The Iron Throne

1

Seaharrow was a dismal place in winter, cold and damp and drafty from the fierce winds and storms that constantly blew in off the sea, and Laera hated it. During the summer, the weather was more tolerable, even pleasant, and the society much improved, since the annual Summer Court at Seaharrow was resumed. However, with each summer the old and bitter memories returned in force, along with boiling frustration and resentment, as her brother, Michael, once again arrived at Seaharrow with Aedan Dosiere.

She had come full circle. This was where it had all started. It was the ultimate ignominy that she should wind up here. There wasn’t a place she could go within the castle that did not remind her of a secret tryst with Aedan. The hanging tapestry in the corridor, with the small niche behind it where she and Aedan had coupled passionately; the garden in the courtyard, where they had often met at night; the tower parapet where they had their first encounter; the stables … and the final insult, her own chambers, which had once been Aedan’s when he came to Seaharrow for Summer Court.

Her husband had insisted that she take that room, and nothing she could say would sway him. He must have known. Somehow, he must have learned her secret, though she could not imagine how. The bed she slept in every night was the very bed in which she’d lain with Aedan all those times. It was insufferable. Maddening. But at the same time, it fed her hatred and resentment and firmed her resolve to get revenge.

At first, she couldn’t understand why Derwyn had not denounced her. When she learned of Michael’s victory over Arwyn, her first emotion had been bitter disappointment, for it meant her plans for Aedan and her own advancement had been thwarted. She cared nothing that Arwyn had been slain, but when she learned Derwyn had survived, panic seized her.

Except for Callador, who had disappeared after news of Arwyn’s defeat had reached Boeruine, Derwyn was the only one who knew of her betrayal. When she found out Michael had spared him and Derwyn had declared his allegiance to the emperor, she was certain she was undone. Surely Derwyn would denounce her. She had almost fled right then. But the years and her experience had taught her to be calculating, and after her initial bout of fear, she had forced herself to settle down and think things through.

There was nothing to stop Derwyn from denouncing her to Michael, except he had no proof. It would have been his word against hers, and despite the fact that she and Michael were not close—they barely even spoke save for those times when formality demanded it—she was still his sister and a princess of Anuire. Derwyn’s position was too precarious for him to risk making such an accusation. He had nothing to gain from it and a great deal to lose. And even if Michael believed him—and there was a possibility he would—he would still not thank him for putting him in the difficult position of having to execute his sister or, at the very least, send her into exile. Her disgrace would be the emperor’s disgrace, as well. It would indelibly tarnish the honor and the reputation of the royal house.

However, there was a chance Derwyn might not have realized that. She barely even knew him, so she had no real way to estimate his character or intellect. It was possible that in an attempt to ingratiate himself with Michael, he might reveal her betrayal, thinking he was doing the emperor a great service. Or else he might do it to strike back at Michael for having killed his father. There had been no way to know for sure what he would do, but the more Laera thought about it, the more certain she felt that the situation, while it certainly posed potential danger for her, was not nearly as disastrous as it had seemed at first.

Derwyn would either denounce her or would not. If he did not, then all was well. But if he did, it would still be his word against hers, and the accusation would seem meanspirited and spiteful. And even if Michael did believe it, it would be to his disadvantage to act upon it. After due consideration, Laera had decided that while there was considerable risk in her position, the odds were still in her favor, so she would brazen it out. But she had not been prepared for what developed. Derwyn had surprised her.

In a ceremony on the parade ground of Anuire, where not only all the people of the city, but both armies had gathered, Michael had formally announced an end to the long civil war. The regions Arwyn had controlled would once more be taken back into the empire, and those who had taken up arms against him, so long as they swore allegiance to the empire, would not be penalized. The goblins of Thurazor, however, would suffer the wrath of Imperial Anuire at some point in the near future, which Michael did not specify. The armies had fought long enough, he said, and they deserved a respite from the trade of war.

This, of course, had brought him great acclaim as an enlightened and merciful ruler, but Michael’s next decree had been as surprising as it was controversial. He had elevated Derwyn to the rank of duke and confirmed his hereditary ascension to his father’s estate. This had drawn a reaction of absolute astonishment from the assembled multitude. Arwyn of Boeruine had rebelled against the emperor, and as such, he was a traitor. By all laws and traditions of the empire, his entire family should have shared his disgrace. An order decreeing Derwyn’s formal execution would not have been unexpected, since like his father, he had taken up arms against the empire. At the very least, everyone thought he would be exiled. For him to assume the title and lands of the Duke of Boeruine was shocking and unprecedented, but Michael had yet one more surprise in store.

“My lords and ladies, valiant comrades-in-arms, and people of Anuire,” he had said, his voice carrying across the parade ground. “I know that many of you are no doubt shocked and dismayed by my raising of Lord Derwyn to a dukedom when his father had plunged our nation into a long and bloody civil war. Many of you would doubtless call for his exile or even death.”

At this, a loud chorus of assent was raised. Michael waited for a moment, then raised his hands for silence.

“Truly, either punishment would be in keeping with our laws and our traditions,” he said. “However, there has already been too much dying. There are those among you, I am sure, who would want to see revenge exacted on Derwyn of Boeruine for the war that has long ravaged our country and taken so many lives. Yet I ask you to consider that the war was not of Derwyn’s making.

“It was Arwyn who had allowed his blind ambition to cloud his better judgment,” he continued. “It was Arwyn whose greed and lust for power led him into making an alliance with the goblin realm of Thurazor, and it was Arwyn who had used force of arms to induce Talinie, Taeghas, and Brosengae to join him in his rebellion. Arwyn has paid for his transgressions with his life. If I were likewise to punish Derwyn of Boeruine, would I not also need to punish Davan of Taeghas, Rurik of Talinie, and Lysander of Brosengae? And if, according to our past laws and traditions, these nobles were to forfeit their lives or be exiled for joining Arwyn in taking arms against us, then according to those same traditions, their families would likewise share in their disgrace.

“Where is the justice? Davan of Taeghas has two young sons aged six and ten. What offense did they commit? Shall we punish the sons for the crimes of the fathers? If we were to take that course, then if a commoner were to steal a loaf of bread, would his son bear the punishment, as well? And what of wives and daughters? What of grandchildren? Where do we draw the line? If, as Arwyn’s vassal, Count Davan should be condemned for doing his duty to his feudal lord, then should we not also condemn all those troops who followed him? And their families, as well? If we were to proceed in such a manner, the empire would soon lack for a population.

“I say it is enough that Arwyn, who began the war, has paid for his mistake. There is no purpose to be served in further retribution. Boeruine and Talinie must present a strong, united front to defend their borders against incursions from Thurazor and the Five Peaks. Taeghas and Brosengae must now turn their efforts from the prosecution of the war to the pacification of the Seamist Mountains, for the ogres have grown ever bolder while we were in conflict and the dwarves can no longer contain them. Let us forget past differences and proceed with the task of rebuilding. Let us turn our efforts from planning strategy for war to the planting of crops and the raising of livestock.

“Henceforth, we shall be united. To strengthen that union, I propose to send permanent ambassadors from the Imperial Court to each barony and duchy. Each of those ambassadors shall take with him a staff with which to form an embassy that will communicate regularly and directly with the lord high chamberlain, so that the emperor shall have his personal representatives present at each holding.

“And to further cement the ties between us, I am pleased to formally announce on this day the betrothal of my sisters, the Princess Rhiannon to Lord Devan of Taeghas, the Princess Corielle to Lord Rowan of Talinie, the Princess Kristana to Lord Brom of Brosengae, and the Princess Laera to Lord Derwyn of Boeruine. Thus will those lands now be forever tied to our royal house by oath of fealty and bond of blood, and we shall quarrel no more. And in honor of these ties that shall reunite our empire, I hereby proclaim a festival that shall last for seven days and seven nights. Let the temple bells ring and let your voices raise in song and merriment. The war is ended! Let peace reign throughout Imperial Anuire!”

After the initial stunned reaction, the multitude broke out in wild cheering and, on cue, all the temple bells within the city began to toll. All present saw the wisdom and mercy of the emperor and all raised a chant to hail his name. “Roele! Roele! Roele!”

Laera had listened to her brother’s final words with shock and amazement. It was the last thing she could have possibly expected. Had Arwyn won the war, as she had been sure he would, she would have married Derwyn, retained her rank, and eventually become the Empress of Anuire. Now, she was still going to marry Derwyn, only instead of standing to inherit the title of empress, she would be diminished in rank from Princess of Anuire to Duchess of Boeruine. Her lot hadn’t changed at all from the days when she had been betrothed to Arwyn, only now instead of marrying the father, she would wed the son and live at Seaharrow, on the dreary, storm-lashed coast of a distant province. Fate was ironic, cruel, and fickle.

The one thing that had puzzled her was why Derwyn had agreed to the match. Perhaps Michael had given him no choice. He knew she had been a spy for Arwyn. Perhaps he believed it was because she had loved his father. Yes, she thought, that must be it, but she had soon discovered otherwise. After the Festival of Seven Days, which became an annual celebration, she had departed for Boeruine, where she had married Derwyn. And it was on their wedding night that she discovered his true feelings and motivations.

“Let us have no misunderstandings between us, my lady,” he had said, his posture stiff and his voice extremely formal. “I know exactly what sort of woman I have married—and do not think to protest your innocence to me. My father had possessed a vast network of informants, and through them, I now possess a wealth of lurid detail about your past. You have changed lovers as a post rider changes mounts, and you have employed your wiles to destroy those whom you have seduced. Make no mistake, this marriage is nothing more than a political arrangement. I do not love you, and I never could.

“You may wonder why I did not denounce you to your brother as a spy,” he had continued coldly. “Some of the reasons you have doubtless already inferred, but here is the chief reason of them all. It is up to me to rebuild the tarnished reputation of my house. An alliance by marriage to the House of Roele will do much to increase the diminished standing of the House of Boeruine. Your duty as a wife is to give me sons to carry on my family name. Two shall be sufficient, I should think. They shall be the issue of a union between our houses, and they shall once more raise the Duchy of Boeruine to its once preeminent status as first among all the nobility. The bloodline will be strengthened, and our kinship with Roele, the champion of Deismaar, will be reaffirmed. Beyond that, I want nothing from you.

“You shall sleep in your own chambers. Save for the purposes of procreation, I have no desire to share my bed with you. You shall have ladies-in-waiting to keep you company. I have no wish to be troubled with it. You shall be kept cloistered and under constant watch to ensure your faithfulness. Once you have given me two sons, you shall be free to choose whatever lovers you may wish, subject to extreme discretion. Bed the stableboys, for all I care, but if so much as one whisper of gossip should ensue, I shall have you exiled to the farthest reaches of the empire to serve as a priestess in the Northern Temple of Haelyn in the province of Ice Haven on the rocky coast of Talinie, where you shall have your head shaved, dress in simple robes of coarse black wool, and spend your days in constant prayer and solitary meditation.

“When necessity demands that we appear together on formal occasions, you shall play the part of the obedient and loving wife, deferring to my judgment in all things. Otherwise, you shall not try me with your conversation or your presence. On these matters, I shall remain as rigid as the rock on which this castle stands, so save your breath and plague me not with your entreaties. Such is your lot, and you shall accept it without question. Disobey at your own peril.”

She had listened with stunned disbelief and mounting fury. Who was he to speak to her in such a manner? She was a princess of the royal house, and he merely some loutish provincial raised to the status of dukedom, even so, beneath her. And how could he know so much about her? Informants, he had said. Spies, he meant. Spies everywhere. She had been betrayed. Which of those servants in the palace had betrayed her? She had paid them well, the traitorous ingrates! And this was how they had repaid her kindness and largesse, by double-dealing and betrayal. If she ever found out who they were, she would have them lashed until the skin fell off their backs. Then she would string them up by their thumbs and roast their feet with coals. She would throttle them with her own bare hands! She wanted to scream and launch herself at her new husband, to scratch his eyes out, but some instinct of self-preservation had restrained her. That was not the way. Rebelling against Derwyn would only give him an excuse to rid himself of her—after she had borne him children.

Children! The thought of lying with him filled her with loathing now. He was much more handsome than his father, and when Arwyn had proposed the match, she had thought she could certainly do much worse. Derwyn was attractive, and his manner seemed to suggest he would be a gentle, thoughtful lover. But now this! Somehow, somewhere, he had found a backbone. She could see his method clearly. Exert forceful control at once, the better to maintain it. Well, she would let him think he had his way.

She had wept and cast her eyes down, meekly submitting to his will, playing up to his masculine power. And she had begun to form a plan that would reverse their roles. And as she considered how she would bring that about, she became filled with delightful anticipation. If Derwyn would use masculine force, she would employ feminine cunning. She would lull him into a false sense of security and then she would neatly turn the tables. It would take time, but she would thoroughly enjoy every moment of it.

That had been three years ago. Since then, her plan had progressed steadily and surely. She had accepted all of Derwyn’s directives without question, at first merely acting sullen and stoic about it, but gradually, she had allowed him to perceive her mood begin to alter. This gradual warming trend she had timed to coincide exactly with the frequency of their efforts at procreation. The first time, about a week after their marriage—she could not tell if he was merely giving her time to get used to the idea or if he was working himself up to it—she had acted stiff and unresponsive initially, as if she were suffering in silence through an experience she could not avoid. But as he neared climax, she had begun to thrust against him slightly and had allowed a small moan or two to escape her lips, as if she were enjoying it despite herself. That seemed to both please and excite him, though he had tried not to let it show. She remembered laughing inwardly, thinking that men were so transparent.

The next time, as before, she greeted him as if what they were about to do was a trial for her, but once more, as their lovemaking progressed, she began responding, displaying a bit more excitement—but carefully, not too much. She couldn’t let him think she was enjoying the act for its own sake. She wanted Derwyn to believe it was him she was responding to, that his male prowess was getting through to her despite her resistance. And little by little, she gave a little more, and then a little more, until eventually her entire demeanor had changed when he came to her.

After a few weeks, she greeted him with eyes meekly downcast, submissive instead of quietly defiant, but when she looked up at him, it was with hopeful anticipation. She always quickly averted her gaze whenever he noticed it, as if she did not mean for him to see how she truly felt. And out of the corner of her eye, she would see the smug little smile on his lips as he noticed what she had pretended to hide and she would think how easy it was.

They were really all the same. Cater to their sense of self, to their pride and illusions of power, and soon they all became putty in her hands. But with Derwyn, the game was more drawn out and considerably more elaborate, in part for its own sake, because she was bored and there was little else to do, and in part because the end result she planned for was ambitious and complex.

A month passed, and she had begun to act repentant, not saying anything outright, but letting him know through her demeanor that she regretted the way she had behaved before. When he came to her bed, she was tender and receptive, always careful not to show too much enthusiasm, allowing him to think he was bringing out the tenderness in her, the “true woman” who had slumbered for so long, that he was making her fall in love with him. And when he left her, she would always turn away and pretend to weep into her pillow. One night, when he hesitated, lingering by the door to her bedchamber as if he were about to offer words of comfort but managed to fight down the impulse, then she knew she had him.

Eight months into their marriage and she was still not pregnant. Doubtless, Derwyn was starting to feel frustration at their failure, but she wasn’t pregnant because she had a supply of a special preparation, a potion she had obtained from a wizard in Anuire that would inhibit her fertility. She was not yet ready to give him a child. She had to build up his anticipation and break down his defenses. The timing had to be just right. With Arwyn, she knew, it never would have worked, but Derwyn merely thought he was as strong as his father ever was, when in truth, it wasn’t Arwyn’s strength that would have made her fail with him, but his complete indifference to anyone except himself.

A year passed, and she entered the next stage of her plan. She was, by now, playing the part of the dutiful and quietly submissive wife to the hilt, but now she added something else. She fell into a melancholy, and at times allowed him to find her weeping for no apparent reason. She began to go to temple regularly, praying every day, until even the priests remarked upon her piety. All of this, she knew, was being reported back to Derwyn, whose manner toward her by now had changed completely.

Convinced he had brought about a change in her, Derwyn was now puzzled by her new behavior. And one night, when she judged the time was right because he had seemed particularly tender with her, she waited until they were finished with their love-making and he lay upon her, spent. Then she started sobbing.

He looked up with alarm and moved to lie beside her. “What is it, Laera?” he asked, stroking her hair softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, everything is wrong!” she cried. “All wrong! I am all wrong!”

“But how? Why? I don’t understand.”

Still sobbing, she shook her head and turned away from him, as if ashamed.

“Tell me,” he said. “Please.”

“I am being punished,” she said, sobbing. “Punished for the all wicked things I have done, for the selfish life I’ve led! That is why I cannot give you sons! The gods have cursed me and made me barren!”

“No,” said Derwyn, “that cannot be true.”

“I have tried to make up for my past mistakes,” she cried. “I have no other wish now than to be a wife and a mother, but no child quickens in my womb! Each day, I go to temple and pray to be forgiven, to be deemed worthy of you, to be blessed with your son, but my prayers remain unanswered, for I have been wicked! Oh, how you must hate me! I wish I could die!”

Derwyn took her in his arms. “Hush, now, don’t say such things. We must not tempt the gods.”

“Send me away, Derwyn. Send me away to Ice Haven, where I may spend the remainder of my days atoning for my sins and trouble you no more! It is no less than I deserve!”

Inwardly, she held her breath. She thought the moment right, but if she had misjudged things, there was every possibility he would do just that.

“No, Laera,” he said. “It is not you who must ask forgiveness. It is I. When I first brought you here, I was cold to you, filled with resentment. I thought to use you as nothing more than a means to an end, so it was I who acted selfishly. You were bitter because you had been hurt by Dosiere—yes, I know about that, too—and it was your anger and your bitterness that led you to do the things you did. Yet all that is in the past. You have been a good and faithful wife. I thought I could not trust you, but now I know I was wrong. You’ve changed, Laera. You’ve done everything I asked of you and more. From now on, things will be different. I promise, you will see. If the gods mean for our union to be fruitless, so be it. But I will not send you away. I could never do that now. I love you.”

She looked at him, eyes wide with feigned disbelief, as if she had just heard the words she had always longed to hear, while inwardly, she laughed with scornful victory. The change had come. The tables were reversed. Now she was in control.

“Oh, Derwyn!” she said breathily. “I love you, too!”

A month later, she was pregnant, and the midwife decreed the child would be a son.

Almost four years had passed since the War of Rebellion, and the empire was united and stronger under Michael’s rule than it had ever been before. For the most part, the nation was at peace, but there was still work for the Army of Anuire. Peace had to be maintained with strength, and there was never any shortage of those who would not hesitate to test that doctrine.

The ogre tribes in the Seamist Mountains had grown stronger while the war had occupied the humans, and periodically the emperor launched campaigns to assist the forces of Taeghas and Brosengae in holding them at bay. To the north of the Heartland territories, tribes of goblins and gnolls who made their headquarters in the Stonecrown Mountains continued raiding farms and villages in Mhoried and herdsmen in the southern part of Markazor, where the empire was attempting to expand its frontiers. Coeranys was subject to periodic raids from demihumans in the Chimaeron, and attacks from Khinasi pirates who plied the coast during the spring and summer seasons.

Rhuobhe Manslayer still remained a strong force to be reckoned with in the Western Marches, and his mountainous, heavily forested domain made a campaign to flush him out virtually impossible. During the eight years that the war progressed, he had taken advantage of the conflict to expand his domain into the forests of Boeruine, and he had pushed his eastern boundaries into the foothills of western Alamie, sweeping down into the valleys with his renegade elves to loot and pillage extensively. At best, the empire could do little more than pursue a strategy of containment by establishing strong garrisons along the western borders of western Alamie. The Five Peaks remained a lawless region, necessitating the establishment of outposts along the northern borders of Alamie to keep the bandits from raiding at their pleasure. And there still remained the punitive expedition into Thurazor, which Michael had been forced to put off time and again because his attention had been required elsewhere.

