Luck in the Shadows

18 Around the Ring

Alec watched in dismay, if not surprise, as Seregil struggled out of bed the next morning.

"Valerius wouldn't like this."

"Then it's lucky for us he's not here, eh?" Seregil winked, hoping the boy didn't notice how wobbly his legs still were. "Besides, there's nothing more beneficial than a good bath. Just let me lean on you a bit and I'll be fine."

With Alec's grudging assistance, Seregil worked his way slowly down to the baths without mishap.

Winded but triumphant, he let a bath servant assist him into his tub while Alec stationed himself on a nearby bench.

"Illior's Light, but it's wonderful to be back in a civilized city!" Seregil chortled, immersing himself up to the chin in the steaming water.

"I've never met anyone who takes as many baths as you do," the boy grumbled.

"A good soak might improve your disposition," Seregil teased, wondering at the boy's brittleness this morning. He had an edge of anxiety that hadn't been there before, not even during the difficult journey through Mycena.

"For the love of Illior, Alec, relax! No one's here to see." He swirled the water with his toe. "I think we could do with a walk outside next."

"You barely made it down here," Alec pointed out hopelessly.

"Where's your curiosity today? You've been living in the center of the greatest collection of wizardry in the world for almost a week and you've hardly seen a thing!"

"I'm more concerned just now with what Valerius would say if he knew you were wandering around all over the place. I'm supposed to be responsible for you, you know."

"No one is responsible for me except me," Seregil jabbed a soapy finger in the air for emphasis. "Nysander knows that, Micum knows that. Even Valerius knows it. Now you know."

To his considerable surprise, Alec stared at him for a moment, then turned on his heel and stalked abruptly away to stare out over the central pool, his back rigid as a blade.

"What is it?" Seregil called after him, genuinely mystified.

Alec muttered something, punctuating the remark with a sharp wave of his hand.

"What? I can't hear you over the fountains."

Alec half turned, arms locked across his chest. "I said I was responsible enough for you while you were sick!"

And I'm a blind fool! Seregil berated himself, the crux of the problem finally dawning on him. Struggling out of the tub, he threw on a towel and went to the boy.

"I owe you a tremendous debt," he said, studying Alec's grim profile. "With all that's happened, I guess I haven't thanked you properly."

"I'm not asking for any thanks."

"But you deserve it nonetheless. And I'm sorry if I insulted you just now. It's just that I don't think in terms of expecting anything of anyone."

Alec turned a bleak eye on him. "That's not what Micum said. He said you demand loyalty and never forgive anyone who betrays you."

"Well-yes. But that's hardly the same thing, is it?"

Color flared in the boy's fair cheeks. "All I know is that I have been loyal and if you don't need me around anymore, then what the hell am I doing in Rhнminee anyway?"

"Who said I don't want you around?" Seregil shot back in exasperation.

"No one. Not exactly. It's just that ever since we got here, I mean since the ship—with the wizards and healers and—" Alec faltered to a halt. "I don't know, I guess I just don't feel like I belong here."

"Of course you do!" Seregil sputtered. "Who's been saying you don't? Thero! That whey-faced son of a bitch—"

"Thero didn't say anything." A gravid pause strung out between them, growing increasingly more uncomfortable.

"I never could carry on an argument naked," Seregil said at last, pulling a wry face. This elicited a grudging hint of a smile, at least.

"If you figure out what you're so mad about, let me know. In the meantime, let's go across to the museum. I promised to show you wonders, and that's as good a place as any to find them."

Revived by the bath and fresh clothes, Seregil had Alec help him across the atrium to the opposite archway.

"The vaults under this building are overflowing with treasures of one sort or another," he expounded, still leaning on Alec's arm. "I used to go down there with Nysander and Magyana all the time. You wouldn't believe how much is squirreled away right under our feet."

Opening the huge door of the museum room, Alec let out a low whistle.

The vaulted central chamber of the Orлska Museum was similar in dimensions to the baths. Here, however, every wall was hung with rich tapestries and paintings, shields, and pieces of armor.

Suspended overhead was the skeleton of some horrific creature fifty feet long; the bare teeth jutting from the jawbones were as long as his forearm.

Wooden cases of all sizes, many covered with sheets of thick crystal, lined the walls and stood in neatly spaced rows across the room. In the one closest to them lay a collection of jeweled ornaments and vessels. The one next to it contained a golden coronet studded with rubies. Another was devoted to wizardly paraphernalia.

"How do you like it?" Seregil whispered, grinning at the boy's child's open-mouthed wonder. Alec made no reply as he slowly made his way from case to case, looking like a thirsty man who just found an unexpected spring.

The room was very quiet, but not unoccupied. A group of scholars were there examining a tapestry. Nearby, a girl in apprentice robes sat on a high stool next to one of the cases, working with wax tablet and stylus at copying a passage from an open book displayed there.

