shortly after they'd met and had been repeating it ever since. It was utmost on his mind when he went to speak with her. He knew she'd be hurt by his leaving; he hoped she wouldn't cry. He loved Jazana but she could be so emotional at times…

He found her where he expected, in the stables with her horse, Wolfsbane, a beautiful stallion that was Jazana's pride and joy. Like a lot of males, Wolfsbane was spirited but Jazana's crop kept him in line. Except for Jazana the stable was empty. Thankfully, Rodrik was nowhere to be found. As Glass entered the stable he found Jazana in Wolfsbane's stall, absently brushing his splendid chestnut coat. She had her back turned to him and seemed to be brooding. Her hand moved over the horse in long, deliberate strokes. A strong scent of hay permeated the air but Glass could still smell Jazana's perfume.

She looked beautiful, even amidst the hay and musty wood.

'I've been waiting for you," she said suddenly, not turning to face him. "When you sneak up on me I know you have bad news. He's leaving, then?"

Glass walked up to her. "Yes."

'It doesn't matter. We can still do those things, after I help Lukien."

'Doesn't matter?" Jazana turned away and drifted toward the stable gate. "Have you any idea how many times I've heard those words from men? Nothing matters to any of you. Not even love."

Glass went after her. "I do love you, Jazana."

'No. You love my money and my body and what I can do for you. If you loved me you'd stay. If you loved me you wouldn't make me beg like this!" Frustrated tears began running down Jazana's cheeks. "I forbid you to go," she spat. "You hear? I forbid it!"

Very carefully, Glass looked at her and said, " Jazana, I'm not your servant. I am Baron Glass of Koth. No one rules me."

'I do!"

'You don't," said Glass, growing angry.

'Dog!"

Glass snapped. His hand shot out and slapped her face. Jazana stumbled back, her face contorting, tears flowing in hot streaks. She looked about to spring on him, but checked herself. Instead she straightened like a monarch.

'Go," she said, her voice breaking. "Be gone by the morning."

'Jazana, I—"

" Go!" she cried. "But know this, Thorin—you're not welcome here ever again. When you're done with your little quest, there'll be no home for you in Hanging Man. And not in Lüria, either. I'm going to take Lüria someday, and when I do I'm going to find that family of yours. And I'm going to kill them."

Glass couldn't believe her threat. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that."

'Go ahead, Thorin, leave," challenged Jazana. She wiped her tears with her sleeve. "You don't believe I can conquer Lüria? You think your family is safe from me?"

'Stop, Jazana…"

'In a year I'll have King Lorn on his knees. And then it's Akeela's turn." Jazana's face turned the color of bruised fruit. "I'll do it just to spite you, Thorin. I'll do it just to prove what I can do!"

There was no arguing—Glass knew she was beyond reason.

now her threats had slammed the door on him. There was o way he could relent.

n

'I leave in the morning with Lukien," he said. "Don't try to stop us. If you do, there'll be trouble."

Jazana laughed through her tears. "Don't flatter yourself, old man. I can find another lover. One with both arms!"

'And don't you dare harm my wife or children," Glass warned. He stepped directly into her face, summoning all his thunder. "If anything happens to them, anything at all, I'm going to blame you, Jazana Carr. And nothing in the world will save you from me."

They stayed that way for a long moment, staring at each other, on the verge of blows. Glass could feel the coiled rage in Jazana, how she longed to rake her polished nails across his face. But she did nothing.

She said not a word.

And Baron Thorin Glass knew there was nothing left for him to say, either. Shaking with anger, he turned from the woman he professed to love and strode from the stable.

'What is?" Gilwyn queried.

Lukien didn't answer. He couldn't explain all that Akeela had dreamed, not even to a bright boy like Gilwyn. "We should get going," he said. "I'm anxious to see Figgis."

He snapped the reins and sent Tempest on his way again, driving the old horse toward the east side of the city. Around them, the old constructs of Koth rose up like bad memories, crowded with people and the familiar accent of city folk. Skirting along the perimeter of Koth was the quickest route to the library, and allowed Lukien a safe view of his former home. In the distance, he could see the ruins of Chancellery Square, now abandoned but for the barracks and headquarters Trager had built. It was garish and impressive, and it frightened Lukien to see all that his nemesis had accomplished. Trager was a general now, leader of the Royal Chargers and all the Lürian military. There were no more chancellors to question his orders. According to Gilwyn, not even Akeela contradicted him. He had gotten what he'd always wanted, and the thought curdled Lukien's homecoming. Had Thorin been with him, Lukien knew that he, too, would be sickened by the sight of the demolished House of Dukes. But Thorin and Breck had left them earlier in the day, heading north toward Borath and the safety of Breck's farm. If all went well, they would meet them there in a day or so with Cassandra.