The outer reaches of Cerilia also occupied much of the emperor’s attention. His dream was to expand the boundaries of the empire to encompass the wild territories to the far north, such as Rjuvik, Svinik, Halskapa, Jankaping, and Hogunmark, bringing the Vos tribes back into the fold. Ever since the Battle of Mount Deismaar, the Vos had been a law unto themselves, and Michael wanted to reclaim those territories and restore the empire to the glory of the days before the passing of the old gods. With the Vos territories under his control, he would then be able to mount campaigns from the far northern lands against the territories ruled by the goblin princes and the awnsheghlien, such as the Realm of the White Witch, Urga-Zai, the Giantdowns and, most challenging and dangerous of all, the Gorgon’s Crown, the foreboding domain of Prince Raesene.

Beyond that, there were the territories of the Far East, made almost inaccessible by land because to reach them an army would have to pass through Chimaeron. It was the only practicable route to reach the Tarvan Waste and the lands of the Black Spear Tribes, the forests of Rheulgard, Rhuannach, and Innishiere, as well as the Northeastern Territories such as Kal Kalathor, Drachenward, Wolfgaard, Molochev, and the awnsheghlien domains of the Raven and the Manticore. At one time, before the War of Shadow, which had culminated in the Twilight of the Gods at Deismaar, the empire had controlled almost all of Cerilia, and Michael’s dream was to reacquire those lands, drive out the brigands, civilize the savage tribes who now controlled those territories, and defeat the evil awnsheghlien once and for all.

It was an impossibly ambitious goal, thought Aedan, and accomplishing it—if, indeed, it could be accomplished—would take at least a lifetime, yet Michael seemed determined to pursue it. He talked of little else. It was not enough for him that he had already accomplished far more than his father ever had, that the empire was reunited now and stronger than it had been in generations. He wanted to bring back the empire of the original Roele, whose name he bore, and to surpass all the accomplishments of the long line of Roeles who had preceded him.

Michael had become a driven man, and Aedan was concerned about him. He was obsessed with the idea of conquest. Despite the weariness he had professed at the end of the War of Rebellion, he could take no satisfaction in the peace he had achieved. The war had changed him. His formative years had been spent in warfare, and despite all the hardships it imposed, war was now in Michael’s blood. He lived to lead troops into battle, and he became moody and restless when he was confined to the palace for any length of time.

That, thought Aedan, was the crux of it. Michael felt confined. The daily routine of governing the empire was something he found oppressive. He delegated most of his responsibilities so that, in effect, Aedan ran the government while the emperor spent endless hours in planning strategies for new campaigns to expand the empire’s borders or organizing expeditions to quell raids by bandits and demihumans on the frontier. He had become, thought Aedan, what he had fought. He was a warlord. He had turned into Arwyn of Boeruine.

The people loved him for it. To them, he was a hero, the warrior-king who had saved the empire. Under his rule, they had enjoyed more peace and prosperity than ever before. However, Aedan knew it could not last. The people of the empire hailed his expeditions to put down bandit raids and drive back invading tribes of gnolls and goblins from their borders. They cheered him in the streets when he led his army on the march, but Aedan wondered how long those cheers would last when the treasury ran dry—for it was already seriously depleted—and new and greater taxes had to be imposed to finance the continuing campaigns.

For now, farmers were pleased to contribute a portion of their crop yield to help sustain the Army of Anuire, and herdsmen uncomplainingly provided meat to feed the troops, but as the campaigns continued and the size of the army increased as it did each year, Aedan knew these attitudes would change. For the present, it was not a hardship for a farmer to contribute a tenth portion of his crops to supply the army, but what would happen when the empire demanded half? Parting with a few head of sheep or cattle did not greatly discommode a herdsman, knowing he was playing a vital part in keeping the empire secure, but when the army came and marched away with half his herd, he would be sure to feel resentment.

Michael couldn’t seem to see that. The people loved him, and he could not imagine losing their support. For now, he had it, but if he maintained his present course, things were bound to change. Over and over, Aedan had tried to make him understand this, but Michael stubbornly dismissed all his concerns.

“You worry too much, Aedan,” he’d say with a smile. “As we pacify our frontiers and continue to expand our borders, we shall make more land available for farming and grazing. And as we make more opportunities for farmers to expand their fields and herdsmen to broaden their range lands, our new acquisitions will attract people from the cities to the frontiers, where they will see the chance to prosper. And when people prosper, Aedan, they do not become dissatisfied.”

“Indeed, there is truth in what you say,” Aedan had replied, “but you have neglected to take several things into account. It is not quite that simple. As we continue to expand our borders—which will cost us—it will require more of our resources to protect them. We will have to build more garrisons, create new peers to oversee the administration of the newly acquired territories, and recruit more troops to defend them. Those troops will all need to be supplied and fed and housed, and the expense of that will counteract the growth in prosperity that you envision for a number of years, at least.

“Aside from that,” he continued, “these constant campaigns, no matter how successful they may be, continue to impose a steady drain on manpower. We have already increased the number of mercenaries in our ranks significantly, and mercenaries do not have the same impetus to fight as do men who defend their homeland. In the War of Rebellion, most of our soldiers were family men. When they returned from their campaigns, they went to spend time with their families. Mercenaries, on the other hand, have no families to support, which means they have no responsibilities. When they return from the campaigns, they go into the city in search of entertainment. They go to gaming houses, brothels, and taverns.

“Since we have increased the number of mercenaries among our troops,” Aedan continued, “there has been a marked increase in such establishments to cater to them. Along with them has come a marked increase in crime. Once quiet and peaceful areas of the city have become raucous fleshpots where taverns and brothels remain open till the early hours of the morning and men stagger drunkenly through the streets, accosting female citizens, getting into brawls, and generally creating a nuisance. They, in turn, have attracted a growing number of alleymen and cutpurses, and the city sheriff is too overtaxed to deal with them all. There have been numerous petitions from our citizens complaining of this situation and of the behavior of the mercenaries when they are on the town. We need to hire more men for the sheriff’s guard, which will further tax our resources. To put it bluntly, Sire, we just cannot afford to continue on this course.”

“As I said, Aedan, you worry too much,” Michael had replied. “The empire is growing, and we are merely experiencing some growing pains. These are all matters that can be sorted out. We need no more men for the sheriff’s guard when we can employ the army to help police the city. A curfew can be instituted for soldiers on the town, and the city council can pass an ordinance decreeing that taverns, gaming houses, and other such establishments may not remain open past a certain hour. These are all matters that can be settled with a little thought and practical application. I leave them completely in your hands, as I have utmost confidence in you. Work with the city council to resolve them. I cannot be bothered with such trivial affairs.

“As for the rest of your concerns,” he added, “these things will all be settled in due course. New territories mean new wealth and opportunities and more security for the citizens of the empire. If this will tax our resources in the short run, the long term gains will compensate for short-term losses. We must look to the future. If that requires us to make some sacrifices in the present, so be it.”

Later that night, Aedan repeated the conversation to his wife as they prepared for bed. “It just seems hopeless,” he told her when he finished describing his discussion with the emperor. “He is wrong, and he is trying to move too fast, but I cannot convince him. It’s no different than when we were children. He is just as stubborn and obstinate as ever. The trouble is, I have always been the sensible one, the voice of restraint, and he simply thinks I am being stodgy and overcautious. Of what use am I as his first minister if he won’t listen to my advice?”

“He needs a wife,” said Ariel as she got into bed.

Aedan stopped his pacing back and forth across the room. He looked at her, taken aback, then chuckled and shook his head. “You women always think that marriage will settle a man. Nothing short of another explosion like the one on Deismaar all those years ago will settle Michael, and even then, I’m not so sure.”

“Now who is thinking in overly simplistic terms?” she asked. “Or has it not occurred to you that a wife may influence her husband in ways his friends and advisors cannot? Aside from which, have you considered asking the emperor what will become of all his efforts if he does not produce an heir? Right now, he has nothing else to occupy his attention save his plans for the future of the empire. What about the future of his line? Has he stopped to consider that?

“And it wouldn’t do for him to marry just anyone,” she added. “The selection of a suitable bride for the emperor would take time and effort, much of which he would doubtless delegate to you, but his consultation would certainly be required, and that would give him something else to think about. Then there is the matter of reaching a decision. He would have to meet his potential bride and get to know her. I could not see the emperor blindly accepting an arranged match. He would naturally insist on forming his own opinion and making his own choice.

“Then there would be the matter of the marriage itself, of course, with all the necessary arrangements,” she continued. “That, too, would take some time and effort. And following the marriage, there would be the customary period for consummation, after which a certain amount of his attention would be occupied by the production of an heir. If we could find the right sort of woman for him, one who is as intelligent as she is beautiful, one whom he could fall in love with and respect and not dominate completely, then it is doubtful he would spend every waking hour thinking about new campaigns. If a marriage would not settle him, as you say, then at the very least it would slow him down.”

Aedan rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “You know, you’re absolutely right,” he said. “It would be the perfect solution. I cannot imagine why I did not think of it myself.”

“I can,” Ariel said softly. “Considering the circumstances of our match, I would not expect you to think of marriage as a desirable solution to anything.”

Aedan compressed his lips into a tight grimace. He sighed heavily. “Have I been so inconsiderate a husband?”

Ariel shook her head. “No,” she said. “You have been most considerate and kind and gentle. I could not ask for a more doting father for our daughter, nor a husband more attentive to my needs. I can complain of nothing. I know you have come to care for me over the past four years, but I also know that had you been able to choose freely, I would not have been the one you would have chosen for a wife.”

Aedan sat down on the bed and took her hand. “It is true that I loved Sylvanna, but I have no regrets for the way things turned out. A marriage with Sylvanna would have been impossible, for all the reasons you gave me at the time. She knew that as well, which was why she left the way she did, along with all the others. We shared a brief moment of happiness, but we could not have made a marriage. I knew that even then. We were from two different worlds, and fate brought us together. We fought shoulder-to-shoulder throughout the war, facing death countless times, and when a man and woman—even a human and an elf—are together in such circumstances for so long, I suppose it is inevitable that such feelings should develop.”

“I wish I could have gone on the campaigns with you,” said Ariel wistfully. “I am strong, and I can fight as well as most men, and better than some. I pleaded with my father to let me go, but he said it was not a woman’s place to take up arms in battle, especially a lady of the court.”

“Be grateful you were spared the horror,” Aedan said. “I would not wish for you to share the nightmares that still plague me.”

“I would share anything with you,” she said.

“You have made me very happy, Ariel. You have become the nearest and dearest person in my life, more important to me even than the emperor, whom I have known and loved as a friend and sovereign since my childhood, and whom duty demands I place above all else. I could never have given Sylvanna what she truly needed, nor could she have done the same for me. You, on the other hand, have fulfilled all my needs and more.”

“Had things been otherwise,” she said, “and had you the opportunity to choose between us now …” She stopped. “No, I will not ask that. It is unfair and pointless. And I don’t think I really want to know.”

“But I did choose you,” said Aedan. “And I have never had cause to regret my choice.”

They blew out the candles and went to bed, but Aedan couldn’t sleep for a long time.

2

The birth of Aerin of Boeruine was the occasion of great rejoicing at Seaharrow. Derwyn had declared a festival to celebrate the birth of his heir, and the bells of the town tolled to commemorate the event. The wine cellars of Seaharrow were opened, and barrels sent out to the town, placed, in the squares so that the people could join the duke in a celebratory libation, and a dispatch rider was sent to Anuire to inform the emperor of the happy news that he had become an uncle. A feast was held in the great hall of the castle, and Derwyn had spared no expense to make sure the celebration was every bit as lavish as those held at the emperor’s court. All present had remarked that they had never seen him happier.

For Laera, it was an occasion of immense relief. She had loathed carrying the child. She was grateful to be free of the sickness in the mornings, of the immense discomfort that had only continued to increase as the child grew, of the pain in her back and the swelling in her ankles and the twisting and turning and kicking of the infant as it lay within her womb. She had known that birth was painful and precarious, but she had still been unprepared for the agony she felt as Aerin made his way into the world. It had felt as if she were being torn apart.

She had screamed and cursed Derwyn’s name in terms so crude and vehement that even the midwives had been shocked, and she was later grateful her husband had not been present to hear how she abused him. It would have certainly conflicted with the new image of herself that she had worked so hard to build up in his mind.

Derwyn had obtained a wet-nurse for her, as was customary, for which Laera was profoundly grateful. She had suffered long enough in carrying the child. She had no wish to be burdened further by needing to care for it. That was why women of the common classes aged so quickly, she thought. Their children suck the life right out of them.

As it was, she had to bear pain in her bosoms for at least a week or more past the delivery and the discomfort of the compression bandage wound around her chest each day to catch the leaks and inhibit milk production. She knew that it would not be long before Derwyn wanted her to bear him a second son, and she was not looking forward to the experience. She would postpone it for as long as possible. She did not even want to allow him in her bed, and in this, fortunately, she had the support of the midwives, who had explained to Derwyn that she was weak and needed time to recover from the birth.

She thanked the gods the child hadn’t been a daughter. She hoped the next one wouldn’t be. That would mean she would have to suffer through the entire process yet a third time, or even more, if another daughter came. She still had a small supply of her special potion left, but she would soon run out and have to find a source for more. She would have to find and cultivate some young woman of the Court of Seaharrow she could trust. A servant wouldn’t do. She had learned her lesson. Servants could betray her. She would need to find a girl of some position who had a lot to lose.

For all that she had suffered, the birth of Aerin had now made possible the next stage of her plan. She had already begun working on it. As before, it would be a slow process that would involve the gradual manipulation of her husband, but she had already laid the groundwork. Derwyn had intended to be her lord and master, but by now, it was she who held control. It had been such a simple matter to convince him that he had made her fall in love with him and that it was his prowess as a lover, and not the subtle skills she had learned over the years, that brought out the best in her and made sex so pleasurable. She would now use it as a weapon to get her way.

She had already planted the seeds for the next phase of her plan. When Derwyn came to see her following the birth, she had told him how pleased and proud she was to have given him the son he wanted and added, as if in passing, an observation as to the importance of the birth.

“He shall grow up to do great things, my husband,” she had said. “I know it. I can feel it in my bones.”

“I have no doubt he will,” said Derwyn proudly.

“You now have a strong son to carry on your name,” she said. “And he shall be an important person in the empire, for the emperor remains unmarried, and without an heir. As the firstborn of the eldest princess of the House of Roele, Aerin shall be the next in line to sit upon the throne. Of course, I am sure Michael will marry someday and produce an heir. It is just that he has been so busy with his campaigns of late that he has had no time to devote to such pursuits.”

Still, that had set Derwyn’s mind to thinking about the possibility. She could tell. Unlike his father, Derwyn revealed every thought through his expression. And the thought of his son one day sitting on the Iron Throne was something he had not previously considered. However, now that the thought had been planted, it would grow. And she would slowly nurture it until it bloomed into a driving ambition.

If Michael remained without an heir, and if something were to happen to him on one of his campaigns, Aerin would stand to inherit the throne, and Derwyn would become the regent until Aerin came of age. Once that had been accomplished, if some ill fate were to befall Derwyn, then as his wife, she would become regent. And she would rule the Empire of Anuire.

Each night as she lay alone in bed, keeping Derwyn at bay until she had recovered from the birth, she planned as diligently as Michael planned the strategies for his campaigns. In her mind, she went over each aspect of her goal, refining it, contemplating every last detail. The one thing she could not control was Michael. If he were to marry and produce an heir, that could ruin everything. There seemed nothing she could do to prevent that from happening. But if, by chance, he did marry and the new empress, whoever she might be, bore him a son, she would have to find some way to make certain the child did not survive.

One night, as she lay in bed contemplating possibilities, she became aware of a subtle change in the air within her room. The candles guttered, and the atmosphere around her took on a certain thickness. It grew darker in the center of the room. As she sat up in bed, she perceived a smoky, faintly glowing mist that appeared just above the floor and rose in tendrils that began to swirl, spinning around and around until they formed a vortex, a misty tunnel in the air. Through that tunnel came a dark figure, walking slowly toward her.

She held her breath. As the figure approached, looming larger, she could make out the robes he wore and the staff he carried in his hand. Even before he stepped out into her room, she knew who had come to visit her.

“Callador!” she said.

He bowed to her. “My lady,” he said, pulling back his hood and revealing his ancient, hairless features. “It has been a long time. I trust I find you well?”

“I am recovering from having given birth,” she said. “Derwyn has a son.”

“Yes, I know,” the wizard said. “I have kept track of events. I still have an interest in what transpires at Seaharrow.”

“Where have you been?” she asked. “You disappeared without a trace after the war. It is widely assumed that you are dead.”

“That serves my purpose,” Callador replied. “I had to take certain precautions. When I learned that Arwyn fell in battle, I feared the possibility of retribution for the part I took in his rebellion. For all I knew, your involvement in it might have been exposed, and the emperor could have taken it into his head to punish me severely for the part I played in it. Had you been revealed as an agent of Boeruine, I had little doubt you would try to save yourself by claiming to have been ensorcelled.”

He held up his hand to forestall her comment. “Do not protest,” he said. “That would have been the only logical course for you to take if you wished to save yourself, and I would not have blamed you for it. However, under the circumstances, I felt it prudent to remove myself from the possibility of imperial retribution, and since I had lost my patron, it was needful that I find another. I had not anticipated you might escape suspicion.

“I thought it likely Derwyn would denounce you in an attempt to save himself,” Callador explained. “I never expected your brother, the emperor, would be so forgiving as to raise Derwyn to his father’s dukedom and allow him to retain his lands. Nor had I anticipated you might become his duchess. Strange how things turn out. You appear to have emerged unscathed and done quite well for yourself, all things considered. Congratulations are certainly in order. However, knowing you, I expect you still have hopes of doing better.”

“That I do,” said Laera, “and I have already taken steps in that regard. But where had you gone? You say you went searching for another patron. Am I correct in assuming that you found one?”

“I have, indeed,” said Callador. “And I must say, it took some convincing on my part to be accepted by my present lord. He is powerful enough in his own regard that he did not really need my services. However, I was able to make him see there would be certain advantages in taking me on.”

“Who is this powerful lord?” asked Laera. “Gorvanak of Thurazor?”

Callador chuckled. “He is powerful, but not nearly powerful enough for me to feel secure in his service.”

“Then who?”

“You will learn that in due time,” Callador replied. “First, I wish for us to reach an understanding. You had expressed an interest in my tutelage once the war was over. Do you still desire to study the thaumaturgic arts?”

Laera’s eyes lit up. Learning how to use magic would benefit her plans enormously. “More than ever,” she said. “Of course, it would have to be done in secret. I could not allow my husband to suspect.”

“That goes without saying,” Callador replied, nodding. “I had an apprentice when I resided in Boeruine, but he lacked promise. You, on the other hand, possess the necessary attributes in rich abundance. You are clever, patient, quick-witted, and ambitious. I feel I could do a lot with you.”

“When can we start?” she inquired eagerly.

“Soon,” said Callador. “Very soon. I am growing old and would be grateful for the opportunity to pass on all my skills and knowledge. But there are certain conditions that would first have to be met.”

“Name them,” Laera said.

“Mages must protect themselves from unscrupulous would-be apprentices who would, under the guise of sincerity, enter into their tutelage only to steal spells,” said Callador. “I do not for a moment suggest you would do such a thing, or even consider it, but prudence and tradition both demand a blood oath and a personal token to grant the mage security against betrayal.”