Across the room, two scarlet-clad servants were in the process of replacing some items in a crystal case.

"I used to spend a good deal of time here," Seregil told Alec softly. "I've even managed to add a few pieces to the collection over the years. This, for instance."

Steering him to a case near the center pf the room, Seregil pointed to a delicate flower carved from translucent pink stone.

"This belonged to the enchantress Nimia Reshal. When the proper words are spoken, it emits a magical fragrance which renders anyone who inhales it a helpless slave to the owner. She'd managed to snare Micum before I got hold of it."

"Why didn't she catch you, too?" Alec whispered.

"I happened to be approaching from a different direction at the time. While she was concentrating on him, I simply held my nose, crept up from behind, and knocked her on the head. Never underestimate the benefit of surprise!"

Nodding, Alec turned to the next case and stiffened.

Inside lay a pair of shriveled hands, the skin darkened to the color of old leather.

"What are those!" he gasped.

"Shh! A most unusual relic. Look closer."

Jeweled rings still encircled the withered fingers and the long discolored nails were covered with a delicate tracery of golden whorls; the plain iron manacles encircling each wrist looked out of keeping with the rest of the ornaments. Each band was held fast by a long spike driven through the wrist just below the base of each hand. The whole affair was bolted to the bottom of the case.

Alec stared down at the hands with puzzled revulsion.

"What in the world are—"Just then, one of the leathery forefingers slowly raised and lowered, as if scolding his idle scrutiny.

Seregil had been watching closely all the while.

As soon as he saw the hand move, he ran a finger lightly down the boy's back, sending him into the air with a startled yelp.

"Damn it, Seregil!" Alec cried, whirling around.

The scholars turned with inquiring stares. The apprentice dropped her stylus, then began to giggle. The servants merely exchanged disgusted looks.

Seregil leaned against a case, shoulders quivering with smothered laughter.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, feeling anything but repentant as he exchanged a knowing wink with the girl. "That trick has been played on just about every apprentice who ever served here, including me. I couldn't resist."

"You scared me half to death!" Alec whispered indignantly. "What are those things?"

Seregil rested his elbows on the edge of the case, tapping a finger idly against the glass. "The hands of Tikбrie Megraesh, a great necromancer."

"They moved." Alec shuddered, peering over Seregil's shoulder. "It's as if they're still alive."

"In a sense, they are," Seregil replied. "This necromancer ended his days as a dyrmagnos. Have you ever heard the term?"

"No. What does it mean?"

"It's the ultimate fate of necromancers. You see, all forms of magic exact a certain toll from those who practice it, but necromancy is by far the worst. It gradually wastes the body, draining life even as it increases the force of that person's will. In time, there's nothing left but a walking corpse burning with terrible intelligence-a dyrmagnos. This fellow here was at least six centuries old when Nysander cut these hands off him and, according to him, they haven't changed much in appearance since he took them, which gives you some idea what the rest of Tikбrie Megraesh must have looked like."

The left hand stirred, scrabbling softly against the bottom of the case with its blackened nails. Alec shuddered again. "If that's what his hands looked like, I'd hate to have seen the face."

"These hands escaped once," Seregil went on, staring down at the twitching things. "It's nearly impossible to kill a dyrmagnos, once it's reached such an age. All you can do is dismember and contain it. Those symbols you see painted on the nails were part or the original binding spell to break the power of the creature, eventually the life will fade from them."

Alec frowned down at them. "What if all the pieces were brought together again before that happened?"

"They'd rejoin and the dyrmagnos would live again. As I recall a few other parts of him are somewhere down in the vaults, but most were carried off for safekeeping by other wizards. The head is the most dangerous part. That was sealed in a lead casket and dropped into the sea."

Seregil savored a shiver of his own, imagining the head locked in darkness beneath the chill waters, dreaming perhaps, or screaming its hatred to the unheeding creatures of the mud. On the heels of that pleasant thought came another, however. When was the last time he'd seen the hands move as much as this?

"Are there any other dead things in here?" asked Alec, moving to another case.

"Not ones that move."

"Good!"

They wandered on awhile longer, but Seregil's strength soon flagged.

There was no use trying to hide the fact from Alec. "You're looking pale again," he said. "Come on, a walk outside in the air might not be such a bad idea after all."

The pale winter sky overhead presaged snow, but inside the walls the gardens were bathed with fragrant breezes, and the soft turf beneath their feet was redolent with chamomile and creeping thyme.

Seregil was leaning more heavily on his arm than he had earlier, Alec noted, wondering if it had been a mistake not going back to their room.

"There," Seregil said, pointing the way to a nearby fountain. Reaching it, he collapsed on the grass and leaned back against its basin.

Alec looked him over with renewed concern. "You're as white as this marble!"

Seregil dipped a hand in the water and pressed it to his brow "Just let me get my breath."