'I think you should put Teku in your lap," Lukien cautioned. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

'Don't worry," said Gilwyn. "No one knows me around here."

'No? Even with that monkey with you?"

Gilwyn shook his head. "I don't really get out of the library much." He coaxed Teku down into his lap.

"The only people I meet are scholars, and they don't stick around or talk to me."

'Now that is a shame," said Lukien. He hadn't talked much to Gilwyn himself the last few days and was starting to regret it. "A boy your age should get out and be with friends. Run and play."

Gilwyn turned and frowned at him. Lukien felt his face flush.

'Sorry," he offered. "I forgot." Then he studied Gilwyn's clubbed hand a moment more, adding, "But you seem to get A .fter four days of ceaseless travel, Lukien and Gilwyn finally arrived in Koth. The homecoming left the Bronze Knight speechless. It was nearing dusk and the city was darkening.

Shadows grew in the avenues. Lukien scanned the skyline of his forlorn home, awed by it. It had changed in the sixteen years since he'd left, but it was unmistakably home.

'Koth," he whispered. From the confines of his cowl he could barely see Gilwyn in the wagon next to him. The disguise had done a good job of keeping away the curious, and Lukien suspected that no one would have recognized him anyway. During the four day ride north they had stopped only once to speak with other travelers, and Lukien had hidden from them behind his hood, pretending to rummage through the wagon for supplies. But the biggest test was yet to come.

'Look there, Lukien, on the hill." Gilwyn pointed toward a tor in the distance, a huge overlook dominated by a single, remarkable structure. "See it?"

Lukien saw it easily. The great library was like a beacon, shining on its hill for all to see. Even in Norvor Lukien had heard stories of the place, but he had never seen it. It had been one of his greatest regrets about leaving the city, that and losing Cassandra. Now he stared at it, unblinking. Akeela's great dreams of the past rushed at him.

'What a shame," he whispered.

out of the wagon with some effort as the boy favored his bad foot. Lukien watched but offered no help. Something told him Gilwyn preferred to do everything himself.

'I hope your master is expecting us," he said as he got out of the wagon. Around him, the sounds of the city filled the emptiness like the buzzing of insects, but there was no sound from the library. He went to the door and tried to pull it open. "Locked," he said, dismayed.

'I have a key," said Gilwyn, which he produced after rummaging through his pockets.

'Why's it locked?" asked Lukien. "I thought the library was opened to everyone."

Gilwyn fit the key into its hole. "It is, usually. But it's been closed since Akeela found out about Grimhold. I told you, he's had Figgis working like a madman."He turned the tumbler until it clicked. As he pushed open the door he said, "Try to be quiet. We don't want to run into Delia." "Delia?"

'The housekeeper," Gilwyn said. "Nice lady, but nosy." He pushed open the door, and Lukien instantly forgot his questions. The beauty of the main hall rushed at them, revealing a shimmering interior of torchlight and polished wood. A barrelvaulted ceiling hung overhead, decorated with stout beams and iron chandeliers. Lukien looked down the tunnel of the hallway to the vast chamber beckoning beyond, a field full of bookcases stuffed with countless manuscripts. He followed Gilwyn over the threshold and into the hall, his breath catching at the awesome sight of so many books.

'Amazing…" Slowly he scanned the distant shelves. "I didn't think there were this many books in the world!"

Gilwyn laughed and closed the door behind him. "That's just some of them. There's a whole other wing."

'And you know them all?" asked Lukien incredulously. "I mean, you know where everything is?"

'Figgis has a catalog that keeps everything organized," said Gilwyn. "But yes, I remember a lot of it.

All the books are specially arranged, you see. Subject, dates, that sort of thing." along very well, even with your problems. And that shoe… did Figgis make it for you?"

'Yes," said Gilwyn. "How did you know?" "Who else would make such a thing? Your mentor is a genius, boy."

Gilwyn nodded. "I know. I miss him. I hope he's all right." "I just hope he has good news for us," said Lukien. From their place in the street he could see only the tops of the buildings in Chancellery Square, so he didn't know if Trager's army was still on the parade ground. Perhaps they'd already left for Jador.

Perhaps they were too late to warn the Jadori. He took solace in the coming darkness though, knowing that even if Trager were around, he wouldn't recognize his old captain. "Tell me something, Gilwyn—is this where you saw the witch of Grimhold?"