“What sort of token?” Laera asked cautiously.

“A lock of hair would do,” said Callador.

“Oh,” said Laera, fearing it might have been something worse. “I can accept that. What are the other conditions?”

“As my apprentice, you would be bound by the same oath of fealty I have sworn to my new lord for so long as I remain in his service,” Callador replied. “You would not be required to swear again, however. The oath you would swear to me would bind you to my lord, as well.”

“I understand,” said Laera, thinking such an oath would be of no real consequence.

Callador seemed reluctant to reveal the identity of his new patron until he was sure of her intentions. Doubtless, he wanted some assurance she would not reveal anything to Derwyn. No matter. Only foolish men gave any credence to such things as blood oaths. A little scratch upon the palm so that blood could mingle with blood and they thought it meant something. Besides, once her plans came to fruition, whoever Callador’s new lord might be, it was he who would owe fealty to her.

“I can accept that,” she said, feigning a somber and earnest expression.

“Good,” said Callador. He tossed a sharp dagger onto her bed. “Cut off a small lock of your hair. It need not be much. This amount will do.” He held his thumb and index finger about three inches apart.

She cut off a lock of hair, then handed it to him.

“Now, you must make the cut for the blood to bind the oath,” he said. “Your left palm, the one closer to your heart.”

She put the point of the dagger up against her palm, set her teeth, and made a small cut, just enough to allow some blood to flow. “Is that enough?” she asked, holding it up for his inspection.

“That will do. Now, hand me back the dagger.”

She gave it back to him, and he made a cut upon his own palm. “Hold out your palm, like this,” he indicated, holding out his hand, palm up.

She did as he told her, and he placed the lock of hair upon her bleeding palm, then pressed his own palm against hers, with the lock of hair between them.

“Repeat after me,” he said. “With this token and my lifeblood, I do pledge my bond …”

“With this token and my lifeblood, I do pledge my bond …” she repeated, thinking this all foolishly dramatic.

“and do hereby give my solemn oath as surety …”

“and do hereby give my solemn oath as surety …”

“of fealty to my teacher, lord, and master …”

“of fealty to my teacher, lord, and master …”

“of support and loyalty to his designs …”

“of support and loyalty to his designs …”

“of trust he may repose in me with all his secrets …”

“of trust he may repose in me with all his secrets …”

“and obedience in all things he may ask of me.”

“and obedience in all things he may ask of me.”

“Thus do I swear, on this my token and my lifeblood, to seal the pledge.”

“Thus do I swear, on this my token and my lifeblood, to seal the pledge,” she said.

“Good. It is done,” said Callador, breaking the contact and removing a small locket from his robe, into which he carefully placed her blood-soaked lock of hair. Then he turned and started back into the swirling portal.

“Wait!” said Laera. “When shall I see you again? And how?”

Callador paused. “I shall come to you.”

“But what of my husband? Derwyn shall want to share my bed again before too long.”

“When?”

She shook her head. “I can put him off a few more days, perhaps, but not much longer. He will grow suspicious.”

“A day or two should be sufficient. Obtain a lock of his hair for me. Tell him you wish it as a keepsake. I shall come to you the day after tomorrow and collect it.”

Laera frowned uncertainly. Suddenly, she had an idea that something had gone very wrong. “But… for what purpose?”

“So that I may devise a spell that will place him into a deep sleep at those times when I come to you. Never fear, it shall not harm him. And he shall awake recalling nothing of my visits.”

He turned and started to walk into the misty tunnel. For a moment, Laera simply sat there, stunned, her mind racing. The lock of hair was more than just a token. If it could be used to cast a spell…

“Callador, wait!” she cried.

He paused inside the tunnel, his dark figure indistinct inside the swirling mist.

“This lord who has become your patron,” she said. “Tell me his name!”

The swirling mist began to dissipate. But before the tunnel disappeared, she heard the wizard speak the name …

“Raesene.”

* * * * *

The word spread far and wide throughout the realm that the emperor sought a bride. Dispatch riders were posted to all the holdings of the nobility throughout the empire, and before long, every member of the aristocracy with an eligible daughter was petitioning for her to be considered. Of those aristocrats with more than one unmarried daughter in the household, some put forth the names of their eldest, some proposed their youngest, while others still proposed them all, inviting the emperor to take his pick as if he were choosing puppies from a litter.

The higher-ranking nobles, mindful of the proper protocol in matters of this kind and wishing not to make a misstep, all sent representatives to court, some with written scrolls that they delivered, setting forth replies. Others sought a direct audience with the lord high chamberlain so that they could repeat verbatim speeches they had memorized, extolling the virtues of the young noblewomen on whose behalf they acted.

Aedan was soon swamped with petitions and appointments. Each day, he received envoys who came with prepared speeches, scrolls, locket miniatures, and full-size portraits of the women whose cause they were advancing. Dozens more had taken up residence in rooming houses throughout the city, all waiting for their turn. Other nobles, especially the lower-ranking ones whose concern for proper protocol was not as great as their ambition, had actually packed up their daughters and brought them to the capital, hoping to present them personally for the emperor’s inspection.

It seemed every noble in the realm, from archduke to baronet to minor lords of small estates, had at least one daughter to present, and Aedan felt hopelessly ill qualified to choose from among them all. Even had he felt confident in his abilities to select a list of final candidates to present before the emperor, he could not handle it alone. He learned that very quickly.

There seemed to be no limit to the measures some nobles would employ to influence his choice. Many came with handsome gifts, while several offered outright bribes, and one viscount, who was as desperate for advancement as he was utterly unscrupulous, had even offered Aedan his youngest daughter for a mistress if he would advance his eldest for the emperor’s consideration.

Aedan held audiences with nobles who came to parade their daughters before him, decked out in their finest gowns to show their poise and beauty or display their talents. He heard so many ballads strummed on harps and lutes and sung with widely varying degrees of aptitude that he began to hear them in his sleep, and he saw so many examples of embroidery and weaving that his eyes began to cross.

“I cannot bear it any longer, Ariel,” he said one weary night, so driven to distraction that he couldn’t sleep. “I never imagined there would be so many of them! This task is taking up all of my time, and I am falling hopelessly behind on other vital matters. This was your idea! You have to help me. Please!”

“Leave it to me,” said Ariel. “You go on about the business of the empire, and I shall handle the selection process. Just put it out of your mind. I will present you with a final list of candidates when I am done.”

“I really don’t think you have any idea what you are letting yourself in for,” Aedan said.

“Oh, I think I do,” Ariel replied. “And what is more, I will be pleased to do it. I have longed for some task that would occupy my time and make me feel useful. Besides, a woman really would be better suited for this sort of thing.”

“I don’t know,” said Aedan dubiously. “It is not that I lack confidence in your abilities, it is just that I am not sure you know Michael well enough to choose the sort of woman he would want.”

“Perhaps not,” Ariel replied, “but I think I can choose the sort of woman he needs. And that is really more important. If she is the right woman, she will make him want her, rest assured.”

With considerable relief, Aedan turned over to his wife the task of screening the candidates, and Ariel set about it with methodical determination. She quickly assembled a committee of ministers and women of the court to assist her. Lord Dorian, chief clerk of the Ministry of the Exchequer, was appointed to her committee so that he could consult his records and keep her apprised of the landed worth of every noble who proposed a daughter as a candidate. Lady Arien was chosen to assist in making an evaluation of the social graces of those candidates who came in person. Old Rhialla, the senior midwife of the palace, was brought in to make determinations as to the health and constitutions of those applicants who presented themselves to the committee, the better to ensure that anyone chosen for the final list would have the fortitude to bear strong children. And several well-known bards who traveled far and wide across the empire and had a reputation for proper courtly graces were consulted in regard to those candidates who did not come in person, so that they could report on what they had observed when they had visited those holdings and pass on what they had heard, as well.

Within a few weeks, Ariel and her committee had eliminated most of the applicants who came in person, as well as a majority of those who had sent envoys to represent them, and had sent out invitations to those who sounded promising to come and present themselves at the Imperial Cairn. Each night, Ariel reported on the progress her committee made that day, and Aedan was impressed. A huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

On occasion, Michael would inquire as to how things were progressing, but by and large, he was content to leave things in Aedan’s hands and let him oversee the work of the committee. He seemed neither anxious nor particularly interested, which puzzled Aedan somewhat. For as long as he had known him, which had been all his life, Aedan had never known Michael to show much interest in the fairer sex. If he had any experience in matters of the heart—or of the flesh—he had conducted himself with such discretion that Aedan was unaware of it. Of course, Aedan realized with some embarrassment, he himself had hardly been a good example to the emperor in that regard. Michael had known of his affair with Laera, and though he had never brought it up again, he had alluded to it once—when Aedan’s betrothal to Ariel had been announced.

“I approve,” he had said, nodding with satisfaction. “You had given me some cause for concern about your judgment in such matters in the past, but I am pleased to see you have learned from your mistakes. My congratulations, Aedan. I am sure the two of you will be very happy.”

Mistakes, thought Aedan. Plural. It was the only time Michael had ever given any indication he knew of his involvement with Sylvanna, as well.

Ultimately, Aedan had decided Michael was simply too preoccupied with his plans for the empire to give much thought to women. He preferred the company of men, but not in any way that led Aedan to believe his appetites might run in that direction. He was polite but cursory with all his ministers except Lord Korven, whom he treated like an uncle. Korven was growing too advanced in age to serve as a general in the field, so instead had been advanced to the post of minister of war. And Michael dearly loved his troops. “My boys,” he called them, fondly and with great pride. Each day, he drilled with them and always brought back a few, regardless of their rank or social standing, to share supper with him in the palace, so that he could solicit their opinions, which he often gave more weight than those of his ministers.

The energies and feelings that made most men’s thoughts turn to women were, in Michael’s case, expended in the physical exertions of combat, strenuous training, and making plans for further conquest. He simply had no time for women, became impatient in their company because he did not understand them, and was only interested in marriage because Aedan had convinced him of the necessity of producing an heir.

It made Aedan wonder what sort of woman would appeal to him as a bride. Through Ariel’s committee, he would be able to make some recommendations, but the final choice, of course, had to be Michael’s. Unless, perhaps, Ariel were wrong. It could be that Michael would be perfectly content to have the choice made for him. And if he was truly that indifferent, Aedan felt sorry for the woman who would become Empress of Anuire.

In an attempt to achieve some greater understanding, he sought an audience with the old empress, Michael’s mother, Raesa. Having tired of life in the palace, Empress Raesa had retired to a walled estate on the east side of the city, where she lived with several of her ladies-in-waiting and was protected by a detachment of the house guard.

They met in the immaculate gardens within the walls of the estate, and Aedan was surprised to find the empress pruning the plants herself. She greeted him warmly and led him to a bench by the fountain. Aedan had not seen her in quite a long time, as she no longer chose to participate in any official functions, and he was surprised at how young she still looked. She was not many years older than he, and there was no gray in her long golden hair, as there already was in his. She was still attractive, and her eyes sparkled with vitality. It was obvious her new life away from the palace agreed with her. He commented on that fact.

Raesa smiled. “It does agree with me. I never liked living in the palace. It was too cold and drafty. I was forever coming down with the sniffles. I much prefer living here in the city.”

“Do you not get lonely?” Aedan asked.

The empress laughed. “Oh, hardly. I have my friends here with me, and there is no shortage of gentlemen who come to call. I am a woman of wealth and position, and still young enough to look reasonably pleasing to the male eye. My social life is busier now than when I resided at the palace.”

“You have suitors, then?”

“None that I would seriously consider,” she replied. “I enjoy the company of men, but at this stage of my life, I have no desire for any involvement deeper than friendship. I married very young and began to have children soon thereafter. And while Hadrian was a good husband and the experience of marriage had its own rewards, I am not eager to repeat it. I do not lack for companionship, and I desire nothing more. But then, you did not come here merely to inquire about my welfare, did you? You came to speak of Michael.”

Aedan nodded. “It is true,” he said. “I must admit I am at a loss to understand him sometimes. I came to you in search of guidance.”

“You are overwhelmed by the task of choosing a wife for him,” she said.

Aedan sighed. “You see straight to the heart of the matter. My wife has taken it upon herself to free me of the burden of the initial selection process, for which I thank the gods, but for the life of me, I just cannot imagine what sort of woman he would like. Or would put up with him.”

“You know Michael much better than I do,” Raesa replied. “He comes to see me on occasion, but you have spent far more time with him than I.”

“True, but I lack the proper perspective when it comes to such matters,” Aedan said. “And while a marriage can easily be arranged based upon a woman’s rank and social standing and ability to bear strong children, I would like, if possible, for it to be based on something more. Compatibility, at least, or even love.”

Raesa smiled. “That is something neither you nor anyone else could guarantee,” she said. “Love cannot be planned. It may grow, under the right circumstances, but there is no predicting how or when. I came to care deeply for Hadrian over the years, but I was never in love with him. At least, not the sort of love a girl dreams of when she is young. There was fondness and affection, but never any passion. And for love to exist, there must be passion, at least in the beginning. A greater, gentler sort of love may grow from passion as time passes, but it needs that seed from which to sprout. If that is what you hope to accomplish, and not merely a marriage of political convenience so that Michael may sire an heir, you will need to bring him together with a woman he can feel passionate about, and one who will feel passion for him, as well.”

“But what sort of woman would that be?” asked Aedan with exasperation.

Raesa smiled again. “One who is strong enough not to be intimidated by him,” she replied.

“That is almost exactly what Ariel had said,” he said.

“Then she is wise, and you must listen to her. But that alone is not enough. Michael is a driven man, obsessed with his plans for the future of the empire. It is all he ever speaks of. He is a great man, and great men are often ambitious, selfish, obstinate, arrogant, and even cruel. You seek a young woman strong enough not to be frightened of such traits and determined enough to wish to change them. Look for an expert horsewoman.”

“A horsewoman?” Aedan said with incomprehension.

“Not one who merely rides well, but one who can control the most spirited of mounts,” the empress said. “One who would not be afraid to saddle an unbroken horse and tame him, one who would regard it as a challenge.”

“I see,” said Aedan, slowly. “Yes, I think I understand.”

“Seek also for a woman who is not afraid to express her opinions,” Raesa went on. “Not one who is talkative or stubbornly willful, but who speaks when she has something of substance to say and is not easily swayed from her beliefs. Michael would not respect a wife who would defer to him in all things regardless of what she truly felt. He needs a strong-rooted mountain rose, not a shrinking violet.”

Aedan nodded. “Yes, that makes excellent sense, Your Highness.”

“Beyond that, look to your own knowledge of Michael,” Raesa said. “Look for those things in him that make you prize his friendship, those qualities that inspire loyalty and admiration in his soldiers. Women have similar qualities, as well, though they may manifest them differently. Follow your instincts. And then let nature take its course.”

Aedan thanked the empress for her words of wisdom and returned to the Imperial Cairn, feeling a bit more confident, but still anxious as to where such a woman could be found. That night, however, Ariel came to him in an enthusiastic mood to report that the work of the committee was done at last.

“We’ve found her, Aedan!” she said excitedly. “We need not even bother with a list of final candidates. We have found the perfect woman for the emperor!”

Aedan seemed a little dubious as he received the news. “Well, that is all very encouraging,” he said, “but don’t you think it would be best if we could present Michael with some choices?”

“If that is what he wishes,” Ariel replied, “then we have narrowed down the list to five, and we could hold a feast, with dancing, during which he could meet them all. But I feel confident that the moment Michael meets Faelina, he will have eyes for no one else.”

“Faelina?”

“She is the daughter of Baron Moergan of Aerenwe,” said Ariel.

“I was not aware that Moergan even had a daughter,” Aedan said.

“He has two,” said Ariel, “but the youngest is only twelve and already promised, by a long-standing arrangement, to Gaelin of Dhalaene.”

“And how old is Faelina?”

“Sixteen,” said Ariel. “But she possesses a maturity beyond her years. She is simply perfect. Wait till you meet her.”

Aedan thought of Moergan of Aerenwe, whose holdings lay to the east, on the southern coast north of the Erebannien, near the Gulf of Coeranys. Moergan did not often come to court, only on important state occasions. He was a rough-hewn, taciturn man who brought to mind a stout and weathered oak, enduring and unbending. Aedan found it difficult to imagine that a brooding, plainspoken and even more plain-featured man like Moergan could produce a daughter capable of captivating Michael. He tried to recall what Moergan’s wife was like, but found that he could not even summon up the name of the baroness, much less call to mind her features.

“Tell me about this girl,” he said. “Is she comely?”

Ariel smiled. “She bears little resemblance to her father, if that is your concern. In her looks, she takes after her mother, but where the Baroness Vivianne is shy as a wild forest creature and takes pains not to call attention to herself, Faelina is vivacious and most attractive. She has poise, bearing, and a strength of personality that commands attention. The moment I met her, I was sure she was the one, and though her rank may not be high, all on the committee agreed she was the perfect choice.”

Aedan raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? I am intrigued. When can I meet her?”

“Tomorrow,” Ariel said. “I have taken the liberty of inviting her to breakfast with us in our chambers. I thought that would give you ample opportunity to form your own opinion of her.”

“I will be looking forward to it,” Aedan said.

In the morning, after they had dressed and the servants came to set the table for their breakfast, Faelina of Aerenwe arrived promptly with her lady-in-waiting. The baron had accompanied his daughter to Anuire, and they had been given rooms at the palace, but unlike the other fathers, he professed no interest in directly championing his daughter’s cause. He had served with the emperor in the War of Rebellion and had survived some of their most difficult campaigns, but socializing and political maneuvering were not pursuits for which he cared a great deal, if at all. He had an eligible daughter, and he had done his duty by putting her name forth and coming with her to the capital when they received their invitation. Beyond that, he was content to let Faelina speak for herself.

And she did so, frankly and directly, with disarming honesty. Aedan was very much impressed. She was, indeed, vivacious and attractive, but she was no great beauty. Most of the women Aedan had seen had gone to great lengths to enhance their beauty, and while Faelina was far from plain, she was pretty rather than beautiful and did not go to any trouble to enhance her appearance.

She wore no jewelry save for a thin girdle of silver chain around her waist and a small gold locket of her mother’s. She came dressed in a simple yet tasteful blue gown with matching slippers, and her long ash-blonde hair was arranged in a thick braid that she wore down the left side of her chest. Her skin, unlike the pale, creamy and flawless complexions of most young women of the nobility, was tanned from a life spent out-of-doors, rather than cloistered in her father’s house. Her eyes were a startling, gorgeous shade of blue—frank and direct in their gaze. She had a slight dusting of freckles across her nose and was slim rather than voluptuous, yet appeared very fit. She was built along lines similar to Ariel’s, which meant she was tall, long-legged, and small-breasted, close to Aedan’s height, which would make her about a head shorter than Michael. Before she even spoke, Aedan found himself quite drawn to her. There was something about her, some indefinable quality, that made her quite appealing.

They made small talk over breakfast for a while, mostly about her life in Aerenwe, and she replied to Aedan’s questions in a very self-possessed manner. She did not appear at all nervous or anxious, but seemed quite comfortable in their presence.

“What do you think of the emperor?” Aedan asked her finally.

“I love and respect him as my sovereign,” she replied, “but as I have never met him, I have had no opportunity to form a more personal opinion.”

What a contrast that reply was with others he had heard to the same question, Aedan thought. Most of the others he had spoken with had gushed about Michael’s many virtues, his greatness and his bravery in battle, his handsome looks and regal bearing and so forth. And most had gone on at some length concerning what an honor and a privilege it would be to sit by his side as Empress of Anuire. Faelina’s response was simple, honest, and refreshing. He approved.