"He's only doing it to spite Valerius, you know," a familiar voice interrupted.

A pair of women sauntered up. Both wore the green and white uniform of the Queen's Horse Guard. The shorter of the two, Alec realized with a start, was Princess Klia. Her companion, a dark, serious-looking woman, stood at ease beside her.

Klia flopped down unceremoniously in front of Seregil but ignored him completely, addressing Alec as if they were old friends.

"Now, if Valerius had ordered him to get up and about as soon as possible, he'd have clung in bed 'til spring. You're better turned out than when we met last, I must say. What name are you going by today?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Alec."

"Hello again, Alec. This is Captain Myrhini."

The dark woman surprised him with a flashing smile as she joined them on the grass.

"I wondered afterward at meeting another Silverleaf," Klia went on cheerfully. "If I'd known Seregil was with you, the two of you could have ridden back with us."

"I was indisposed at the time," Seregil said, drawing her teasing gaze at last. "How did you know I was back?"

"I met Nysander on his way to a meeting with Mother and Lord Barien last night." Her blue eyes shone fiercely. "From what she said this morning, it sounds like things may get interesting again."

Seregil grimaced. "I should think you'd have seen enough of battle last year. That piece of fun nearly cost you your arm and Myrhini both."

Myrhini gave the toe of Klia's boot a playful kick. "You know her. She's Sakor-touched. It only makes

her hotter for the next fight."

"As if you're not just as bad." Klia grinned.

"Either one of us could be at home with a babe or two already if we didn't care more for battle than we do for a handsome face! Seregil, come see the horse Alec helped me buy in Cirna. Hwerlu is looking him over for me at the grove."

Klia helped Seregil to his feet, then wrapped a supporting arm around his waist as they set off for a nearby stand of oaks.

"I know one handsome face she favors, if only its owner had the wit to see," Myrhini whispered to Alec, winking in Seregil's direction as they followed the others.

Entering the little grove, Alec was delighted to find that Hwerlu was the centaur he'd glimpsed his first day in Rhнminee.

The creature was even more imposing at close quarters; his chestnut-colored horse body was a good twenty hands tall at the shoulder, while his man parts were those of a giant. Klia's unusual black and white and another Aurлnfaie horse stood by him,

and he patted them with his large, blunt hands as if they were hounds. Seregil and Klia looked like a pair of children standing next to him.

"Come here!" Seregil called to Alec. "I seem to recall you once referring to centaurs as mere legend."

When Hwerlu bent to greet him, Alec noticed that he had the eyes of a horse, large and dark, showing no white.

"Greetings, little Alec." Hwerlu's voice rumbled richly from the depths of his huge chest. "The light of Illior shines brightly in you. It must please you to see that legends can be real."

"It does," Alec told him. "I never imagined centaurs were so big!"

Laughing, Hwerlu threw back his black mane and pranced in a circle, his broad hoofs shaking the earth beneath their feet. He stopped abruptly, however, and trotted across the clearing.

"And here is another legend! My lovely Feeya," he proclaimed as another centaur stepped into the circle of trees.

Feeya was a sorrel, and only a little smaller than Hwerlu. She had the same coarse mane of hair running down her back, but the skin of her human torso was otherwise as smooth as any woman's. A heavy torque like Hwerlu's was her only adornment, but Alec quickly saw that he had no cause for embarrassment for she had no breasts, centaurs suckling their young in the same fashion as horses. Her broad features were not beautiful by common standards but, taken for what she was, she had a beauty of her own.

Hwerlu gallantly brought his lady to meet Alec. "She does not speak your tongue, but it pleases her to hear it."

Alec greeted the golden centaur. Smiling, she lifted his chin and spoke to him in her own curious whistling language as she inspected his face with apparent interest.

Standing behind Alec, Seregil answered her in the centaur tongue. With a toss of her long mane, Feeya nodded to them both and went to admire Klia's new horse.

"What did she say?" asked Alec.

"Oh, a greeting like Hwerlu's. I thanked her for you." Seregil sat down at the base of a tree with a contented sigh.

"Are there a lot of centaurs in Skala?" Alec gazed at the pair of handsome creatures across the clearing.

"No. They live mainly in the mountains across the Osiat Sea. A few large tribes still roam the high plains there. Magyana brought Hwerlu and Feeya back to Rhнminee with her a few years ago. That's her tower there, to the left of Nysander's."

"Nysander's friend?"

"Yes. Magyana's a great traveler. She went to learn more of centaur ways. Hwerlu was curious about her magic, it being so different from his own, so he came back with her. He'll go home when he's satisfied."

"Are you a wizard, too, then?" Alec asked Hwerlu, who'd returned.

"I cannot make fire without fuel, or fly through the air like the Orлska wizards. My power lies in my music." Hwerlu indicated the large harp that hung in the branches of a nearby tree.