'No, that was on the other side of the city," said Gilwyn. "Koth has some bad areas now. I probably shouldn't have gone." "But she saved you," Lukien mused. "Curious." Gilwyn didn't answer, for just then another wagon crossed them in the street, coming close enough to overhear. Lukien hurried Tempest past them, toward the waiting library. As the road gradually rose, the crowds thinned and the shops grew farther apart, until finally they were alone on an avenue of trees and wildflowers. A breeze stirred the leaves and the cowl of Lukien's cloak. Up ahead loomed the library, its twin doors of dark wood shut tight. There were dozens of windows to the place, but only a few rooms in the main tower were lit, rooms that Lukien supposed belonged to Figgis. Yet even in dusk the library was not an eerie place. It was beautiful, full of charity. Lukien wondered for a moment if he'd ever seen such a lovely structure, for even Lion-keep was marred by its status as a fortress. Not so the great library. There were no ramparts or battlements or dentate gates, only sweeping arches and clean limestone and a gracefully turned tower, all constructed to invite learning. It was just as Akeela had promised, just as he'd envisioned before his dementia.

'Where now?" Lukien asked. "Those doors?" "That's the main way in," Gilwyn replied. Tempest came to a dutiful stop at the doors, and Gilwyn and his monkey climbed Lukien was awestruck. He drifted toward the waiting books, but was suddenly startled by a figure rounding the corner.

'Oh!" cried the woman, putting her hand to her chest in fright. Her eyes darted between Lukien and Gilwyn, then suddenly relaxed. "Gilwyn! I thought I heard someone come in. Welcome home!"

'Thank you, Delia," said Gilwyn. He swallowed nervously. Lukien froze, trying not to seem conspicuous. The old woman looked at him, confused.

'I just got back," Gilwyn continued. "The door was locked so I let myself in."

Mistress Delia stayed focused on Lukien as she asked, "Were you able to find the books Figgis wanted?"

'Oh, yes," said Gilwyn easily. "No problem. They're out in the wagon."

'And you've brought a guest, I see." The woman smiled, but Lukien couldn't tell if it were welcoming or not. "Shouldn't you make introductions, Gilwyn?"

'Yes, absolutely," fumbled Gilwyn. "Mistress Delia, this is Ryon."

'From Marn?" the housekeeper asked.

'Marn?" replied Lukien.

The lady looked at Gilwyn. "You did go to Marn, didn't you?"

'Oh, Marn," said Lukien. "Yes, I'm from Marn. Well, around Marn. The outskirts, actually."

Gilwyn hurried to change the subject. "Um, is Figgis around? I'd like to see him, show him the books we brought back."

Mistress Delia was still studying Lukien. "I must say, you don't look like a scholar."

'Ah, you must get all sorts here, dear lady," said Lukien with a smile. "And I must admit I look atrocious from the road. Forgive my appearance."

'Oh, yes, the road. Terrible." Gilwyn took Lukien's arm and led him away. "Mistress Delia, is Figgis in his study?"

'He's—" Mistress Delia stopped herself with a smile. Ahead of them, Lukien saw another figure drift into the hallway.

An old man in wrinkled clothes stood there, staring in disbelief. Lukien knew at once it was Figgis. He looked older, grayer, and more withered than ever, but the eyes betrayed the old wisdom and the face was decidedly friendly. Lukien grinned, stepping toward him, but was immediately cut off by Gilwyn.

'Figgis, hello," said the boy suddenly. "This is Ryon, the scholar I told you about."

Figgis didn't miss a beat. "Greetings, Ryon," he said with a smile. "I'm glad you could make it."

Lukien gave his old companion a secret smile. "Me too."

'Uh, Mistress Delia, do you think you could make us some tea?" Figgis asked. "It's been a long ride from Marn and I'm sure Gilwyn and Ryon are tired."

'Of course," said the housekeeper. "Welcome to our home, Ryon. We'll try to make you as comfortable as we can. Will you be staying long?"

'No, I shouldn't think so," said Lukien. "But thank you, Mistress Delia. You're very kind."

'Go and make that tea now, please," said Figgis, shooing her away. He directed Lukien toward another hall. "We can talk in my study, Ryon. Gilwyn, why don't you come with us?"

'I'll have the tea ready straight away," said Mistress Delia, then disappeared down an opposite corridor.

Figgis led the way silently toward his study, not looking back or saying a word until he was sure the housekeeper was out of sight. Then he paused, leaned against a wall, and let loose a giant smile.

'It's you," he sighed. "I can't believe it!"

'Nor can I, old friend," said Lukien, thrusting out a hand. "It's good to see you, Figgis."