“Why do wish to marry him and be empress?” he asked.

“I do not,” Faelina replied.

Aedan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You do not?” Ariel said nothing, merely sat there watching him, a slight smile on her face. “Why, pray tell? And why then have you come?”

“I came because it was my duty,” she replied. “As to why I do not wish to marry Emperor Michael, it has nothing to do with him as an individual. I do not know him. I have never even seen him, save once, at a distance. How can I have a wish to marry a man I do not even know? Aside from that, I imagine life as Empress of Anuire would be much more confining than the life to which I have grown accustomed. I love the rolling plains of Aerenwe and the peaceful beauty of the Erebannien, where I can roam at will and spend my days schooling my horses. I can sew, but I have little taste for such things as embroidering and weaving and spending most of my days indoors. Given my choice, I would prefer a life that is more active.”

“You are fond of horses, then?” said Aedan, seizing upon that.

Faelina’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! I love them. There is no greater pleasure for me than to breed and raise them and train them to saddle. I do not even allow my father’s grooms to touch my babies. I care for them myself.” She held out her hands, palms up. “These are, I fear, not the hands of a great lady. But then, they are hands that do not shy from honest work. My father has never pampered me, for which I’m grateful. Perhaps it makes me a bit too common, but like my father, I find virtue in hard work and self-reliance. I say these things because I do not wish to pretend I am something I am not. In many ways, he raised me like a son.”

“Did he take you hunting?” Aedan asked, his interest growing.

“I have gone hawking with him since I was a child,” she replied. “And I have trained Chaser, my hawk, with my own hands. He goes with me everywhere.”

“Then you have brought him with you?” Aedan asked.

Faelina nodded. “I thought, perhaps, there might be an opportunity to fly him, and I could not bear to leave my pet behind.”

Aedan smiled. “Then we must go hawking after breakfast,” he said. “I will ask the emperor to join us so that you may meet him and … form a more personal opinion.”

* * * * *

Michael never missed an opportunity to go hawking, so he agreed readily when Aedan made the invitation. In passing, he mentioned that Baron Moergan and his daughter would be accompanying them and that they had already left by boat for the royal stables by the parade ground.

Ariel decided to come, as well, as she was eager to see Michael’s reaction to Faelina and enjoy some time riding in the fields after all those long days spent indoors, conducting the selection process. It was unusual for ladies to go hawking because few cared for the sport; those rare exceptions generally did not dress in breeches when they did so, as Faelina did. She made no apology for not having worn a skirt, but explained she found such attire cumbersome on horseback and had never cared for riding sidesaddle. To Michael, that made perfect sense.

Her hawk was a handsome creature and Michael took time to admire it. As they spoke, Aedan and Ariel watched them and Ariel beamed with pleasure. “He likes her,” she said. “I can tell. She can discuss with him the sort of things he enjoys.”

“We shall see,” said Aedan, cautiously optimistic.

Faelina’s horse, which she had ridden from Aerenwe, was a handsome and spirited black stallion. Michael, an excellent judge of horseflesh, immediately asked if he could try him. Faelina hesitated and glanced at her father. Moergan shrugged slightly, indicating her response would make no difference to him.

“If it were anyone else, Sire, I would say no,” she replied, “but you may try him if you like. However, I caution you that no one has ever ridden Midnight save me. He may not suffer you upon his back.”

Michael smiled. “Oh, I suspect I can manage him,” he said as if humoring her.

“Suit yourself,” Faelina said. “But don’t say I did not warn you.”

With a smirk, Michael swung up into the saddle. Immediately, the stallion reared and started plunging wildly, bucking and kicking and leaping up into the air as Michael struggled to hang on. For a few moments, he managed to stay in the saddle, but it did not take long before he was flying through the air to land hard on chest and stomach. Aedan and Moergan hurried to his side.

“Are you injured, Sire?” Aedan asked with concern.

“Only my pride,” Michael replied sourly as he dusted himself off.

“You should have listened to her,” Moergan said. “I tried to mount that beast once, and he nearly broke my back.”

Faelina seemed more concerned for her horse than for the emperor. She caught the stallion by the reigns and murmured to it, stroking its nose and apologizing for having let another rider mount him. Then she swung up into the saddle easily and reached out her gloved hand to the squire, so that she could take her hawk.

“Whenever you are ready, Sire,” she said.

Michael snorted. “Well, she sits that hellspawn well enough. Let’s see how well she rides.”

They mounted up and set off for the woodlands around the coastal hills. Once they had reached the plains, Aedan flew Slayer, whom he had named after his favorite bird from boyhood. Faelina launched Chaser, and the two riders set off together at a gallop across the fields. Michael’s horse, Thunder, was swift and strong, but Midnight was easily his match. The others had to ride hard to keep up as Michael and Faelina raced across the field, each trying to outpace the other. Faelina was every bit his match as a rider, and they hurdled over walls and post fences neck and neck. Their guard escort was hard pressed to keep up. Aedan and Ariel didn’t even try.

“You were right,” Aedan said to Ariel as they reined in to watch the others race across the field. “She’s perfect for him.”

“I think it remains to be seen if he is perfect for her,” Ariel replied.

“I doubt Michael is perfect for anyone save Michael,” Aedan said. “But I think you were right. She may be exactly what he needs.”

The royal betrothal was formally announced a week later. By then, it was obvious to everyone that the emperor was in love. And happily, it was a love that was reciprocated in full measure. No one seemed more surprised that Moergan.

“I must confess,” he told Aedan privately after Michael had asked him for Faelina’s hand, “I never thought to see Faelina fall in love. I always thought her a bit too spirited for most men. She’s a good girl, and would have married as a duty to me, but it does my heart good to see her happy.”

“They do seem made for each other,” Aedan said. “And with such a couple, I think we may look forward to a strong heir.” And perhaps to a few years of peace and quiet, he added mentally. For the first time, there was something else to occupy Michael’s attention besides plans for new campaigns. He did not delude himself into thinking Michael would settle down and give up on his goal of expanding the empire, but at least for a while he would no longer pursue it with such single-minded determination.

The wedding would take place in the spring and would be celebrated throughout the empire. For a change, thought Aedan, there would be no spring campaign. And he would welcome the respite from going on the march, especially since Ariel was pregnant once again. This time, the midwife assured them it would be a son.

A new heir for Michael to carry on the rule of the Roeles and a son for Aedan to carry on the tradition of the Dosieres as standard-bearers and lords chamberlain to the empire. They had gone through much to reach this point. The empire was reunited and stronger now than ever since the glory days of the original Roele. There would be time for future conquests, but right now, the immediate future held a promise of peace. Aedan was looking forward to it with a great sense of relief. Everything had fallen neatly into place. It seemed now as if nothing could go wrong.

3

Laera’s life had taken on a surreal quality, fascinating and simultaneously frightening. For the first time since her childhood, she did not feel in control. Yet at the same time, there was a thrill to being balanced precariously on the abyss. It energized her and made her feel alive. In the past, she had looked to her sexual adventures to provide her with the stimulation of risk she craved, but nothing had ever provided her with the same dangerous edge of excitement she felt now.

When she had made her pact with Callador, the one thing she could never have anticipated was that the wizard would have chosen and been accepted by Raesene, the infamous Black Prince, known and feared throughout the empire as the Gorgon.

When Callador had revealed the name of his patron, it had sent her mind reeling, and she had almost given way to panic. The wizard had tricked her. He had allowed her to believe the token of a lock of hair taken from her head was merely that, a token and nothing more, to seal the oath between them, similar in principle to a favor given by a lady to a knight. She had known almost nothing about magic, so there was no way she could have realized the true significance of the ritual.

When she and Callador had cut their palms and clasped hands with the lock of her hair between them, it had been a great deal more than merely a symbolic mingling of blood to seal the oath. That lock of hair alone could have served to give him power over her, but impregnated with both her blood and his, it had forged a link between them for as long as it remained in his possession, and by practical extension, that same power would also be granted to his master, Prince Raesene.

At first, the idea had so frightened her that she had nearly succumbed to panic and the temptation to reveal all to her husband. However, common sense prevailed, and she soon realized that if she told Derwyn the truth, nothing would be changed. Callador would still hold power over her, and nothing short of killing him would cancel that. Such an act would incur the wrath of Prince Raesene. Even though she had Derwyn firmly under her control, Laera did not think he would be blind enough with love for her to risk taking on the Gorgon.

More likely, she thought, if she confessed the truth to Derwyn, she would lose her hold over him and he would banish her to Ice Haven, where she would be forced to spend the remainder of her life in constant prayer, solitude, and chastity as a temple priestess. Aside from the utter misery of such an existence, all her plans, everything that she had worked so hard for, would have been for naught. And there was no telling what sort of revenge the Gorgon might exact for her betrayal.

After several sleepless nights, she finally concluded there was nothing else to do but ride it out and hope for the best. The more she thought about it, the more clearly she saw that her situation, while precarious, was far from hopeless.

She reasoned that she was far too insignificant to attract the notice of the Gorgon. She was merely a means to an end. She was not certain precisely what that end was yet, but almost certainly it had to involve her brother, Michael. The Gorgon had some plan in mind, and she must have become a part of it at Callador’s suggestion. Either that, or Callador himself had hatched some plan to increase his standing with his awnsheghlien lord. Either way, she would only be an agent, not the object of that plan.

Raesene’s lust to control the empire was what had led him to betray his half-brothers, Haelyn and Roele, and sell himself to Azrai all those years ago. The illegitimacy of his birth had denied him a place in the royal line of succession, despite being his father’s firstborn son, and his resentment and jealousy of his half-brothers had twisted him and eventually grown into a burning hatred.

After the Battle of Mount Deismaar and the defeat of the Dark Lord, Raesene had fled to the far northern territories and remained there ever since, doubtless brooding on his failure while he slowly built up his powers. Over the centuries, he had carved out his domain and established a stronghold at Kal-Saitharak, the castle fortress he had raised in a forested valley nestled high in the mountainous, rocky, and volcanic wasteland once known simply as the Crown. In time, the black stone castle became better known as Battlewaite, and the jagged cliffs and rocky escarpments that surrounded it came to be called the Gorgon’s Crown.

Much of Raesene’s history following his self-imposed exile in his remote domain was shrouded in myth and folklore, the accounts of the few travelers who had seen him so much embellished by the bards over the years that it was no longer possible to tell where truth ended and legend began. Most accounts at least agreed on a few basic points. Raesene had brought an unspecified number of his followers from Deismaar to Kal-Saitharak, and this force had grown over the intervening years into an army composed of the dregs of Cerilia.

He numbered gnolls and goblins among his followers, as well as dwarves who had been cast out of their tribes, trolls from the surrounding mountains, and ogres from the southern regions. In addition to the demihumans, he also had the descendants of his human followers at Deismaar, as well as bandits, escaped criminals from the empire, and mercenaries so savage and depraved that they no longer cared for whom they fought, so long as they had a patron to support them.

A walled city had grown up around the castle, and that city was now known as Kal-Saitharak, while the castle itself was called Battlewaite. Raesene never ventured outside his domain, and according to some stories, his power would be diminished if he did, though Laera doubted that. He had gained his powers through bloodtheft, and blood abilities were not bound to the land. More likely, Raesene had reasons of his own for remaining in Kal-Saitharak, though what they might be was anybody’s guess. Perhaps the mutations in his body brought about by his powers rendered travel difficult, or he was dependent on the confluence of ley lines in his region for the energy required to increase his power. But whatever the reason may have been, it seemed to hold true for most of the awnsheghlien, who were rarely known to venture far from their domains.

By all accounts, Raesene did not look human anymore. He was said to be a massive, powerful giant with the head of a bull and the legs of a goat, which ended in sharp, diamond-hard hooves. His skin was described as dark and stony, and he was reputed to possess the power to slay with just his gaze, which could turn people to stone. At one time, Raesene was said to have been one of the greatest swordsmen of Anuire, and he had instructed his younger half-brothers, Haelyn and Roele, in the arts of combat. Legend had it that in the centuries since, he had perfected his abilities with every weapon known to man and periodically held death matches to keep his skills honed.

The most recent account of a meeting with Raesene was over a hundred years old and was stored in the Imperial Library at Anuire. It was the report of a trader who had traveled to Kal-Saitharak and met with him. This trader’s account had described the walled city as an armed camp, a rough-and-tumble agglomeration of boisterous taverns, crooked gaming houses, and steamy fleshpots where the only law was whatever authority Raesene’s lieutenants chose to exert at any given time.

To walk the streets at night, the trader wrote, was to take one’s life into one’s own hands, even if well armed. Kal-Saitharak was a melting pot of races, most of which nursed age-old enmities, and battles in the streets were not uncommon. It was, perhaps, the main reason Raesene had not expanded his domain much farther than the Gorgon’s Crown. His army spent almost as much time fighting itself as raiding nearby territories.

The trader’s account had confirmed the stories about Raesene’s appearance, but disputed the claims that he had gone hopelessly insane. He wrote that the Gorgon, perhaps hoping to encourage other traders to visit his domain, had received him warmly and that they had engaged in polite and interesting conversation in which his host had referred to himself as Prince Raesene and had seemed intelligent and in full possession of his faculties. However, that had been over a century ago, and popular belief now held that Raesene had lost all vestiges of his humanity and was little more than a wild beast.

Laera found that hard to credit. If it were true, it was doubtful Callador would have been able to negotiate with him and reach an agreement for his services. Aside from that, a wizard of Callador’s ability could have found another wealthy patron without a great deal of difficulty. He was too canny and had too strong a sense of self-preservation to sell his services to someone who had lost all sense of reason. If the Gorgon had gone mad, it was madness with a method that Callador could understand.

After her initial bout of panic, Laera had forced herself to calm down and think things through. She had followed Callador’s instructions and obtained a lock of hair from Derwyn, saying she wanted to keep it in a locket so that she would have a part of him to carry with her at all times. He had been charmed—it was so easy!—and had readily agreed to her request. She had cut off a thick lock of his hair and kept a part of it to place inside a locket, in case he should request to see it. The rest she gave to Callador, who had used it to concoct a spell.

A week or so after her child had been delivered, Derwyn returned to share her bed. She did not think it prudent to put him off longer. However, she had no fear of Derwyn’s discovering her relationship with the wizard who once served his father. When the misty tunnel started to appear inside their bedchambers, Derwyn would fall into a deep trance, a sleep from which no amount of noise or jostling would wake him. Laera would then pass through the tunnel and emerge in Callador’s sanctum deep in the bowels of Battlewaite, where he would school her in the mystic arts.

She never saw any part of Kal-Saitharak beyond the windowless stone walls of Callador’s retreat, and she never encountered anyone but him. Each night, she would spend several hours studying under his patient tutelage, then pass back through the tunnel once again and return to bed with Derwyn none the wiser. He would awake refreshed each morning, suspecting nothing, and the sleep that Laera lost each night she made up with naps in the afternoon.

She had made rapid progress in her studies, much to her surprise, and Callador took pride in her accomplishments, saying she possessed an uncommon natural aptitude for magic. Still, it was not a discipline that came easily to anyone. It required diligent study and concentration. She took care never to bring any materials back with her, because no matter how well she might hide them, they might still be discovered, and she was anxious to avoid suspicion. Callador shared her sense of caution. He was pleased with her efforts, but he never allowed her to forget she must refrain from practicing any magic out of his presence until he gave his approval. And he would not allow her to progress any farther in her studies than he deemed prudent. Magic, he reminded her, could be very dangerous, and mastering even relatively simple spells required patience.

Laera did not chafe under these restrictions, nor was she bored with the long hours of poring over ancient scrolls, committing spells and rituals to memory. If that aspect of her training lacked the fascination of the exercises she performed under Callador’ s watchful direction, she never minded because she knew that all those hours of painstaking study would result in her ability to gain power over others—one man in particular. The day of reckoning would come, and when it did, Aedan Dosiere would face not just a princess, but also a sorceress.

Meanwhile, Laera continued her campaign to build up Derwyn’s ambitions for his son, Aerin. He still wanted another son to ensure the continuation of his name, and she used that, along with his desire for her, to lead him subtly in the direction she chose. Callador had provided her with a plentiful supply of the preparation to control her own fertility, and it wasn’t long before she had learned to concoct it for herself. She would never again have a child unless she chose to, and she would make that choice only as a last resort. So long as Derwyn had only one son, he would pin all his hopes on him and continue to be driven by his desire to produce another. And that would help her keep her hold on him.

She went to temple every day, where she always made sure the priests knew she was praying for the birth of a new son. She always expressed a fervent desire to please Derwyn and become pregnant once again, stressing that it had to be her fault she could not conceive; surely there could be nothing lacking in his potency. Yet by raising the subject, she nevertheless planted a tiny seed of doubt in his mind, which she could use to good advantage as it grew. As Derwyn slowly came to fear the loss of his masculinity, he grew even more tractable and docile, which made him more vulnerable to suggestion.

Slowly and carefully, Laera played on his affections for her and Aerin, building up an idea in his mind that someday, if the right circumstances would prevail, his son might sit upon the Iron Throne and found a new dynasty bearing his name. When it was announced throughout the empire that Michael had married and an heir to the House of Roele would soon be forthcoming, Laera was not deterred. While expressing a feigned joy over the union and her brother’s happiness, she kept reminding Derwyn of his son’s importance in the scheme of things.

“When the prince is born,” she told Derwyn, “Aerin will still occupy a vital role in the succession. He will not only stand to inherit your title and your lands, and grow up to be the most important vassal to the future emperor, but as the firstborn scion of both the houses of Roele and Boeruine, Aerin would be the next in line should any tragedy befall the prince—may the gods prevent it. Your father’s claim to the succession may have been disputed, but as the firstborn of a princess of the empire and the Duke of Boeruine, none would question Aerin’s birthright.”

Aerin’s birthright. It was a phrase she used judiciously, but often enough to start Derwyn thinking of his son’s future in those terms. His right by birth to sit upon the Iron Throne. And once that possibility was firmly implanted in his mind, the next step was to manipulate him into a desire to do something to increase the probability of its coming to pass. It would require time, for she would have to proceed slowly, allowing Derwyn to think it was his own idea. However, it would not be very difficult. Derwyn was much weaker than his father had been, and her long experience with manipulating men made it simple. He thrived on her affections, and if she withheld them, he would bend over backward to regain her favor, assuming the blame for having done something to displease her. And so long as he still wanted a second son, he doted on her and catered to her slightest whim. Nor was he the only one at Seaharrow whom she had enthralled.

It took a while for her to pick out the right one, for she wanted to ensure that there would absolutely be no mistakes. However, after a few weeks at Seaharrow, carefully evaluating all the possibilities, she had settled on young Viscount Rodric, eldest son of Count Basil of Norcross, whose small holding lay to the north of Seaharrow, near the Black River and the border of Talinie.

Rodric, in the. time-honored tradition of vassalage, had been sent by Count Basil to the court of Seaharrow to serve as a squire to his father’s lord. At the next Summer Court, he was due to be elevated to knighthood. His father was getting on in years, and Rodric stood to inherit the estate. He was seventeen, and he had a promising future. In other words, he had a lot to lose.

It hadn’t taken long at all. At first, she had merely noticed him, making sure he noticed her noticing him. Then it was a simple matter of eye contact, looking at him and then quickly averting her gaze, as if in embarrassment, whenever he noticed her attention. After that, whenever their eyes met, she had started hesitating before she looked away, allowing a fleeting but meaningful contact. To this, she gradually added subtle variations. A nervous swallow whenever their eyes met, a moistening of the lips, a few deep breaths to draw his attention to her bosom, then lingering sidelong glances, and finally, when she was sure no one else would notice, smoldering stares.