"I sing healings, charms, dreams. I think now maybe I should sing a healing for you, Seregil. I still see sickness in your face."

"I'd be grateful. Your cures don't leave a foul taste in my mouth like those of the drysians. In fact, I think I'll spend the afternoon here. Alec, why don't you get a horse from the stables and go for a ride? It'll do you good."

"I'd just as soon stay here," Alec objected, having no desire to go wandering around the city by himself.

"And watch me sleep all day?" Seregil scoffed. "No, I think it's time we got on with your education. Just go around the Ring once, then come back and tell me what you saw."

"The Ring? I don't even know what that—"

"I'll show him," offered Myrhini. "I have to get back to the barracks anyway. It's on the way."

"There now." Seregil blithely ignored Alec's silent appeal. "Already you're consorting with centaurs and wizards and riding about the streets with a captain of the Queen's Horse Guard. Keep your hood well up, though. I'm not ready for either of us to be seen just yet. And be careful! You're not larking about in the woods anymore. Even in daylight, Rhнminee can be a dangerous place. And for Illior's sake, find some gloves! Your hands are in poor enough condition as it is."

Myrhini pulled a pair of gauntlets from her belt and tossed them to Alec. "Come on, boy, before he finds something else to fuss about."

Still dubious, Alec followed her to the stables behind the main building where a groom saddled a spirited horse for him.

Leaving the shelter of the magical gardens for the first time since his arrival in the city, Alec was pleased to feel the cold, sweet winter breeze against his face again.

Golden Helm Street was lined on either side with high garden walls. Craning his neck, Alec caught glimpses of statues, carved pediments, and the tops of columns decorating houses more imposing than any temple he'd seen in the north. After several blocks, the street opened out into one of the paved circles he'd noted during his first ride through Rhнminee with Nysander. Here they turned down a side line.

"What are these for?" he asked, looking around.

"It's a catapult circle, part of the city's defenses," Myrhini explained. "The streets that lead out from them are straight to give the defenders a clear shot at any approaching enemy force. There are circles like this all over the city. The Ring and the market squares by the main gates are defensive positions, too, killing grounds in case the gates are breached."

"Has Rhнminee ever been attacked?"

"Oh, yes. The Plenimarans only got in once, though. The last full-scale attack on the city was over forty years ago, though."

Two Hawk ended at Silvermoon Street, a broad avenue bordering the Queen's Park.

Ornate public buildings had been built against the park wall. On the other side stood villas larger than any he'd seen so far.

Blue uniformed guards saluted Myrhini as she and Alec rode under a heavy portcullis and onto the palace grounds.

"Those are the barracks there," she said, pointing out a collection of long, low buildings just visible beyond the dark bulk of the Palace.

At the edge of the broad parade ground that fronted the barracks they reined in to watch a company of riders practicing a battle turn. Tugging his hood back into place, Alec let out a low whistle of admiration.

Each rider carried a lance, and their green pennants snapped smartly in the breeze as the horsemen rode the length of the field in an even rank.

Reaching the far end, they wheeled sharply about, lowered their lances, and charged forward with bloodcurdling yells. Wheeling again, they threw their lances down and drew swords to practice cuts to the left and right.

"There aren't many sights finer than that, eh?"

Myrhini asked, following them with her eyes. Her horse shifted restlessly, anxious to join its fellows in action.

As they sat watching, a trio of riders rode over from the direction of the barracks-two noblemen and a

stern, pale-eyed woman in a green uniform and golden gorget. The older of the two men was imposing in black velvet trimmed with silver and furs. A jeweled chain of office hung across his broad chest.

The other man was much younger, perhaps late twenties, with a small blond mustache and a narrow tuft of hair on his chin. Although he was dressed richly in red velvet laced with gold, he struck Alec at once as someone of much less importance than the others.

"General Phoria," Myrhini said, saluting the officer. "And greetings, Lord Barien and Lord Teukros."

"I trust your troop will be ready for inspection this afternoon?" the general asked crisply, returning the salute with a hand lacking the last two fingers.

"At your command, General!"

Phoria's pale stare raked over Alec as if she had only then registered his existence. "And who is this?"

"A guest of the wizard Nysander, General. I'm escorting him to the Ring."

Alec stole a sidelong glance at Myrhini but knew better than to butt in; General Phoria had thawed noticeably at the mention of Nysander.

"You haven't the look of a wizard," she remarked.

"No, General, I'm not," Alec responded quickly, taking his cue from Myrhini. "I've come to study in the city."

"Ah, a young scholar!" The older man smiled approvingly. "I hope you'll stay long enough to see the Festival. It's the great glory of the city."

Alec had no idea what the man was referring to, but nodded politely and did his best to look respectful. Fortunately General Phoria was impatient to move on. With a final curt nod, she and her companions rode on toward the Palace.

Alec let out a slow breath. "Was that the same Barien Klia spoke of?"