Figgis took his hand and shook it vigorously. "You look so different, I hardly recognized you! And that eyepatch… a disguise?"

'Alas, I wish it were. It's the real thing I'm afraid."

The old man's exuberance dimmed a little. "I'm sorry. It must have been very hard for you. Breck's wife came and gave me a letter from him. It said you were in Norvor."

'That's right," said Lukien. "Not the most gentle place in the world, I'm afraid."

Figgis turned to Gilwyn and gave him a hug. "Norvor! When I heard where you'd gone I was beside myself!" He released his embrace and gave the boy a worried inspection. "Are you all right? You weren't hurt or anything?"

'I'm fine, Figgis," said Gilwyn. "We found Lukien and came back as quickly as we could. Breck came back with us. He's waiting for us back at his farm with Baron Glass."

"Who?"

'Baron Glass," said Lukien seriously. "Figgis, he was with me in Norvor."

'Baron Glass? But he's dead!"

'No, Figgis, he's not," said Gilwyn. "I met him. He was with Lukien in Norvor, fighting with Jazana Carr."

'Jazana…" Figgis shook his head and sighed. "You'd better tell me all about it. But not here. I don't want Delia to overhear. Come."

Knowing the way to Figgis' study Gilwyn went first, apparently giving Lukien and Figgis space to get reacquainted. Lukien wasted no time in asking about Cassandra.

'I have to know, Figgis—is Cassandra all right?"

'Near as I can tell, yes. But wait; I'll tell you all about it in the study."

The study, Lukien quickly learned, was a small room made even more cramped by the stacks of books and manuscripts littering the desk and floor. There were two chairs, one for the desk, the other piled with books. Figgis removed these and set them aside in one of the few bare spaces on the floor, then bid Lukien to sit. Gilwyn propped himself comfortably on the edge of the desk. Along the walls, dusty shelves bowed with the weight of fat books. Figgis lowered himself down in his own chair. The leather groaned as he fell into it.

'Tell me about Glass," he said at once. "He's still alive, you say?"

'Alive and well." Lukien quickly explained how he had saved Glass from the Isle of Woe, and how they had been in Jazana Carr's employ ever since. The tale fascinated Figgis.

'Amazing. And Jazana Carr—she treated you well?"

'Well enough," said Lukien. He didn't want to tell too much about the warlady, because somehow it felt like betrayal. "I fought her battles for her and Thorin made her strategies."

'Thorin?"

'Baron Glass. He was close with Jazana Carr. We both were." Lukien paused, noticing Gilwyn's uneasiness. He decided to skip the part about Thorin and Jazana being lovers, and about the warlady's plans for Lüria. "Glass returned with me because he owes me a debt," Lukien added. "He didn't have to but I'm grateful for it. I'm going to need all the help I can get. Now, tell me about Cassandra."

Before Figgis could answer, Mistress Delia pushed open the door. In her hands was a tray of steaming tea and cups.

'Here you are," she said cheerfully. "Gilwyn, I brought some of your favorite biscuits." She looked around, frowning at the state of the room. "Look at this place! Why don't you all come into the kitchen and eat properly?"

Figgis groaned and took the tray from her. "Really, this is fine. Thank you, Mistress Delia."

The housekeeper huffed. "Whatever you say. Gilwyn, you're welcome to come into the kitchen when you're done here. I'll fix you something nice." She smiled at Lukien. "Your friend, too."

'What about me?" asked Figgis crossly.

'Drink your tea, old man," said the housekeeper, then turned and left the room. The grin on her face told Lukien she enjoyed teasing Figgis.

'Well, Figgis?" he asked when the woman was gone. "What about Cassandra?"

'She's well, or at least I think she is," said Figgis. "It's hard to tell. I haven't heard anything from her since Gilwyn left to find you. I haven't heard from anyone."

'Not even Lady Jancis?" asked Gilwyn. He cleared some clutter from the desk so Figgis could lower the tray.

'No, not Jancis, not anyone," said Figgis. "I think Akeela's growing suspicious. And Trager's been keeping a tight rein on things."

'So they haven't left for Jador yet?" asked Lukien hopefully.

'No, not yet, but soon." Figgis looked grave as he sat back down in his chair. "Trager is planning to set out in two days."

'Two days? You're sure?"

Figgis nodded. "That's what Akeela told me. He sent a messenger to the library yesterday, telling me to hurry up with my information because he's leaving in two days, with or without my help."

'He knows you're stalling," Gilwyn guessed. He took two biscuits from the tray, giving one to Teku and sampling the other himself.