He started to find excuses to run into her around the castle and on the grounds. She studied his routine and made sure there were opportunities for them to encounter one another, as if by coincidence. When they spoke, it was with formal politeness, but he was always very attentive and solicitous. He started to take extra care of his appearance. The next step was brief physical contact. She would brush against him, as if by accident, and when they encountered one another in the garden, they would sit and chat for a short while, their thighs or knees or shoulders touching slightly. He had the fervor and impatience of youth, which made things even easier. When he took her hand and brushed it with his lips, lingering just a bit too long, Laera would increase her breathing and open her mouth slightly, gazing at him with a dreamy stare. And when he kissed her for the first time, he probably thought he was being astonishingly bold and reckless.

She made him believe she could not resist him, no matter how hard she tried. Her whispered protestations were punctuated by soft moans of encouragement, and soon thereafter, she “surrendered” to him, as if no longer able to hold her feelings in check. Then, as with Derwyn, she slowly began to tighten the noose.

By the time the emperor’s marriage was celebrated in Anuire, she had Rodric eating out of her hand. She was conducting a torrid affair right under her husband’s very nose, and Derwyn did not suspect a thing. However, with Rodric, she did not make the same mistake she made with Aedan. She had learned that lesson long ago. She curbed her appetite and always left him wanting more, carefully controlling the frequency of their assignations, allowing his hunger for her to grow.

She complained of Derwyn’s inattentiveness and told Rodric her husband only pretended to love her, that when they were alone together, he was brusque and even cruel on occasion. While Rodric held her in his arms, she speculated wistfully on what it would be like if they could run away together, adding that of course that would be impossible because it would ruin both their lives. Yet, if only she were free….

One more phase of her plan fell into place quite by accident, thanks to Rodric. Knowing the “miserable isolation of her existence,” he took it upon himself to provide her regular reports of the goings-on in the town and its vicinity. He was a natural gossip, and most of his stories she found interminably boring, but one in particular piqued her interest.

A young teenaged girl in town, a thief and prostitute, had been arrested for stabbing a merchant. He had survived, but as he was an influential member of the community, the girl had been sentenced to hang. Privately, Laera thought it a fitting punishment. The lower classes had to be reminded of their place every now and then to keep them in line and properly respectful. But when she went to Derwyn, claiming to have heard about the incident from one of her ladies-in-waiting, she pleaded for him to intercede and save the poor girl’s life. Surely, she said, this girl had been trapped in a life of hopeless misery, and only desperation had driven her to do the deed. She at least deserved a second chance. Laera offered to take the girl into her service, saying she was sure she could reach past the bitterness and the hardships she had suffered. And, she added, it would be a wonderful opportunity for Derwyn to display compassion and demonstrate to the people of Boeruine that he was merciful and truly cared about their welfare.

Derwyn had some reservations, but she wore him down, and soon the girl was brought from the tollhouse in the town to Seaharrow. She was proud and haughty, but not so foolish that she did not realize she owed her life to Laera. Her name was Gella. She was fifteen years old, a peasant through and through, who had been orphaned at an early age and had learned to survive by her wits. There was a spark of stubborn wilfulness in her gaze, and Laera saw in her a kindred soul that could be molded to her purposes.

She told her other ladies she wished to be left alone with Gella, and when they had left, marveling at the compassion of the duchess to take a fallen girl under her wing, she confronted Gella severely.

“Well, let’s have a look at you,” she said, circling around her as if taking her full measure. “Hmmm. A bath and some clean clothes and you might even be presentable.”

Suddenly, she reached out quickly and snipped off a lock of Gella’s hair. The girl brought her hand up to the spot, startled, but said nothing as Laera came around in front of her, holding the lock of dirty, oily dark hair in her hand. “It could do with a trimming,” she said, surreptitiously making a cut in her own palm as she spoke. “Let me see your hands.”

Obediently, Gella held them out for her inspection. Laera took her left hand in hers, as if to examine it. “Rough, coarse, and dirty,” she said. “But then, I suppose that’s only to be expected.”

With an abrupt motion, she seized Gella’s wrist and sliced her palm. Gella cried out in alarm and tried to jerk away, but Laera moved with her, maintaining her grip. She dropped the little scissors and slapped the lock of hair onto Gella’s palm, then covered it with her own. No blood oath was necessary; that was only ritual. The actual spell had been prepared in advance, as Callador had done, too.

Gella’s eyes grew wide, and she stopped struggling. “You are a sorceress!” she said.

“What do you know of sorcery?” asked Laera.

“My mother was a witch,” the girl replied. “They killed her for it.”

Laera released her hand and pushed back Gella’s thick, dark hair, revealing a slightly pointed ear. “A half-elf!” she said with surprise. “I never would have guessed. But now I can see it.”

“What do you want with me?” asked Gella.

“I need you to serve me,” Laera replied. “You shall be my personal body servant. I was the one who saved your life. It is now mine to command and do with as I please. Serve me well and faithfully, and you shall be well taken care of and rewarded. Play me false, and you shall suffer torments such as you cannot imagine, so that you will plead with me to take your life. Do you understand?”

Gella moistened her lips nervously. “I do, Lady.”

“Very good,” said Laera. “Then understand this, also. No one knows that I possess knowledge of sorcery save you. Not even my husband suspects. You seem to know something of the mystic arts, so perhaps you realize you are now bound to me for as long as both of us shall live.” She took Gella’s blood-soaked lock of hair and placed it in a small gold locket like the one containing Derwyn’s, closed it, then slipped the chain around her neck. “You belong to me now. And by this token of your lock of hair, I can reach out for you, no matter where you go. Remember that.”

“You want me to do something terrible,” said Gella. “That is why you had me brought here. You have no need of a body servant. You require a criminal.”

“The only law you need to fear is mine,” said Laera. “And if you do precisely as I say, you will not be caught, and I shall make it worth your while.”

“What is it you want me to do?”

“Learn, for starters. I will have you instructed in how to be a proper servant. And when the emperor arrives at Seaharrow for Summer Court, I shall have you assigned to serve the new empress.” She went over to her jewelry box and opened a hidden drawer in it, from which she removed a small glass vial stoppered with a cork. “A few drops of this special preparation in her wine each week will prevent her from conceiving a child.” Laera smiled. “It has no taste or odor and dissolves without leaving any residue behind. She will never know that she is drinking it.”

Gella’s eyes grew wide as Laera spoke, and she swallowed hard when she heard her final words.

“Your task shall be to administer the dose.”

* * * * *

The journey from Anuire to Seaharrow for Summer Court took about a week of travel at the sedate pace the emperor’s train maintained. They traveled with wagons bearing tents and supplies, a complement of infantry detached from the Army of Anuire, the mounted house guard, and all the lords and ladies of the Imperial Court. They averaged about twenty-five miles a day, with a rest period at midday, and they pitched camp at sundown.

For Michael, this type of travel was ennervating. He much preferred the faster pace he was accustomed to setting with his troops, and he felt restless on the journey, but Faelina’s presence acted as a curb on his natural impatience. She had been looking forward to this journey, for she had never been to Seaharrow, and she kept Michael occupied throughout the trip, describing the countryside around Seasedge and telling her of his adventures in Tuarhievel.

Aedan regarded the journey with mixed feelings. It was a welcome relief to get away from the Imperial Cairn and have a change of climate and scenery. It was also pleasant to take a leisurely ride through the country without feeling concern about being attacked by enemy troops or fighting a battle at journey’s end. And it was a much desired respite from his duties in the capital. On the other hand, Boeruine did not hold pleasant memories for him. And he would once again be seeing Laera.

Things had come full circle, in a way, and somehow it seemed a bad omen. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that making this trip had been a bad idea all around. Still, having forgiven Derwyn for the part he’d played in his father’s rebellion and elevated him to the dukedom, to say nothing of giving him his sister for a wife, Michael couldn’t snub him now by canceling the Summer Court. It was something a great many people had looked forward to, both at the Court of Anuire and Boeruine, and symbolically it underlined the reunification of the empire. Politically, Summer Court simply could not be avoided.

Nevertheless, Aedan was filled with apprehension. He had not seen Laera since she had departed for Boeruine with her new husband, and relations between them had been strained for a long time. Perhaps her marriage to Derwyn would finally allow her to leave the past in the past, but Aedan doubted it. He knew Derwyn, and he knew Laera would walk all over him. Derwyn lacked his father’s strength of personality. He was not a weakling, but he was too good-hearted, too eager to avoid conflict by accommodation. And Laera needed a firm hand on the reins.

Perhaps she’d changed, but Aedan had learned that people never really changed unless they wanted to and made a diligent effort. Judging by the rumors he had heard about Laera’s behavior right up until her marriage, Laera hadn’t changed at all. She had been very careful and had avoided scandal, but few things remained secret for long at the Imperial Court, and there were whispers concerning her libertine behavior. No one had ever said anything out loud, of course, nor were any accusations made, but Aedan had his sources—he could not properly fulfill his duties unless he knew what went on in the castle—and what he’d heard had given him no cause to believe Laera might have changed her ways. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He wondered, sometimes, if he might in some way be responsible for the way she had turned out. If he had not broken their affair off as he did, perhaps things might have been different. Perhaps it was anger and bitterness over the way he had treated her that led her to abandon all sense of morals and propriety. But then again, it was she who had seduced him and not the other way around. And he’d had no choice but to break off their affair. To continue it would have meant disaster for them both. And Laera seemed bent on flirting with disaster. It excited her.

She had never loved him. The words had never passed her lips. But Aedan could not blame her for that. He had not loved her, either. What they had between them was a hunger, a hunger that was obsessive, consuming, and unhealthy. There was something wrong with feelings like that, no matter how exhilarating and compelling they were. At the time, Aedan found making love with Laera an incredible experience, but he had only been fooling himself. They had not been making love. They were merely having sex. It had been thrilling, passionate, and intoxicating, but it wasn’t until that night he had spent with Sylvanna that he truly realized what making love was really all about.

One night. That was all they had. And he had never been able to forget it. He had been drunk, but not so drunk that he couldn’t function or remember, just drunk enough to lose his inhibitions. In that one night, something had changed in him forever.

They had known each other for close to a decade, and in that time, their friendship had grown and solidified until it became something much more profound. That one night, he later realized, had merely been the climax of a process that had been taking place for a long time.

When he was with Ariel, he never thought of Laera. But on occasion, while they were making love, he found himself thinking of Sylvanna. He had never told Ariel about that because he knew it would hurt her. And if she suspected, she never said a thing. He always felt a sharp stab of guilt whenever it occurred, for he had grown to love Ariel very much, but it wasn’t something he could control. He did not love Ariel any less for thinking of Sylvanna, but it seemed if he truly loved her, he should not think of any other woman. And yet, he did. He knew no matter what happened, Sylvanna would always be a part of him. Love was much more complicated than the bards made it out to be.

He was enjoying their journey, but he was not looking forward to reaching their destination. Ariel knew about Laera, knew about their affair when it had gone on and had watched its effects afterward.

“I never loved her, Ariel,” he had explained. “It was wrong. And what makes it worse is I knew it was wrong, but went ahead with it just the same. I was weak, I guess. I just could not resist her. But that is no excuse.”

“It happened,” Ariel replied. “There is no point in self-recriminations. You cannot change the past. You can only let it go. But I do not think Laera will ever let go. Be careful of her, Aedan. She hates you. I can see it in her eyes.”

“She’s hurt and angry,” Aedan said. “Perhaps, in time, she will get over it.”

“Angry, yes, but not hurt,” Ariel replied. “She would have had to care for you in order to be hurt. What you did when you broke it off with her was even worse for someone like Laera. You stung her pride. You held a mirror up to her and showed her what she truly was. She will never forgive you for that. Never. But if she ever tries to hurt you, I swear I’ll kill her.”

“Don’t talk like that,” said Aedan. “She is married now and out of our lives.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Derwyn is not his father,” Aedan said. “She will doubtless have him at her beck and call, but he knows better than to make trouble. He lacks Arwyn’s unscrupulous ambition and lust for power.”

“Do not underestimate a woman’s power to change a man,” said Ariel.

“Ah,” said Aedan with a smile. “I see. Is that what you have done to me?”

“Well, what do you think?”

He paused a moment, considering. “Yes, I think you have. And for the better.”

“I am pleased you think so,” Ariel replied, “but remember that you are much stronger than Derwyn. And if she can, Laera will change him for the worse.”

* * * * *

On the second day of their journey to Seaharrow, they passed the battlefield where Arwyn had met his defeat, roughly midway between the cities of Dalton and Anuire. In the distance, they could see the Seamist Mountains, where the Army of Anuire had fought the ogres during their failed campaign to find a portal through the Shadow World to Boeruine. Just to the south of the mountain range, still invisible at this distance, was the line of fortifications where Arwyn had established his garrisons to protect the borders of Brosengae. And a bit farther east were the Anuirean garrisons that had been overrun by Arwyn’s army on their way to the battlefield where the war had ended.

Famous battles were usually given names, most often after the place where they had occurred. This one was different. Though the fortifications in the distance and the nearby mountains could have leant their names to the battle, they did not. Michael himself had named this place, this killing ground that was simply a vast and grassy plain—grassy no longer, for it had been brutally churned up by the two armies that had fought here. When the rains came in late summer, the field would become somewhat more leveled as the gullies overflowed and water pooled and streamed in rivulets across it. The winter snows would cover it, too, and freeze the ground, further changing its appearance. Eventually, after snowmelt, new shoots of grass would appear next spring. Still, it would be years before all traces of the battle disappeared, wiped out by nature. And even then, the place would bear the name Michael had given it to commemorate those who had died here because of one man’s driving ambition: Sorrow Field.

As they passed the battlefield, the traces of the struggle that had taken place here were still very much in evidence. The mounds where the dead had been buried where they fell dotted the torn-up landscape, and a hush fell over the royal caravan as they passed. Here and there, flowers had been planted on the mounds by relatives who had made the journey to the battle site.

As many of the graves as possible were marked, and some of the families of the soldiers who had fallen had replaced the crude little wooden markers with tombstones carved by the city’s stonemasons. In many cases, however, it had been impossible to identify the corpses, and there were families who knew only that their loved ones had fallen here, somewhere. For them, Michael had commissioned the carving of a large memorial stone that identified the battlefield and bore a legend telling what had happened here. This memorial, too, was covered with flowers by those who had come out to say their last good-byes to loved ones who lay in unmarked graves.

This was the side of war that was anything but glorious, thought Aedan. There was glory in winning, heightened by emotions engendered by the act of survival, but glory was always fleeting. Death was permanent.

No one spoke as they went past the battlefield. And no one spoke for a long time thereafter.

They made camp that night near the abandoned fortifications on the border between Brosengae and Avanil. After the tents had been pitched and everyone had eaten, Aedan went in search of Michael. He found him a short distance from the camp, standing on a wall of an abandoned fort. A detachment of the house guard had accompanied him, for the emperor was not supposed to be left unguarded, but they maintained a discreet distance, giving him some privacy with his thoughts.

As Aedan came up behind him, Michael was staring out into the distance, toward the plains of Brosengae. The sun was setting in the west. It had almost completely disappeared, leaving a fading red-gold light illuminating the evening sky. Michael turned as he heard Aedan coming up behind him. He looked troubled.

“Is anything wrong, Sire?” Aedan asked him.

“No, I was just thinking,” Michael replied. “About other journeys like this, in the past. Summer Courts of days gone by. One summer in particular.”

“The last one before the war,” said Aedan.

Michael nodded. He smiled suddenly. “I recall I said once that when I became emperor, I would do away with all this business of ‘Your Highness this’ and ‘Your Highness that.’ It irritated me that no one ever used my name.”

Aedan smiled. “I remember.”

“Well, I am hereby issuing a long overdue imperial decree. Henceforth, Lord Chancellor, whenever we find ourselves in private moments such as this, you will address me by my name. Not ‘Sire,’ and not ‘my lord,’ and most definitely not ‘Your Highness.’ But Michael. Simply Michael. I know you can do it, stuffy as you are. You did it at least once before, in battle on Sorrow Field.”

“Yes, I recall you had given me that special dispensation, though I confess I had not thought about it at the time. The reaction was purely instinctive.”

“Did you feel it, when we rode past the battlefield?”

“I felt many things,” said Aedan. “Not all of which are easily put into words.”

Michael nodded. “I meant the silence. Not our silence as we went by, but the silence of the place itself. The silence of the dead.” He paused. “So very still. Not even the birds singing. The sort of silence that reaches out and envelops everything around it.”

“They say a battlefield where a great struggle has been fought always feels different, no matter how many years pass,” said Aedan. “There is always something about a place where many have given their lives in combat.”

“I feel it here as well,” said Michael. “They stood here, behind this very wall, watching Arwyn’s entire army coming at them in the big push. Vastly outnumbered, knowing they would be overrun, yet still they stood. They stood for me.”

“They stood for the empire,” Aedan said.

“You imply I have hubris?” Michael said. “Well, be that as it may, I am the empire. It was my decision that put them here, and even if it was not for me that they stood, they still stood because of me. As a consequence of my actions. As the dead upon that battlefield fell as a consequence of my actions.”

“Not just yours,” said Aedan. “It was Arwyn who rebelled. It was Arwyn who made the war, not you. It was his army that was marching on Anuire, and that was why those brave men fell on Sorrow Field. They fell to stop them. Taking all the guilt upon yourself is not only unjust, but it detracts from their nobility of purpose. They fought and died for their wives and for their children and for their fellow countrymen. And for you. But not for you alone.”

Michael sighed heavily. “Do you think I love war, Aedan? Tell me the truth. I shall not hold it against you.”

“I have always told you the truth,” Aedan replied. He paused. “And yes, I think you do.”

Michael nodded. “Perhaps I did once,” he said. “As a boy, I dreamed of leading troops in battle.”

“I know.” Aedan smiled. “We acted out those dreams often enough.”

“How you must have hated it,” said Michael with a grin, “having to play at war with children. All those times I made you ‘die’ over and over again because you did not do it dramatically enough.”

Aedan chuckled. “I must admit, it tried my patience.”

“A virtue you have cultivated well,” said Michael. “I should benefit from your example. Perhaps I did love war. I don’t know. I know I loved how it made me feel. It made all my senses sharper than the finest blade. It made the blood pound in my veins. It made me feel alive.”

Aedan experienced a sudden epiphany. “The risk,” he said, thinking of Laera. He had always been convinced that Michael had no fear, that he was incapable of it. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps, like Laera, Michael simply found the fear, the risk, intoxicating.

Michael nodded. “You felt it, too?”

“Not in the same way,” said Aedan. “Or perhaps not to the same extent. But I understand what you mean.”

“I have been trying to remember when it changed,” said Michael thoughtfully. “In the aftermath of our last campaign through the Shadow World, perhaps. That was certainly when it started, but as miserable as I felt afterward, I still don’t think it ever truly struck home until I saw Derwyn ride up and see me standing there over his father’s body, holding his severed, bloody head. I shall never forget the expression on his face. I see it in my dreams.”

“It had to end with either Arwyn’s death or yours,” said Aedan. “Arwyn would have settled for nothing less. Derwyn knew that.”

“Still. I killed his father, then made him a duke and gave him my sister for his wife, as if that could make up for it. And now we travel to Seaharrow, where he plays host to us for Summer Court.” He shook his head. “It all seems mad. At least a dozen times, I have thought of forgetting all about this, turning around, and going back to Anuire.”

“You could,” said Aedan. “After all, you are the emperor. No one would question your decision.”