"Lord Barien," Myrhini cautioned. "Lord Barien i Zhal Khameris Vitulliein of Rhilna, to be exact. He's the Viceregent of Skala, the most powerful person in the country after the Queen herself The other one was his nephew, Lord Teukros i Eryan."

"And the general?"

"In addition to being the high commander of all Skalan cavalry regiments, General Phoria is the Queen's eldest daughter. You just met the future queen, my friend. Come on now, I'll write you out a pass."

Dismounting in front of one of the barracks, Alec followed Myrhini into the wardroom. A handful of soldiers sat around a table, intent on a bakshi game. Seeing their senior officer, however, they leapt up to salute. Myrhini returned it and sat down at a nearby desk to write out the pass.

After a few curious glances in Alec's direction, the soldiers went back to their game.

Sealing the pass with her signet, Myrhini handed it to Alec. "Show this at any gate of the Ring and you'll

have no problem. There's one into the Ring just beyond the last barracks. Get your horse and I'll let you through."

Outside again, she led Alec to a heavily guarded gate near the Palace.

"You can't possibly get lost," Myrhini assured him. "Stay between the two walls and you'll come all the way around the city and back to here. It will be easiest for you to go back to the Ore'ska House by way of the Harvest Market. Just follow the Street of the Sheaf to the Fountain of Astellus, then down Golden Helm until you sight it again."

Myrhini's directions sounded simple enough, but Alec felt a bit of his original apprehension returning when the postern gate clanged shut behind him.

Looking around, he found himself in a very pleasant park with trees and carefully tended carriage paths. A number of enterprising merchants had set up shop here and many elegantly dressed patrons strolled among the gaily painted booths. Others rode or drove in carriages along the paths, the men in colorful surcoats or robes beneath heavy capes, the women muffled in rich furs, gems sparkling on their gloved fingers and in their elaborately curled and braided hair. Many were accompanied by tame animals and Alec smiled to himself, wondering if he and his father had trapped any of these hawks or spotted cats. They'd certainly sold enough of them to the southern traders.

Riding north at a trot, he soon reached the first gate. The guards inspected his pass briefly, then waved him through into the bustle of the Harvest Market.

This market was considerably smaller than the one by the Sea Gate, and not as busy at this late season.

A gate leading out of the city stood open for carts, and numerous inns and taverns faced onto the main square. Checking street markers to satisfy himself as to where the Street of the Sheaf entered the square, he crossed the square and reentered the Ring to continue his assigned ride.

This next section was used as pasturage for livestock. He rode past small flocks of sheep and cattle grazing from hay racks under the watchful eye of the children who tended them. Large cisterns had been sunk into the ground here and there along the inner wall. Although the herds he observed were not large, it was evident that should the city ever be besieged, enough animals could be kept within the walls to feed the defenders for quite some time.

Skirting the northern perimeter of the city at a canter, Alec began to notice signs of human habitation; rough plank shelters huddled at the base of the walls, many of them connected by well-trodden paths. The denizens of this shanty settlement had the sullen air of impoverished squatters. A litter of refuse marked the boundaries of their tiny holdings; thin children and thinner dogs wandered among the shacks, picking through the castoff belongings of their neighbors and watching passing strangers with a predatory eye.

As he rode past one of these ramshackle hovels, a grimy child in a torn shift popped up almost under his horse's feet, begging for coppers. Alec reined in sharply to avoid trampling her and was instantly surrounded by a crowd of motley little beggars, all clamoring for money. A lank-haired woman appeared in a doorway, beckoning to him in a harsh, lewd fashion. Except for a tattered skirt, she wore only a shawl draped over her shoulders and this she let fall away, calling out something to him.

Alec hastily fished out a few coins and cast them behind his horse to clear the children from his path. But the shacks became more numerous as he rode on, as did the knots of beggars and idlers of all

descriptions.

The next gate was in sight when he noticed three men watch his approach with undisguised interest. As he came nearer, they rose from their seats in front of a tattered tent and stood next to the roadway. They were big men, any one of them more than a match for him, and all wore long knives in plain sight.

Alec was considering whether he should turn back or simply kick his horse into a gallop when a group of uniformed riders came into sight from the opposite direction.

The winter sun glinted off their helmets. They wore the same dark blue uniforms he had seen at the gates and carried heavy truncheons and swords.

The prospective footpads quickly disappeared among the shacks as the riders came on. Alec rode quickly on to the next gate and into the Sea Market.

The huge square was every bit as overwhelming as the first time he'd seen it. Stopping for a moment to get his bearings, he spotted the open thoroughfare of Sheaf Street in the distance and set out toward it, following one of the wider lanes threading through the marketplace in that direction.

The smell of spiced lamb brought him to a halt.

Looking around, Alec quickly spotted an old man grilling skewers of meat over a brazier nearby.

A bit more at ease now, he decided to stop and eat. Dismounting, he purchased meat and cider and sat down on a convenient crate to watch the crowd stream by.

This isn't so bad after all, he thought. Six months ago where had he been?

Wandering alone through the same mountains he'd known all his life. Now here he sat in the heart of one of the most powerful cities in the world with fine, warm clothes on his back and silver in his purse.

He was beginning to enjoy himself after all.

He was just finishing when the dull, uneven clang of a bell rang out over the general noise of the square.

Joining the crowd at the edge of the street, he worked his way forward through the press.

A dozen blue-uniformed guards were escorting a tumbrel cart down the avenue in his direction. A tall pike had been set upright in the back of the cart; a man's head was fixed on its point, the slack jaw quivering at every bump and jolt. The glassy eyes had rolled upward, as if avoiding even in death the expressions of scorn and revulsion that greeted this final progress. A placard had been nailed just below it, but the writing on it was obscured by streaks of drying blood.

Alec spat out his last mouthful of meat and lowered his eyes as the cart drew abreast of him. It seemed that no matter where he turned today he was confronted with bits of dead bodies. Suddenly a hand slid under his arm from behind.

"Are you unwell, young sir?"

Unpleasant breath bathed his cheek. Turning, Alec found himself in the supportive grip of a scrawny young ruffian. The fellow's sallow face looked as narrow as an ax blade, an illusion not alleviated by his

prominently arched nose and buck teeth. An unruly lock of sandy hair kept falling over one eye and he reached up to push it away with one hand without relinquishing his hold on Alec's sleeve with the other. His garments had once been fine, but judging by their worn appearance and the sour odor that rose from them, Alec suspected their owner to be a denizen of the northern Ring.

"I'm fine, thank you," Alec replied, disliking the stranger's insistent hold on his arm.

"Some don't care for such sights," the other said, shaking his head, though whether it was at the sight of violent death or the lack of stomach for it, Alec could not guess. "When I seen you, I says to myself,

"There's one that might keel right over!" Perhaps you ought to sit down over here, 'til the spell passes. Quite an end for old Lord Vardarus, eh?"

"I'm fine," Alec repeated, pulling free at last. "Who's Lord Vardarus?"

"You was just looking at him. If you'd have looked in the back of that cart, you'd have seen the rest of him headed for the city pit. Executed this morning for plotting to kill the Viceregent his self, as I hear it." The man paused to spit wetly. "Filthy Leran traitor!"

Viceregent! thought Alec, recalling the jocular fellow Myrhini had introduced him to at the parade ground.

Now, here was something to report to Seregil; Lord Barien must have just been coming from the execution of his own would-be murderer. Alec made a mental note to ask Seregil what a Leran was.

"You all right then, young sir?" his erstwhile rescuer asked again.

"For the last time, yes!" Giving the man a curt nod, Alec stole a glance over his shoulder, looking for his horse. When he looked back, the fellow was gone.

Shaking his head in bemusement, Alec set off again.

The seaward section of the Ring was more heavily guarded; his pass was closely inspected by the watch before he was allowed to enter. Beyond the gate, the open ground had been divided into a series of huge corrals that held the herds of horses belonging to the various military units of the city.

Hundreds of animals milled about beyond the fences on either side of the roadway, their rich odor permeating the air. The workshops of regimental farriers, harness makers, and armorers were scattered among the enclosures, and the craftsmen added their own noises to the din. Signs posted at the gate of each corral displayed the regimental emblem, as did the uniforms of the soldiers standing guard. Alec quickly spotted the helm and saber device of the Queen's Horse Guard, as well as the flame emblem worn by the blue-coated riders he'd noticed around the city. Other uniforms were new to him. Soldiers wearing sky-blue tunics stitched with the shining white outline of a soaring hawk stood guard over several herds made up entirely of white horses. Another group wore deep purple, with scarlet serpents forming a complicated knot as their emblem.

The road was crowded with soldiers, strings of horses, hay racks, and dung carts. To travel any distance afoot was evidently unthinkable in such company. Those having nothing better to do lined the fence rails to watch the activity.

A few of these idlers, both male and female, greeted him with gestures only slightly less suggestive than

those of the ragged woman at the hovel. Shocked at the ways of city dwellers, Alec pressed on at a canter to the next gate and emerged gratefully again into the long park behind the Queen's Palace. Nudging his horse into a gallop, he rode to the Harvest Market and the Street of the Sheaf, then east into the city.

People bustled on all sides, jostling each other as they went about their business. Even the buildings seemed to crowd one another, leaning shoulder to shoulder over the street to trap the din of the passing traffic and echo it back. Alec's discomfort at the proximity of so many people began to well up again.

Afternoon shadows were lengthening by the time as he reached the Astellus Circle. He paused at the colonnade. Across the way lay the wooded park, bordering the circle's north side. A single street entered the park through a prettily carved stone archway. Richly dressed riders and fancy carriages were coming and going in a steady stream.