“What about you? I don’t imagine you’re very eager to see Seaharrow once again.”

“I could do without it,” Aedan said. “It holds unpleasant memories. But we both know this trip is necessary. If we canceled it, Derwyn would regard it as a snub.”

“Yes, Laera would make sure of that,” said Michael. “I did him no favor by marrying him off to her.”

“By all accounts, she has made him very happy.”

“So they say. I find that difficult to believe. It doesn’t sound much like Laera, does it?”

“Perhaps she’s changed,” said Aedan.

“Do you really believe that?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. She always was a mean-spirited little harlot. I’ll never understand what you saw in her.”

“That is because you can only look upon her as a brother,” Aedan said wryly.

Michael remained silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Does Ariel know?”

“Yes. I told her everything.”

“Did you? And how did she react?”

Aedan paused to consider his reply. “She was very understanding.”

“What did she say?”

Aedan found this topic of conversation awkward, but he could hardly refuse to answer. “She said the past was in the past.”

“And that was all?”

Aedan cleared his throat. “She said Laera would never forgive me, and if Laera ever tried to hurt me, she would kill her.”

Michael chuckled.

“You find that amusing?”

“Only that it sounds like the Ariel I remember from our childhood games. She nearly killed you once, as I recall.”

“It does not disturb you that my wife has sworn to kill your sister?”

“If she ever tried to harm you, is what you said,” Michael corrected him. “And if it ever came to that, I’d kill her myself.”

Aedan was nonplussed. “Well… I don’t know if I should be flattered or alarmed.”

“If she ever tried to do you any harm, it would be an act of treason,” Michael said. And then, almost as if in afterthought, he added, “Besides, you are my best friend.”

“You honor me.”

“No, you honor me,” said Michael. “As emperor, I can have no friends, only subjects. You are the only true friend I have. The only one I can really trust.”

“What about the empress?”

“It is not the same. She is my wife, and I love her. I never expected that. I had looked on marriage as a duty, but I have found it to be a joy. And I have you to thank for it.”

“I cannot claim the credit,” Aedan said. “It belongs to my wife. Ariel chose her. She said she would be perfect for you.”

“And she was right,” said Michael. “You are fortunate in having such a wife, Aedan. I hope you appreciate her.”

“I do,” said Aedan.

“Well, we have been through much, you and I. We were captured by goblins and almost taken into slavery, we have fought a war and saved the empire, and we have found good wives. Now we must settle down and start having sons who will carry on for us and secure the future.” He stared out into the distance. “I have decided there shall be no campaigns next year. Our army has fought hard and long. They deserve a rest. I shall send the mercenaries out to the frontiers to establish outposts to secure our borders. The empire is strong now. In time, we shall expand it, but I think my vision of one nation that stretches out across Cerilia from sea to sea is one my son shall have to realize.”

“A wise decision,” Aedan replied, nodding. “A builder must not rush to lay a strong foundation. You have already done more than any emperor before you. Your father would have been proud.”

“As would yours have been,” said Michael. “There is still much left for us to do. We must have our reckoning with Thurazor, for Gorvanak shall always think we fear him if we do not punish him for taking Arwyn’s side in the rebellion. Aside from which, you and I still have a personal score to settle with those goblins. We have put it off for far too long. I intend to lash Gorvanak to a crude litter, as they did with me, and drag him all the way back to Anuire.”

“I must admit, that is certainly something I would like to see,” said Aedan.

“You shall see it before the summer turns to fall,” promised Michael. “And after we have done with Gorvanak, there is still the Manslayer to deal with. Rhuobhe has grown ever bolder in his raids and has expanded his territory well into the forests of Boeruine. He has been a thorn in our side for much too long. I mean to pluck him out. However, after that, we shall cease our campaigning for a while and devote time to our families.”

“I would like that,” Aedan said. “Ariel is with child again and the midwives say it will be a son. In the coming years, I shall need to spend more time at home to supervise his early training and prepare him for the time when your son shall doubtless make him as miserable as you made me when we were children.”

Michael chuckled. “Was it really so bad?”

“To borrow a term your sister used, you were insufferable,” said Aedan.

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Well, I shall make you a promise, Aedan. After my son is born, I shall take pains to instruct him in how to be more considerate of his future lord high chamberlain. I shall tell him that when they play at war, dying once is quite sufficient.”

“It usually is,” said Aedan. “I think that is a lesson best learned early. And now, with your permission, I shall take my leave and go back to my wife, before she starts to wonder what became of me.”

Michael nodded. “Tell Faelina I shall be back presently. I feel the need to spend a bit more time alone.”

Aedan hesitated. There was something in his tone…. “Is something troubling you?”

Michael shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “The war is over, we have expanded our borders and taken steps to secure them, and save for the future plans I have already mentioned, I cannot think of anything we have left undone.” He paused. “And yet… I have a peculiar feeling something is not right. But for the life of me, I cannot think what it may be. I don’t know. Perhaps it is merely restlessness on my part. Do not concern yourself. Go back to Ariel before she starts to feel neglected. I will puzzle it out eventually.”

“Very well,” said Aedan. “I shall tell the empress you’ll be returning shortly.”

“Good night, Aedan. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Michael.”

Aedan turned and stepped down off the wall, then started heading back toward camp. The fires were lit now, and most of the lords and ladies had settled down for the night. Only the soldiers remained awake, gathered round the fires, gaming and talking quietly among themselves. As he passed the detachment of the house guard that had accompanied the emperor on his walk, Captain Koval moved to intercept him.

“Is everything well with the emperor, my lord?” he asked.

Aedan nodded. “He merely wants some time alone to think. He plans a campaign against Thurazor this summer.”

“That has been the rumor, my lord,” Captain Koval said. “But he has never been anxious about campaigns before. There seems to something else that troubles him. I have noticed it since we began this journey. Do you have any idea what it may be?”

Aedan shook his head. “No. But he has many responsibilities to occupy his mind. The Iron Throne is more than just a seat of glory. It can be a weighty burden, too. However, he told me he shall be going back to camp presently. We still have a long journey ahead of us, and he is not accustomed to traveling at so slow a pace. I think he is just restless and impatient to reach our destination. There is no need for concern.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Good night, Captain.”

“Good night, Lord Aedan.”

As Aedan left them, he wondered if restlessness was really all it was. Michael had always been restless and impatient. Perhaps the prospect of taking a year off from campaigning was something he was not looking forward to. Yet he seemed to have meant what he said. Faelina had made him genuinely happy, and for the first time, Michael seemed willing and ready to slow down. Perhaps it was just the idea of being back in Boeruine, at Seaharrow, that was troubling him. Aedan was not looking forward to it himself. But politics demanded it. And they would not be there long before the army came out to make ready for the march on Thurazor.

One more campaign, thought Aedan. Maybe two, at most, if Michael truly was intent on going after Rhuobhe Manslayer after he was done with Gorvanak of Thurazor. It seemed a tall order for one summer, but after that, a year without campaigning would be a welcome respite. He was looking forward to it.

He had seen quite enough of war.

4

The preparations for the holding of Summer Court at Seaharrow had Derwyn in a frenzy of activity during the weeks prior to the arrival of the emperor’s party. The years of war had seen most of the duchy’s resources occupied with the campaigns, as well as the supplying of the army and the garrisons. The maintenance of the castle and the town had not been seen to properly in quite some time, and Derwyn was determined that Seaharrow would look its best when the emperor arrived.

Stonemasons had been gathered from all over the surrounding area and imported from as far away Diemed and Alamie to repair the cracking mortar that had loosened from the winter freezes of the past nine years. They had erected extensive frameworks of wooden scaffolding against the castle walls, clambering over it like ants to repair the damage caused by almost a decade of neglect.

The staff of servants hired from the people of the town was tripled to ensure that the interior of the castle was thoroughly swept and scrubbed clean. All the rugs and tapestries were aired and beaten to knock out the dust; worn furniture had been replaced; the arms displayed upon the walls were taken down and polished. Stalls in the stables had to be repaired, along with fresh posts and rails installed for the corrals and new thatch for the roof. The wall sconces for the torches were cleaned and the walls behind them scrubbed to remove soot, and the braziers were scrubbed out and polished so that they would smoke less. The bedding in every room of the castle had been changed, the frames laced with fresh, taut rope to provide good support, the mattresses stuffed anew with fresh straw and pillows with fresh goose down.

The uniforms of the guard needed mending, so Derwyn had ordered new ones made and had insisted that every member of his castle guard clean and polish his chain mail meticulously, replacing any broken links. Armor was polished and weapons rendered clean and sharp. Inspections were conducted every day, and the guard was drilled repeatedly to ensure that they executed their maneuvers with perfection.

Classes of instruction were held for the servants added to handle the arrival of the court, and the cooks drilled their new assistants to make sure the kitchens would run smoothly. An additional staff of gardeners had been taken on to weed and prune and fertilize, making certain the gravel paths winding through the gardens were immaculate, and cleaning out nests of field mice and insects. Squads of grimy ratcatchers roamed the castle halls at night with their squirming sacks slung over their shoulders, and even the dungeons were cleaned out in case the emperor should decide to inspect them.

In town, the sheriff’s men roamed the streets to make sure citizens had swept them and cleaned up any refuse. Wagons hauled garbage from the alleys out of town, and every shop owner, gaming-hall manager, and tavernkeeper was ordered to make his establishment immaculate. Not even during Arwyn’s time had the town been so extensively refurbished. Everywhere one looked in the weeks preceding the arrival of the emperor, thatchers repaired roofs, carpenters installed new doors and shutters, and farm wagons brought in barrels of wine and ale, loads of game, and bushels of fresh produce.

Laera saw very little of Derwyn during this time, but that suited her perfectly. During the day, while he was running off to town to check on progress for the preparations to receive the emperor, she spent time with Rodric, a younger, more handsome, and better lover than her husband. At night, Derwyn came back exhausted and fell right into bed, fast asleep within moments. Then Callador’s portal would appear, and she would pass through it into his sanctum at Battlewaite to continue her training in sorcery.

Even without Callador to tell her so, she knew she was making rapid progress. In all her life, she had never found anything to interest her as much as magic did. Her amatory diversions were merely that, diversions, something to add the spice of risk to an otherwise dull and dreary life. Once she had discovered sorcery, however, she felt she had found her true calling. She looked forward to the nights when she could go to Callador and resume her training, and in turn, the old wizard enjoyed having such a gifted pupil. But the night before the emperor’s party was due to arrive at Seaharrow, there occurred a change in her routine.

Derwyn came to bed late, exhausted from overseeing the final preparations. Through his bond with her, Callador felt when it was the proper time to open the portal, and he could not do so until Derwyn was in bed, where he could safely fall into his trance. As it grew later and Derwyn still did not return, Laera started to feel anxious. All that day, she had felt a nervous anxiety, a presentiment that something would be different tonight, though she did not know what. She had even sent Rodric away, for she felt too preoccupied to spare any time for him. His attentions were becoming bothersome, in any case. Soon, she would have to figure out some way to be rid of him.

When Derwyn finally came to bed, they spoke for a short while about how all the preparations had progressed—or rather, Derwyn spoke, while Laera made appropriate noises feigning interest, nervously wishing he would shut up and go to sleep. Derwyn was concerned, anxious because he kept thinking there was something he might have overlooked. He wanted everything to go perfectly, to prove to the emperor and all the other citizens of the empire that the war was in the past and Boeruine was once more first in loyalty and standing.

He might have kept on talking, for despite being tired, he was keyed up and fidgety, but the misty tendrils of Callador’s portal started to appear within the room, and Derwyn dropped into a deep trance.

Laera watched eagerly as the smoky tendrils slowly started moving in a circle, more and more of them appearing as they spun faster and faster, forming a swirling vortex that became the tunnel to the Gorgon’s Crown. She got out of bed and walked toward the misty, swirling portal, disappearing into it as if into a whirlpool composed of fog.

She passed through the sorcerous tunnel and felt the temperature drop, as usual, and goose bumps broke out on her skin. Her hair was blown by the wind within the tunnel. It plucked at her nightdress as she walked against it. Then, at the far end, she saw a light. A moment later, she stepped out of the tunnel, and it collapsed and faded away behind her. But instead of coming out into Callador’s sanctum, she discovered that, for the first time, she had emerged into some other place.

She glanced around, puzzled. Had something gone wrong with the spell? The walls of Callador’s sanctum in the depths of Battlewaite were built of large, mortared blocks of stone, but the walls in this place were constructed of another substance. They were jet black and sleek, rough cut, yet with a dark gleam as if they had been polished with a jeweler’s wheel. They seemed to absorb what little light there was, which came from large black, fluted iron braziers placed at intervals along the walls, emitting flames perfumed by some sort of musky incense. Obsidian, she realized suddenly. The walls were made from blocks of obsidian. She was inside the aboveground portion of Battlewaite, the castle fortress of the Gorgon, Prince Raesene.

She started as she heard a voice behind her. “You are late.”

“Callador!” she said, turning toward him. “What is this? Why are we not in your sanctum?”

“There is no time for questions,” the old wizard said, approaching her. “Come. His Highness does not like to be kept waiting.”

His Highness? That could only be a reference to Prince Raesene. She realized she was about to meet her tutor’s master, none other than the Gorgon. Her stomach tensed, and her mouth suddenly went dry.

She had never actually expected to meet Prince Raesene. She only came to Battlewaite at night, for a few hours, and spent all her time in Callador’s sanctum, located in the subterranean chambers of the castle. During the time she had studied the mystic arts with the old wizard, she had stopped thinking about why he had returned to contact her in the first place. In all that time, he had never mentioned wanting anything from her, but of course, he did. His tutelage would not come without a price. Laera did not know what that price might be, but as time went on and he said nothing more, she had simply ceased to think about it. Now she was going to find out just what that price would be.

For a moment, fear seized her. What if the Gorgon wanted her? The legends did not speak of Raesene’s having a wife. It was something she had never thought to consider. But now she thought about it. He had been here ever since he fled the battlefield of Mount Deismaar, centuries ago. The city of Kal-Saitharak was old, but Raesene was older still. He had come here when there was nothing and had founded a settlement with his minions, raised this castle, and then over the years, the city had grown up around it. All that time, and he had never had a mate. What if that should be the price? What if, this time, she would not be going back? What if she would never be going back again?

As they walked down the corridor toward two mammoth, intricately carved ebony doors at the far end, Laera’s pulse quickened, and she bit her lower lip. She had been repulsed by Arwyn when betrothed to him. Raesene would be much worse. It was said the Gorgon wasn’t even human anymore. And if he wanted her, how could she refuse? He held the power. Laera felt a chill run through her, and it wasn’t just the dismal, unearthly cold within the castle.

The two huge doors swung open of their own accord. A perverse thrill of excitement ran through her as flames burst from braziers along the walls. Her breathing grew rapid and more shallow. The fear was intoxicating, sensual… carnal.

They had entered the great hall of the castle. It was huge, cavernous. The vaulted ceiling high overhead shimmered with dark crystals. Black, winged creatures flitted between the sharply curved stone supports and buttresses, creatures she thought were bats until she noticed they made no cries and floated rather than flew, their shapes undulating like amorphous shadows, like primordial organisms floating in a waterless sea.

On the opposite end of the chamber, a large, frayed and tattered tapestry hung upon the obsidian wall. Laera recognized the crest of the Roeles, but it had been modified. A single blood-red dragon, rampant, crimson dripping from its gaping jaws and claws, upon a field of black cracked with stylized, jagged golden lightning. Beneath the ancient tapestry, upon a raised dais of murky black and silver crystal stood a huge throne carved from a single giant block of obsidian. It was three or four times larger than the Iron Throne of Anuire, built to accommodate a giant, and from its back sprouted two huge horns carved from faceted blood-red crystal.

Callador stopped her in the center of the chamber, upon an inverted arcane rune of inlaid silver circumscribed by glazed red tiles set into the black stone floor. For a moment or two, they simply stood there, waiting. And then Laera heard the footsteps, and cold sweat trickled down her spine.

Nothing human could walk like that. The sounds came from somewhere in the shadows, through an archway to the left side of the throne. They echoed through the hall like fantastic drumbeats, and Laera held her breath.

Thoom, thoom, thoom, thoom …

A huge shadow loomed beneath the archway, and Laera felt her knees start to tremble violently. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed heavily through parted lips, her gaze riveted on that darkened archway. And then Raesene appeared.

Laera’s chest felt constricted. He was huge, easily three times the size of a normal man, with a thick, muscular, bare chest; immensely strong arms with bony spikes rising from the elbows and the shoulders; a wide, powerful back that tapered sharply to chiseled stomach muscles; skin that seemed the color and texture of dusky stone; and the lower extremities of a satyr. Large, powerful, goatlike legs covered with thick black fur ended in hooves that gleamed like the black stone of the castle walls. But it was his face as he sat upon the throne and gazed down at her that made Laera’s heart start beating like a wild thing trying to claw its way out of her chest.

Whatever Raesene may have looked like once, he was unrecognizable now. The face that stared at her with unblinking yellow eyes was a nightmare. The stories said the Gorgon had the head of a bull, but even that would have been preferable to the reality. There were gray-black bullish horns sprouting from his head, and he had bovine ears, but any resemblance to a bull ended there. The shape of the face and head was roughly human, but Raesene had no hair. The top of his head was covered with spiky, bony projections, like the shell of some tortoise armored for battle. The once-human nose had spread out until it was almost a snout, and the jaw was elongated, allowing for a gaping mouth with sharp teeth and prominent canines. From the upper part of his cheekbones and the lower part of his jaw, on either side of the chin, sharp spikes protruded, smaller versions of the upwardly curving horns on his head.

Callador was ancient, and he had used magic all his life without its altering his human appearance, so the only explanation for such a grotesque mutation had to be the divine essence Raesene had inherited from Azrai, the dark god. Augmented by centuries of bloodtheft, these powers had twisted and transformed him into a horror. Laera recalled the stories about Raesene’s being insane and remembered doubting them. However, seeing him in the flesh made her wonder how anyone could possibly experience such a terrifying transformation and still retain his sanity.

Callador stepped forward one pace and went down to one knee, bowing to his lord and master. “Allow me to present the Duchess Laera of Boeruine, Your Highness.”

Laera did not know what to do. She was numb with fear, but despite that, told herself she was still a princess of the House of Roele, and Gorgon or not, Raesene was a prince, albeit illegitimate, of the same house. Her relative. By rights she would not bow down before him. I must not let my fear show, she thought as she made an effort to stand erect and proud, gazing directly at him.

Raesene simply looked at her for a few moments, then spoke. Incongruously, his voice sounded completely human, deep, and resonant, well modulated and precise. The accent was Anuirean, but somehow slightly different. And then she realized it was not so much Anuirean as Andu, the way her people spoke centuries ago.

“Callador has told me much about you, my lady,” said the Gorgon. “He tells me that you have made unusual progress with your studies, that you are very gifted.”

“I try to apply myself, my lord,” she said, choosing the formally polite yet neutral address.

“That is most commendable,” the Gorgon said. He paused briefly. “Does not my aspect frighten you?”

“In truth, it is most fearsome, my lord.”

“Do you find me repulsive?”

Laera swallowed hard. Where was this conversation leading? “I find you terrible,” she said.

“You choose your words most carefully,” he replied. “That, too, is commendable. I can sense your fear of me, yet you refuse to show it. You are proud and canny, both admirable traits.”

“Thank you,” she replied. Time to take the bull by the horns, she told herself, then suppressed a hysterical giggle at the irony of the thought. “You are gracious, my lord, but I do not think you have brought me here to pay me compliments.”