Curious, Alec rode over for a closer look.

The park embraced the street on both sides and, together with the arch, gave the place a sheltered, almost magical air, as if it might exist quite separately from the crowded city beyond. The villas here had no screening walls and he marveled at the elegance of the facades and gardens. Despite the early hour, each house had one or more colored lamps burning above its entrance. There were only four colors: rose, amber, white, and green. Al though they lent a certain festive tone, their order along the street seemed quite random.

"Excuse me, sir," Alec ventured, catching the eye of a man coming out from under the arch. "What street is this?"

"The Street of Lights, of course," the man replied, looking him over.

"So I see, but what do the lights mean?"

"If you have to ask that, then you've no business knowing, lad!" Giving Alec a wink, the fellow strode off whistling.

With a last curious glance down the intriguing avenue, Alec headed for the Orлska House. Myrhini's instructions brought him safely there, and Nysander's guide stone led him back up to the tower door.

He was just raising his hand to knock when Thero came storming out with an armload of scroll cases. They collided hard enough to knock the wind out of both of them.

Scroll cases scattered in all directions, rolling and clattering across the stone floor of the passage. One tube flew over the parapet and several startled voices echoed up the atrium as it shattered on the tiles below. Thero glared at Alec for an instant, then began gathering his scattered documents.

"Sorry," Alec muttered, picking up those that had rolled across the corridor. Thero accepted them curtly and strode off, not bothering to acknowledge that the door had closed behind him.

Much obliged, I'm sure! Alec thought sourly, standing well to one side as he knocked again.

Seregil opened the door this time, and he looked remarkably pleased with himself.

"Gone, is he?" he smirked, letting Alec into the anteroom.

"What was that all about? He practically knocked me over the railing!"

Seregil shrugged innocently. "I came upstairs to borrow a book from Nysander but he wasn't here. In his absence, Thero took it upon himself to tell me I couldn't have it. After reasoning with him at considerable length over the matter, I suggested that it was probably his vow of celibacy that keeps him so irritable all the time. I was in the middle of a detailed discourse-based largely on my own personal experience-on the methods he could employ to alleviate his difficulties when he hurried out. Perhaps he means to put my wisdom into action."

"I doubt it. And isn't it sort of dangerous, teasing a wizard?"

"He takes himself much too seriously," scoffed Seregil, sitting down at one of the work ables. "How was your ride? See anything interesting? Who stole your purse?"

"There was a procession at the Sea Market and I—" Alec stopped, openmouthed, as Seregil's last questions registered. Checking his belt, he found only the severed strings where his wallet had hung.

"That bastard at the Sea Market!" He groaned.

Seregil regarded him with a crooked grin. "Let me guess: thin, whey-faced, big nose, bad teeth? Got close to you for some reason and wouldn't be shaken off? Relieved you of this, I believe."

Seregil tossed Alec, a purse. It was his own, and quite empty.

"His name's Tym." Seregil's grin broadened.

"I figured he'd hit you at the market. He can't resist working a crowd, especially if there are bluecoats around."

Alec stared at Seregil, aghast. "You set him on me! He works for you?"

"From time to time, so you're likely to see him again. You can settle up with him then, if you want. I hope you didn't lose too much."

"No, but I still don't understand why you did it. Bilairy's Elbows, Seregil. If I hadn't been carrying that pass in my coat—"

"Consider it your first lesson in city life. Something of the sort had to happen sooner or later. I figured sooner was better. I did warn you before you left to watch out for yourself."

"I thought I did." Alec bristled, thinking of the rough characters he'd managed to avoid in the Ring.

Seregil clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, don't fret. Tym's a professional in his own small way, and you're his favorite sort of victim: just in from the country, green as grass, mouth hanging open as you take in the city. So tell me about your ride."

"Didn't Tym tell you about it?" Alec scowled, feeling he'd been made a fool of.

"Tym isn't you. I want to hear what you saw."

Still smoldering, Alec sketched a terse description of the Ring, pointedly including the ambushers, then moved on to the procession at the Sea Market.

"Lord Vardarus." Seregil frowned, twirling a glass rod between two long fingers. "I did a few things for him in the past. I'd have said he was completely loyal to the Queen."

"That cutpurse of yours said he'd tried to assassinate Lord Barien. Myrhini and I saw Lord Barien before I left, over at the Palace. Maker's Mercy, Seregil, he must have just come from the execution when I saw him, and he was talking of some festival!"

"The Festival of Sakor, at the winter solstice," Seregil replied absently. "I wonder what Nysander knows about all this? I'd never have taken Vardarus for a Leran."

"What are Lerans, anyway?"

Seregil glanced up in surprise. "Bilairy's Balls. You mean I never told you about Idrilain the First?"