Raesene’s expression might have been a smile, but it looked more like a snarl. “Indeed. I have a task I wish you to perform. If you perform it well, there will be benefits for you in the near future. But if you fail, I shall take your soul.”

Laera gulped. He meant bloodtheft. The thought of her death filled her with dread, but at the same time, there was an underlying sense of relief that he had apparently not brought her here for some more intimate purpose. She would rather have died.

“What is it you wish me to do?” she asked.

The Gorgon produced a tiny vial, no larger than a thimble, on a golden chain. He dangled it off one claw. “Your brother the emperor comes to your castle for the holding of his Summer Court. He brings his new empress with him. On the night of the summer solstice, you shall see that the empress ingests the contents of this vial. You may slip it into any liquid and give it to her. But it must be precisely on that night. You must not fail, else your life is forfeit to me.”

“What will it do?” asked Laera tensely.

“It shall cause a child to quicken,” said the Gorgon. “My child.”

Laera gasped.

“If the empress is already with child when she arrives at Seaharrow,” said the Gorgon, “Callador shall give you a special potion she must take. It will abort the child, and thenceforth, she must be given a preparation to prevent conception until one week before the summer solstice. At that time, you shall feed her the contents of this vial. The firstborn of Emperor Michael of Anuire shall be my son. And through him, I shall found a new dynasty and rule the empire that rightfully belongs to me.”

The Gorgon stretched out his huge clawed hand, and the vial floated through the air toward Laera. She reached out and took it, then slipped the chain around her neck. The feel of it against her bosom made her skin crawl.

“Go now,” said the Gorgon. “You know what you must do.”

He got up and lumbered from the great hall, back into the stygian darkness of the shadows beyond the archway.

Laera stood motionless for several moments, stunned. Then she turned and slowly followed Callador out of the great hall. Once they had passed through the large ebony doors, which swung closed behind them, she turned to Callador and whispered, “This is madness!”

“No,” said Callador calmly, “it is merely politics.”

“Politics!”

“Yes, politics,” repeated Callador. “Raesene has lusted for control of the empire for generations. He had failed once in supporting Azrai, and the specter of another failure still haunts him after all these years. For centuries, he has been building up his blood powers and strengthening his domain, increasing the size of his army—not an easy thing to do, since they keep killing each other in street brawls. If they ever had a common enemy, they would probably be a force to be reckoned with. The trouble with Raesene is that his lust for power has become virulently addictive. He needs more and more. He has become obsessed with it to the exclusion of all else.”

“And he thinks by impregnating the empress with his child, he will accomplish his goal? That is insane! What sort of monster will the empress give birth to?”

Callador shrugged. “An awnsheghlien child. It will be killed, of course, but the spirit of the child will live on in the consequences of the birth. The firstborn of the emperor will be an abomination. Clearly, a sign from the gods.” He smiled. “Or perhaps you can call it Fate.”

“And what does that mean?”

“There are those within the empire who will interpret such a birth as an omen,” Callador replied. “The inevitability of the ascension of the awnsheghlien. And Raesene is foremost among all the awnsheghlien. There are also those who do not believe in gods. At least, not in the new ones. They are a group who call themselves the Fatalists. They started as a small conclave of disenchanted bards, tavern philosophers—wide-eyed impressionable wenches and the occasional young aristocrat with artistic pretensions, but they have since grown into something of a movement. Blame the bards who travel frequently and bring such fads with them where they go.

“In a number of cities of the empire, these dilettantes have captured the imagination of the common people. The group has no real leader, and its dynamics fluctuate. That sort of thing can make them rather useful. They are ripe, to paraphrase the old maxim, for the picking.

“When the empress gives birth to an abomination, they can spread the word and place upon it an interesting interpretation. Fate, having taken a hand, has poisoned the seed of the Roeles. The god essence they inherited at Deismaar has corrupted them over the years, as it has the awnsheghlien. All the Roeles have ever done was plunge the empire into one war after another in the name of glorious expansion, increasing their holdings at the cost of rivers of blood. The War of Rebellion is still a recent, painful memory to many. Such memories can be exploited. Perhaps it is time for the Roeles to be overthrown and the people to rule themselves.”

“You mean to start another civil war,” said Laera.

“The empire is weak from the last one,” Callador replied. “Another one would cripple it. And Raesene’s forces could move in. With Michael unable to raise an army strong enough to stop them, defeat would be a foregone conclusion. Raesene would seize his blood abilities and increase his power. And the Gorgon would sit upon the Iron Throne.”

They were descending a long flight of stone steps, heading toward the subterranean levels of the castle where Callador had his sanctum. A glowing ball of fire he had formed lit their way as it floated before them, casting garish shadows on the dank walls.

“You devised this plan!” said Laera, with sudden comprehension. “You gave Raesene the whole idea!”

“And why not?” said Callador. “Had Arwyn won the throne, I would have been the royal wizard to the emperor, with all the resources of the empire at my command. No more scouring for obscure supplies and ingredients for my spells, no more projects abandoned due to lack of funds; I could have pursued my art with no restrictions. But Arwyn lost, the fool, and I had to make new plans or face penury. I had grown accustomed to a reasonably comfortable life-style, enough that I developed a desire for more. When the empire collapses and Raesene takes power, I shall become the preeminent wizard in the land. And you, as my prized pupil, shall stand to become Cerilia’s most important sorceress.”

“You fool!” said Laera. “You think I care about so lowly a distinction? I had planned to ensure that the empress never bore a child! If Michael leaves no heir, my son would be the next in line to rule, and when Michael dies, I would become regent! I would have it all!”

Callador raised his eyebrows. “Indeed. And needless to say, you would take steps to ensure that your brother did not live long. But you forget, if your son were next in line and yet too young to rule, it is your husband, the duke, who would become the regent and …” His voice trailed off. “Ah, but of course. You have doubtless already made plans to become a widow at the proper time. I see that I have greatly underestimated you. Your plan is as sound and logical as it is diabolical. My compliments.”

“Only now you’ve ruined everything,” said Laera furiously. “If I do what Raesene wants and follow the plan you designed, I shall be left with nothing except whatever he chooses to bestow on me. And whatever that may be, it will be a poor substitute for what I would have had otherwise. I could have appointed you the royal wizard when I assumed the regency. If that was what you wanted, why in the names of all the gods couldn’t you tell me?”

“Well, there was the question of trust,” said Callador. “It is something I do not bestow very easily. Force of habit, I suppose. And I had not imagined you would plan something so bold and ambitious. I must admit, now that I have heard it, your plan has much to recommend it over mine. I wish I had thought of it myself. Unfortunately, it is too late now.”

“Perhaps not,” said Laera as Callador made a pass with his fingers and the arched door to his sanctum opened with a loud creak of its ancient iron hinges. “Perhaps there is still a way….”

“How?” said Callador. “We cannot betray Raesene. As I hold power over you, he holds power over me. I had to give Raesene a token to seal my oath to him, just as I took one of you. There is now a bond between me and the Gorgon. If I fail him, there will be nowhere I can hide.”

“Then you must get that token back somehow,” said Laera.

Callador chuckled. “Easier said than done, my dear. You don’t think he would miss it?”

“What form does it take?” she asked.

“A lock of my hair, the same as yours, which he keeps in an amulet around his neck.”

“And if that amulet were empty? Would he be likely to open it and check?”

Callador raised his eyebrows. “I should think not,” he replied, “but how exactly do you propose I reclaim my lock of hair? Sneak into his bedchamber while he sleeps? I think not. Discovery would mean my life, and with the bond between us, he would feel my presence if I drew so near.”

“But he has no such bond with me,” said Laera.

“You would risk such a thing?” asked Callador with astonishment. “If he awoke while you tried to sneak into his bedchamber, he would tear you apart.”

“Not if I were welcome in his bedchamber,” she replied.

Callador’s eyes grew very wide. “You don’t mean … ?”

“How long since he has had a woman? Does he still have the desire?”

Callador stared at her, mouth agape, absolutely speechless. For several moments, he was too shocked to reply. Finally, he said, “I… I don’t know. But… you can’t seriously mean you would … give yourself to him?”

Laera’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “When you first brought me to him, I feared that was precisely what he wanted, and I thought that I would rather die. But with all my plans at stake, if there is no other way, I suppose I could overcome my revulsion for a short while.”

Callador sat down unsteadily. He gripped the arms of his chair, shaking his head. “Even if you could, you would be taking a great risk. There is no telling what Raesene might do. I have never known him to be with a woman. I … I cannot guess his appetites. Nor can I imagine …” He glanced up at her. “He could hurt you. He might even kill you.”

“I know,” said Laera.

The thought of going to Raesene’s bed filled her with dread. And yet, at the same time, there was that strange, inexplicable, perverse thrill engendered by the risk of it, by the thought that she would be the first woman he had known that way in centuries. And despite his horrible appearance, he was still, at heart, a man … or he had been once. And men could be controlled. She was a past master at the art. She would be the only woman who had lain with an awnshegh, the most dreaded and powerful awnshegh of them all. And to control someone like that, to conquer him …

“By all the gods,” said Callador slowly, staring at her with disbelief. “The thought of it excites you!”

She had revealed too much with her expression, Laera realized. Callador must not know. “Excites me? Are you mad?”

“The look on your face just now—”

“If terror that chills to the bone can be called excitement, I suppose that is what I feel,” she said, shivering to underscore her words. “What would you know about excitement? You who thrill to nothing save your potions and incantations? You are the one who got us into this! Because of you, I must do something … unthinkable! And if I should not survive or if I should lose my sanity as a result, it will be on your head! By Haelyn, if I were a man, I would strangle you with my bare hands! You have sold yourself to a monster, and in doing so have sold me as well! And now it is my lot to save us both! Damn you, Callador! Damn you for a fool!”

The wizard hung his head in shame. “You are right, Laera. I’ve been a fool, blinded by my own ambition. Would there were some way I could make it up to you. I truly regret I ever brought you into this. I am so very sorry.”

“Words,” she said contemptuously. “Words come easy when it is I who must made this awful sacrifice!”

“It is true,” said Callador miserably. He brought his hands up to his neck and slipped off the golden amulet that held her lock of hair. “Here, take this. I release you from your bond. It is the very least I can do.”

Laera smiled inwardly. Perfect, she thought, as she took the amulet. Right on cue. “Well, perhaps you really did mean it,” she said, her voice softening. “You have been both a friend and teacher to me, Callador. You thought you were helping us both—you to find a better place in life and me to get revenge on an old enemy and on my brother for bartering me to cement a political alliance. I forgive you.”

“I shall send you back,” said Callador. “I cannot allow you to go through with this. I will take the brunt of Raesene’s vengeance.”

“No,” said Laera. “There may still be a way for us to turn things to our favor. We may yet win our goal. But first you must be free of Raesene’s power.”

“You would still do this … for me?” the old wizard said with amazement.

“No, for us,” said Laera. “Wait here for me. I shall either return with your token or die trying.”

* * * * *

The corridors of Battlewaite were empty as she made her way back to the great hall. The braziers flickered dimly, their flames dying out. As Laera crossed the hall, heading toward the archway in the back, her heart pounded so hard she thought the sound of it would fill the hall, echoing off the gleaming black walls.

She had never been so afraid in her entire life. And yet, the fear excited her. She had to go through with this somehow. Not only because she still needed Callador, but because without him, her plans would go awry. The wizard knew too much, and so long as the Gorgon controlled him, Callador remained a threat to her. There was only one way to neutralize that threat.

She went through the archway and down a darkened corridor that led to a flight of stone steps. As she climbed them slowly, her terror mounted, and her excitement as well. This was the greatest risk she had ever taken. If she were caught, she would surely die. But if she succeeded, she would not only have taken the ultimate risk and gotten away with it, she would do what no other woman had ever done. She would have conquered the Gorgon.

No one would ever know of it, of course, but that didn’t matter. She would know, and the sense of power and satisfaction she would derive from that would be intoxicating beyond anything she had ever experienced. The Gorgon, too, would know. Eventually. And there would be nothing he could do about it.

At the top of the stairs, she came to another, smaller archway. She passed through it into a darkened anteroom, illuminated only by several thick candles dripping on a table. The musky odor inside the room filled her nostrils and made her grimace with distaste. It smelled like the lair of some beast. She crossed the anteroom, headed for a curtained archway in the back. She tried not to look at the objects in the room: the bones scattered on the tables; the rats scurrying among the grisly remains of the Gorgon’s last meal—she did not want to speculate what it had been—the human skulls, brown with age, arrayed upon the shelves, trophies of past bloodthefts. She tried to focus her attention on the task at hand. She tried to use her fear, to control it, to employ it as an impetus to see her through what she was about to do.

He was a man once, she told herself. Whatever he may be now, he was once a man, and men could be controlled. This would be her greatest challenge. Her skin crawled at the thought of what she was about to do, but there was something incredibly compelling about it, too. She moved as if in a trance, heading toward the sounds of snoring coming from behind the curtain. It was a rumbling sound, a growling that made her knees shake. She parted the curtain and stepped through.

She stood there for several moments, holding her breath as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. She could make out a huge shape lying sprawled on a bed big enough to sleep six humans side by side. An involuntary whimper escaped her throat. It was still not too late. She could still turn and run….

“Who goes there? Who dares …?”

Lambent yellow eyes stared at her from the bed, like the gaze of some feral, predatory beast.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said, lowering her head. She didn’t need to make her voice tremble. It did so of its own accord. “Please, do not be angry with me, I beseech you. I… I could not stay away…. Never have I beheld such power… such force… such terrible mastery….” She moved closer. “I was unable to resist…. May the dark lord help me! I… I was simply overwhelmed. I do not even know what I am doing. Surely, this is madness, but it is a madness that has caught me in its grip and there is nothing I can do.” She slipped her gown off her shoulders. “I sensed your power and was helpless and humbled in the face of it. I am lost. My will is not my own. I scarcely know myself. You may smite me down for my boldness, but I do not care. I had to come to you.” She was breathing heavily, and she made her voice husky with desire. “Do with me what you will. You are too strong….”

She crawled up onto the bed.

* * * * *

It was nearly dawn when she returned to Callador’s sanctum, barely able to move. It had taken all her strength to stagger back to the old wizard. When he saw her at the door, his eyes grew wide, and he hurried to help her inside.

“May the gods have mercy! I was sure I would never see you alive again!” he said, easing her into his chair.

“Were I not of the bloodline of the Roeles, you never would have,” she replied weakly. “It took all my strength to regenerate myself after that filthy beast was through with me. He nearly killed me. The pain was beyond anything I have ever known.”

“Here,” he said, pouring a liquid from a potion bottle into a goblet. “Drink this. It will restore your strength.”

She drained it, spilling some of it onto her chin and chest. It felt warm going down and, within moments, the warmth began to spread through her body, suffusing her with invigorating strength. She took a deep breath and leaned back, shutting her eyes as the restorative potion did its work.

“Centuries without a woman,” she said, her voice raw. “He was sure saving it up, curse him.”

“I still cannot believe you did it,” Callador said. “But at least you have survived. You tried. You did your best.”

She looked up at him. “I did, indeed.”

She reached inside her gown and held up the locket.

Callador caught his breath. “You took it!”

“He fell into a stupor after he was spent. It was a simple matter to remove it.”

“But… you took the locket!” Callador repeated, with dismay. “You were only supposed to open it and retrieve the token! When he wakes, he will know that it is missing!”

“Then I suppose we had best be far away from here by then,” she said. She let the locket fall back inside her gown.

“You have left me with no choice,” he said.

“That was my intention.”

“Give me the token.”

“I think not. After what I’ve just gone through to get it, I certainly deserve to keep it, don’t you think?”

Callador stared at her as the full import of her words sank in. “So, I see. It’s going to be like that, is it?”

“That’s right, it’s going to be like that. I have my token back, and now I hold yours, as well. And that makes me the master now. I know how to use it. You have taught me well, Callador.”

“As I have said before,” the wizard replied, “I had greatly underestimated you, my lady.”

“Form the portal,” Laera said. “It is too dangerous for us to remain here long. Besides, it is almost dawn, and my dolt of a husband will need to be waking up soon so he can prepared for the emperor’s arrival.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Callador replied. He began to form the misty portal.

“I will need some time to recover from this ordeal,” said Laera, “and you shall need to find a place to stay. We will require supplies to replace those you must leave behind. I will make the funds available to you. Take only those scrolls and materials that are indispensable. The rest we shall replace as best we can.”

As the portal opened in the center of the chamber, Callador quickly began to gather up those things he would be taking with him.

“It strikes me there is merit in both your plan and mine,” said Laera. “The trick is in combining them.”

“Combining them?” said Callador. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” she replied. “I will explain it in good time. I have suffered much to reach this stage. What remains to be done now is simple. It will merely take a little time and patience. But when all is said and done, I will sit upon the Iron Throne as regent of the Empire of Anuire. And as my first official act, I shall have Aedan Dosiere’s heart on a platter.”

5

Laera’s plan was made easier by the fact that the Empress Faelina was not yet pregnant when she arrived at Seaharrow. It was the first time she had ever met the woman her brother had chosen for a wife. Trust Michael to marry a tomboy, she had thought on meeting the new empress. She was pretty enough, in a rather common sort of way, but she had no conception of how to comport herself like a real lady, much less an empress. She walked like a man, with no grace whatsoever, and was much too direct in her manner. Subtlety was clearly something the poor girl would never understand, thought Laera.

Faelina was polite and friendly to the other ladies of the court at Seaharrow, but evinced little genuine interest in their pursuits. She had no skill at dancing, embroidery, or weaving and could not play a dulcimer or lute. She was unschooled in the courtly graces, and though she was amenable to conversation with the other women, she much preferred to spend her time with the horses in the stables or galloping over the fields with Michael. She enjoyed hunting as much as any man and took delight in watching the guards at their weapons practice. The men all seemed to find her captivating and delightful, remarkably earthy and unprepossessing. The women did not quite know what to make of her. However, it was obvious to everyone that Faelina and Michael were very much in love. They were birds of feather who understood one another, and everyone commented on what a perfect match they were.

Laera treated her like a little sister. Actually, she treated her much better than she had ever treated her real sisters, for whom she had had very little use. It wasn’t difficult at all to gain her trust. Laera bestowed it freely from the very start. Manipulating her was not even a challenge. She was an innocent, completely without guile. Laera had nothing but contempt for her.

Faelina accepted Gella as her body servant without question, and from the day she arrived to one week prior to the summer solstice, Gella faithfully administered the potion that would prevent her from conceiving. Each night, she poured several drops into her mulled ale, which was Faelina’s preferred libation before bedtime. She even drank like a man, thought Laera. Michael had no taste whatsoever, marrying such a common wench.

Aedan diplomatically kept his distance. When the emperor’s party arrived, he had greeted her very formally and politely, with no hint upon his features or in his manner of what had passed between them. He apparently preferred to pretend it simply had never happened. Laera would have liked nothing better than to plunge a dagger deep into his heart, but that would have been too quick. Besides, his turn would come. He was courteous, but after the emperor’s party had settled in, he avoided her as much as possible. That was fine with Laera. It meant he would not get in the way.

Toward the middle of the month, the army arrived, marching from Anuire for the long-anticipated punitive campaign against Thurazor, planned now for midsummer. There would be several weeks of preparation, and then they would depart around the middle of the next month. It meant that both Aedan and Michael would be kept busy drilling the troops in readiness for the campaign, which Derwyn would be joining with his knights and men-at-arms. Rodric would be going, too. The young fool wanted an opportunity to distinguish himself in battle. It was just as well, thought Laera. He was becoming tiresome in any case. With luck, he would fall in battle, and she would be spared the necessity of getting rid of him.