"No. That night on the Darter you said there was a lot I'd have to learn about the royal lines, but then you got sick."

"Ah, well then, you're in for a treat. Idrilain the First's one of my favorites. She lived four hundred years ago and is the first and only of the Skalan queens to take an Aurлnfaie as consort."

"An Aurлnfaie?"

"That's right, though this wasn't her first husband. Idrilain was a great warrior, known for her strong will and fiery temper. By the age of twenty, she was already a general. At twenty-two, she married on the day of her coronation and soon produced an heir, a daughter named Lera. Not long after, Zengat declared war on Aurлnen. The Aurлnfaie appealed to Skala for help and Idrilain led the forces south herself."

"Where's Zengat?" Alec broke in, his head spinning with unfamiliar names.

"West of Aurлnen, where the mountains of Ared Nimra reach the Selon Sea. The Zengati are a fierce bunch, most of them warriors, brigands, and pirates. Occasionally they get bored with fighting among themselves and band together to make trouble for their neighbors, especially Aurлnen. This time they were laying claim to lands down near Mount Bardok.

"Once they got into western Aurлnen, they decided they might as well have the rest of it.

"During her campaign there, Idrilain fell in love with a handsome Aurлnfaie captain named Corruth. He returned to Skala with her, where nearly caused a civil war by putting aside her first consort to marry him."

"But you said it was common practice for a queen to change lovers as much as she liked," Alec recalled.

"But they usually only did so to gain an heir. Idrilain already had a daughter. But there was also the matter of Corruth being Aurлnfaie."

"You mean not human?"

"That's right. Even though the ancient ties from the Great War were still remembered with gratitude, it was quite a different matter for alien blood to be mixed into the royal line.

"As usual, Idrilain had her way in the end and the match produced another daughter, Corruthesthera. Her father, a kind and noble man by all reports, eventually gained acceptance from some of the nobles. But there was also a strong faction, the Lerans, who could not accept the possibility of Corruth's daughter reaching the throne. Idrilain's first consort was at the heart of it from the beginning, and probably involved Lera as well, although it was never proven. Whatever the case, relations between the Queen and the Princess Royal were strained, to say the least."

"So what happened?"

"In the thirty-second year of her reign, Idrilain was poisoned. No connection to the Lerans could be proven, but Lera ascended the throne under the shadow of suspicion. It didn't help matters any that Lord Corruth disappeared from Rhнminee without a trace the day of her accession. To Lera's credit, she didn't have her half sister, Corruthesthera, assassinated right then. Instead, she quietly exiled her to an island in the middle of the Osiat Sea. The people of Aurлnen were outraged and relations between the two nations have never been the same.

"Queen Lera was a harsh, tight-fisted woman. She's recorded to have had more people executed during her eighteen-year rule than any queen in the history of Skala.

"Ironically, her half sister survived three different assassination attempts, while Lera herself died in childbirth with a stillborn son. In spite of some threat of revolution, Corruthesthera was recalled from exile and crowned as the only remaining heir."

Alec mulled all this over for a moment. "So that means that the queens who came after were part Aurлnfaie?"

Seregil nodded. "Corruthesthera favored her father's race; they say she appeared to be hardly more than a girl at age fifty."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Seregil explained, "in addition to living three or four times as long as humans, the Aurлnfaie mature more slowly. A man of fourscore years is close to Bilairy's gate, while an Aurлnfaie is still considered a youth."

"They must become very wise, living that long."

Seregil grinned. "Wisdom is not necessarily the product of age. Still, imagine being able to draw on the experience of three lifetimes rather than one."

"How long did Corruthesthera live?"

"She died in battle at the age of one hundred and forty-seven. Queen Idrilain the Second is her great-granddaughter."

"Then if what Tym said is true, the Lerans are still around."

"Oh, yes, though they've never achieved much beyond an assassination or two. But they still boil up to

make trouble every now and then. With the war coming, they could be more of a threat. And not only to the Queen, it seems. Was Barien by himself?"

"No, Phoria, the oldest princess—"

"Princess Royal," Seregil corrected, fidgeting with the glass rod. "Though she prefers the title of general. People have been speculating about her and Barien for years now—But go on."

"General Phoria was with him, and his nephew."

"Lord Teukros?" Seregil gave a derisive snort. "Now there's true Skalan nobility for you: nephew and sole heir of the most powerful lord in Rhнminee, scion of one of the oldest Skalan families, not a drop of foreign blood in his lily pure veins. Perfect manners, expensive tastes, and all the brains of a flounder. Quite the gambler, too. I've taken his money more than once."

"He's Barien's heir?"

"Oh, yes. Being childless himself, the Viceregent has always doted on his sister's son. Barien's no fool, mind you, but love does make excuses, as they say. It just goes to show that the nobles ought to learn what any hog farmer knows, and do a bit more out breeding now and then."