On the night of the summer solstice, Laera gave Gella the little vial that contained the Gorgon’s seed. She did not tell the girl what it was, merely that it was a new and more efficient preparation of the same nature she had used before. Gella had accepted it without question, then returned later in the evening, as directed, to tell her that the deed was done. Now, thought Laera, all she had to do was wait. The child would quicken, and nine months later, when Summer Court was over and Michael and his party were long gone, the birth would take place.

She felt confident no one would ever suspect the truth of what had actually occurred. Aside from herself, only Gella and Callador would know, and she held both their tokens, giving her power over them. Still, thought Laera, it would be best if Gella were disposed of as soon as possible. Callador was old and had too much to lose to think of betraying her. He was too deeply involved himself, and he needed a patron. Besides, she still had use for him. But Gella was a loose end that would have to be accounted for. She was the only one who could link her directly to the birth.

After everyone in the castle had gone to bed, Laera went to get the small bronze jewelry box she kept beside her bed. In the hidden drawer it contained, she kept the lockets that held the tokens of Callador and Gella, though she wore the one with Derwyn’s hair. She had given some of the lock to Callador so that he could effect the spell that lulled her husband into a deep trance each time the wizard came to her, but she had also kept some for herself. She used Derwyn’s token now to make him sleep, but at the proper time, would use it to effect a spell that would make her a grieving widow. She imagined what it would be like.

When the monster child was born, any effort to keep the birth a secret would be doomed to failure. She and Callador would see to that, though indirectly, of course. The word would spread that Michael’s seed was cursed. The Fatalists would make sure. They were already becoming known for spreading discontent and championing the cause of the commoners.

Michael still enjoyed the favor of the people, but they were growing weary of the years of constant warfare. It was a drain on the resources of the empire, and the long War of Rebellion, as well as Michael’s campaigns of expansion, had left many widows and orphans. Nobles who were more concerned with the upkeep of their lands and their estates had become tired of Michael’s constant demands on them to supply manpower and supplies for the Army of Anuire, and the commoners were starting to grumble that the emperor was more concerned with conquest than he was with improving the lot of his subjects. It would not take much to cause these seeds of discontent to sprout.

A royal birth that had been cursed by the gods would mean the people were cursed, as well, so long as Michael ruled them. There would be calls for his abdication, and if he refused, a rebellion would soon follow. The priests of the temple of Haelyn would support her cause. Her daily attendance at the temple had given Laera a reputation for uncommon piety and goodness. She had carefully reinforced that image by making lavish, regular donations to the temples in Boeruine, and she had sent money to the temples in Anuire and Alamie, as well, where the priests had the most influence. And she always took little Aerin to the temple with her so that the priests would see that the child was being raised in the favor of the god.

But there was still the Gorgon to consider. There was no way of telling what Raesene might do. He was completely mad, of course, of that Laera no longer had any doubt. For centuries, he had waited, slowly but surely building up his powers and extending his domain. He now controlled the entire mountain range known as the Gorgon’s Crown, and he had pushed his boundaries north, into the Giantdowns, east to the Hoarfell Mountains, south to Mur-Kilad and Markazor, and west to the borders of Tuarhievel, an area covering over five thousand square miles.

The traitor prince who had escaped Roele at the Battle of Mount Deismaar was now an immensely powerful awnshegh who controlled a nation in his own right, one that might well be strong enough to attack the empire. Moreover, Raesene would know it was she who had stolen Callador’s token from him, and Laera did not think he was likely to forget it.

She would not wish to fall into his hands again. That one night had been enough. It had been the most terrifying and agonizing experience of her life, and yet, despite the horror if it all, despite the pain he’d caused her, despite her revulsion, there had been an unnatural thrill to it all. What was it about her that made her feel so alive and vibrant whenever she risked disaster? What was it that made even pain seem so exciting?

The thrill of her affair with Rodric, of all her past affairs, which had seemed so dangerous at the time, paled to insignificance after that one awful yet somehow strangely and perversely galvanizing night. What thrill could possibly compare with what she had experienced then? The deposing of her brother and the seizing of the empire? Nothing less would do. After it all came to fruition, she would wear her widow’s weeds and put on a show of grief and lamentation over Derwyn’s death at her own hands, and bravely allow herself to be persuaded to accept the regency for the sake of the people, who would have been primed by then to call for her ascension.

And she would reserve a very special fate for Aedan Dosiere. Over the years, she had contemplated countless times the form her revenge would take. But now that she was a practitioner of the sorcerous arts, there were new and more ingenious ways to make him suffer.

She had waited for this for a long, long time, and now, soon, it would come to pass. She would become a sorcerer-queen, with an empire to rule, and she would gather at her court the greatest wizards in the land to instruct her further until her power was matched by none. Then, not even the awnsheghlien would be able to pose a threat. She would bring even the Gorgon to his knees.

She reached for the jewelry box. It was time. By now, Gella had returned to the servants’ quarters and was undoubtedly asleep. She would never see the morning.

Derwyn slept soundly in the bed, without the faintest clue she had placed him into a trance. He would not awake until she chose to wake him. She could do her work undisturbed. All she needed to do now was take the token locket, open it, and cast the spell….

She froze as she opened the hidden drawer. It was empty! Her hand pawed at the silk lining, her eyes unable to believe what they were seeing. The tokens were gone! She had only Derwyn’s, which she habitually wore around her neck. And she had enjoyed wearing it, too, because he always commented upon it with affection, never suspecting what it truly represented. The thought gave her no end of amusement. But the other tokens—Callador’s and Gella’s—were no longer in the secret drawer.

Stunned, Laera tried to think. Had she taken them out before and left them somewhere? No, she always kept them there, safe and secure. But not secure enough, as it turned out. They had been stolen. That was the only possible explanation. But who … ?

Gella!

It could have been no one else. Had the girl known about the secret drawer? Had she ever opened it in her presence? Yes, Laera realized, cursing herself for being a fool. She had. And Gella’s mother was a witch, so she knew that without the token, Laera would have no power over her. She must have stolen it earlier that evening, when her back was turned, and now she’d run away, thinking she was free. But Laera still had the power of the Duchess of Boeruine. She would hide Derwyn’s locket, which was nearly identical in appearance to the other two, and tell him the girl had stolen it. She had already been convicted as a thief, so no one would doubt the story. Laera quickly thought it through.

She would express sorrow over the way the ungrateful girl had repaid her. for giving her another chance at life, and would tell Derwyn the whole thing was a sad misfortune but she could always get another locket and another lock of his hair to put inside it. It was only that she had grown so very attached to that one, because it had such special meaning….

Derwyn would have his men-at-arms turn the city upside down searching for the girl. They would scour the surrounding countryside and announce a substantial reward for her arrest and the return of the missing locket… no, she would have to account for two, so that she could make certain they were both returned. She would say the second locket was one given her by her mother. It had held a lock of her dead father’s hair. Yes, that would be perfect.

The girl had not had much of a head start. She would not get far, thought Laera with grim satisfaction. All she had to do was wake Derwyn and express such anguish and distress over the missing lockets that he would immediately send his men-at-arms out in search of the girl. She would be apprehended by morning.

Laera bent over her husband and made a pass over him with her fingers, whispering the words that would remove the spell that held him in a trance. Now all she had to do was cry out and he would wake, alarmed, and—

The sound of frenzied screaming echoed through the castle.

Derwyn sat up in bed. “By Haelyn, what was that?”

Laera was taken aback. The cry had not been hers. It had come from outside their chambers, echoing through the halls, and it continued, shattering the stillness of the night. It was a woman screaming, someone in terrible agony….

Derwyn leapt from the bed and reached for his sword belt, buckling it on over his nightshirt. “By all the gods, it sounds as if someone is being murdered!”

There was the sound of running footsteps outside in the corridor, and an instant later, someone was pounding on the door. Derwyn threw it open to reveal one of the house guards.

“Come quickly, Your Lordship! It’s the empress!”

“May the heavens preserve us!” Derwyn exclaimed.

“I’m coming with you!” Laera said. Meanwhile, her mind raced. This was too much of a coincidence. Gella had given her the Gorgon’s dose only several hours earlier. Before the traitorous girl had stolen the tokens and absconded with them, she had reported that she had administered the content of the vial, as directed, pouring them into a goblet of mulled ale, and she had watched the empress drink it. It had to be the potion, whatever it was. Had the Gorgon lied to her? Had it been some poison meant to kill the empress?

Laera felt a thrill of excitement as she hurried down the corridor after Derwyn. This unexpected development could turn out to be even better than she’d planned. If the empress died, she could blame Gella for having poisoned her. No one would believe anything the girl said after she was apprehended. After all, she was a criminal. Had she not been arrested once before for stabbing a man? But what motive would she have for murdering the empress? It would make no difference, Laera thought. Perhaps the empress caught her trying to steal some jewelry. That would fit in well with her story of the stolen lockets. Or perhaps she was just insane. She would never escape now. And once she was caught, if she started babbling about having given some strange potion to the empress on Laera’s orders, she would only convince everyone she was crazy.

Yes, thought Laera as she hurried toward the emperor’s quarters, this could work out very well, indeed. Faelina’s death would shatter Michael. And as the story spread, it could be slanted in a favorable way, as if it were all an omen from the gods. The empress had died because the emperor was not meant to have an heir. He had angered Haelyn and brought it on himself.

The door to the emperor’s quarters stood wide open, and people had crowded in. Michael was standing by the bedside, frantic.

“The physicians!” he kept shouting. “What’s happening to her? Somebody do something! By the gods, where are the physicians?”

Aedan was there, too, along with Ariel and several other members of the emperor’s inner circle.

Faelina was in bed, thrashing like a fish out of water and screaming with pain. She was covered with sweat, and she had thrown the covers off. Laera immediately ran to her side, as if to comfort her, but Faelina was in such agony, she was unable to respond.

“Get out!” said Laera. “Get out, all of you, and let her breathe! Where are the physicians?”

As if on cue, one of the physicians came rushing in. “Everyone except the emperor and Duchess Laera, please leave at once,” he said. “Lord Aedan, you have the healing blood ability. Can you assist me?”

Aedan was pale. “I have already tried. Twice. I was the first on the scene, but it was no use. She does not respond.”

Laera hustled everyone else out of the room, then came back to the bedside of the empress, bending over her with a show of great concern. “What happened, Michael?”

“I do not know!” he replied. “She simply started screaming! I don’t know what to do! You’ve got to help her! Please!”

“May the gods preserve us!” the physician said as he examined her. “She is about to deliver a child!”

“What?” said Michael. “But… that’s impossible!”

“Look for yourself,” the physician said. He pointed to her belly. It was swelling rapidly, growing right before their eyes, rising like a loaf of bread. The physician placed his hand upon it. “I can feel it kicking. Immensely strong.”

“No,” said Michael, shaking his head with disbelief. “It cannot be! She was not with child!”

“She is now,” the physician said. He shook his head. “This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It passes all understanding.”

“Send for the midwives! Quickly!” Laera shouted to the guards outside in the corridor. They would prove excellent witnesses for what was about to happen.

The Gorgon’s child was coming. Only it was not taking the normal nine months to quicken and be born. It was happening right now, taking only minutes. Already, Faelina’s stomach had swelled to the point where she looked like a woman five or six months pregnant, and it was growing still, visibly, expanding by the moment. If the midwives did not arrive in the next few minutes, they would not be in time.

“How can this be, physician?” Aedan asked as he stared in horrified fascination at the writhing empress.

The man simply shook his head. He was so baffled he was unable to respond. He could only watch, wide-eyed with astonishment and disbelief.

Michael seized him and started shaking the poor man furiously. “Do something! Help her, for Haelyn’s sake!”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but there is nothing I can do!”

Faelina’s screams continued as she bucked and thrashed in the bed. Her eyes were rolling wildly, and she was breathing in sharp gasps.

“Michael! Michael!” Aedan said, trying to pry the emperor’s grip from the physician. “Let the man go! This isn’t helping!”

“The child is coming, Your Majesty,” said the physician. “There is no denying it, however incredible it may seem. We must make ready to assist the birth.”

Michael released him just as the midwives came rushing in. They had already been told what was happening, but when they saw it for themselves, they cried out with dismay. Still, they overcame their initial shock and moved to help the empress give birth.

“You must leave,” the senior midwife said to the physician. “This is no work for a man. All the men must leave, right now.”

“I’m staying,” Michael said.

“You will only be in the way,” the senior midwife said curtly. “Emperor or no, this is no place for a man.”

“Come on, Michael,” Aedan said, taking him by the arm. “There is nothing we can do here now. Let them do their work.”

Dazed, Michael allowed himself to be led outside. Only Laera, Ariel, and the midwives remained. “This is sorcery!” one of the midwives said. “Yesterday, she was not even with child, and now she will give birth at any moment!”

“Whatever it may be, our duty now is to the mother and her child,” the senior midwife said. “Stop your chattering and hold her down before she injures herself.”

Snapping out orders like a drillmaster, the senior midwife quickly took charge. Laera and Ariel assisted. It took them all to get the struggling Faelina into the proper position. She was delirious, but still the screams kept coming. Her stomach now was the size of a ripe watermelon.

“It’s coming,” the senior midwife said. “Hold her! Stop her thrashing!”

They held her down. Faelina was beyond being able to hear them. And there was no need to tell her to bear down. The child was coming, with or without her help. It was clawing its way out. The senior midwife positioned herself between Faelina’s legs, then cried out with surprise as a gout of blood spurted out and splashed her. One of the younger midwives screamed with fright and bolted, but the older woman caught her and gave her a hard slap across the face.

“Back to your duty! Now is no time to be squeamish!”

Chastened, the woman returned to help hold Faelina down, but she was clearly terrified. Then the empress let out one drawn-out, throat-rending scream, and the child was born, ripping its way out. The senior midwife, for all her calm composure, gasped and recoiled from the sight. Faelina went limp, falling into a swoon.

“Faelina!” Michael shouted from the corridor. There were the sounds of scuffling as he was forcibly restrained.

“May the gods protect us!” said the senior midwife, backing away and staring at the infant with horror.

“Mistress! What is it?” one of the others asked. Then they looked, and they all started screaming. Two of them bolted from the room in wild panic. The third backed up to the wall and pressed herself against it, staring at the child with horror and whimpering hysterically.

“Oh, Haelyn help us!” Ariel whispered in a shocked tone as she beheld the child.

Like father, like son, thought Laera. The birth was an abomination.

Michael fought off whoever was holding him back and burst into the room. The first thing he saw was the blood-soaked bed, and he was brought up short. Then he saw his “son.” He caught his breath, and his eyes bulged with horrified disbelief. Aedan and Derwyn both came running in behind him, and they saw it, too, and were shocked into immobility.

“Oh, gods!” Michael said. Then words failed him.

The child was dusky, gray-skinned, and twice the size of a normal newborn infant. It had the lower extremities of a satyr, goatlike legs with black, bifurcated hooves. Its hands were claws, and sharp little spikes protruded from its elbows and shoulders. Its mottled gray head seemed too big for its body, covered with bumpy, bony protrusions at the crown and two small, upwardly curving horns just above its temples. Its nose resembled a dark snout, and its mouth had all its sharp little teeth already in place at birth. It growled, snapping hungrily and instinctively at the air.

As they gazed down at the creature with horror, it opened its eyes. They were a bright golden-yellow.

Michael’s knees buckled. Aedan and Derwyn caught him as he slumped, his eyes glazed with shock, and then something in him snapped. With an animal cry of rage and agony, he seized the hilt of Derwyn’s sword and wrenched it from its scabbard, then brought it down upon the abomination lying on the bed. Again and again he raised it and brought it down, dismembering the obscene creature. Aedan and Derwyn seized him, but he fought them off, and they called for the guards to help restrain him.

He fought them like a man possessed, but finally, they got the sword away from him. It was slick with thick, dark green blood. They dragged him from the room as he screamed out Faelina’s name over and over, but not before the guards saw what he had killed.

Excellent, thought Laera with exhilaration. They will never be able to keep it quiet now.

“Faelina!” Ariel said, bending over her and stroking her forehead. “Faelina…”

Laera stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at the limp form of the empress. “She’s dead,” she said flatly. “Just like her hellspawn.”

Ariel looked up at her slowly. No words passed between them, but Laera clearly saw the look of sheer loathing in her eyes. So, she thought with sudden realization, she knows. In that one moment, all of Ariel’s thoughts were perfectly transparent. Aedan must have told her. She gazed back at her, defiantly, as if daring her to say something.

“I knew you were a cold-hearted bitch,” said Ariel softly, “but until this moment, I never truly realized how evil you really were.”

“Evil?” Laera said. They were alone now with the body of the empress, and there was silence in the corridor outside. “If I am evil, then what do you call that?” She indicated the remains of the thing Faelina had brought into the world. “How else can you explain such an event except to say it was willed directly by the gods? What portent shall we read from this, my lady?”

She turned and left the room, passing the physician as he was hurrying back. Laera paused, then stood against the wall by the open door, listening. She heard the physician’s voice.

“Oh, no. Is she … ?”

Ariel’s voice was leaden. “She’s dead.”

There was a sharp intake of breath as the physician saw what it was Michael had killed.

Ariel spoke. “How is the emperor?”

“I have given him a sleeping draught. It is very potent. He was … greatly distressed.”

“Take that … that thing and get rid of it,” said Ariel. “No one else must see it. And then have all the midwives report to me. And the guards who were in here, as well. There must not be a word of this. Not even a whisper. The empress died in childbirth. The child did not survive. It was … a male.”

“I understand, my lady. But to keep something like this quiet…” Laera could imagine the man shaking his head. “Someone is bound to talk.”

“Nevertheless, we must try, for the sake of the emperor and the empire. If word of this gets out,” said Ariel, “there is no telling what may happen.”

Oh, yes, there is, thought Laera, smiling with grim satisfaction. Oh, yes, there is.

* * * * *

Aedan had not been drunk in years, not since that night in the Green Basilisk, but he felt like getting drunk tonight. He needed to get drunk. He feared for Michael’s sanity. He had never seen him in such a state, not even in battle when he loosed his divine rage. He had not done so tonight, for it was not rage that seized him but agony and desperation. Nevertheless, it had taken Aedan and Derwyn and four guards to restrain him.

Aedan had him brought back to his quarters, where the physician had forced a sleeping draught down his throat while they held him down. Thankfully, it was very strong and had taken effect quickly. He would sleep till morning. And then, when he awoke…

Aedan didn’t want to think about that. He knew he had to because it was his duty to think about such things, but not just now. For tonight, just one night, he did not want to consider possibilities. They were too frightening to contemplate.

Ariel would sleep with her ladies-in-waiting tonight, if she would sleep at all. She had sent for all the midwives and the guards who had seen the … the thing, instructing them they were to reveal nothing, on pain of direst consequences, but it was an empty threat. What were they to do if anyone should talk? Imprisonment? Execution? For what? For failing to keep to themselves something so horrifying and grotesque that to keep it bottled up inside would eat at them like acid?

It was a doomed effort, anyway, and he knew it. By now, the entire castle would be buzzing with talk of what had happened, and by tomorrow, the town would know of it, too. From there, it would spread throughout the empire, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. He signaled the serving wench for another drink.

How could it have happened? It seemed beyond all comprehension. He could still scarcely believe it, yet he had seen what had come clawing out of her womb, killing her as it was born. The empress had given birth to an abomination. An awnshegh.

A gorgon.

It seemed impossible. Faelina was a virgin when she went to Michael’s bed. Ariel had assured him of that, and he saw no reason to disbelieve her. He simply could not accept the alternative. Faelina had never left her father’s estate. She had grown up there, had lived there all her life. Her trip to Anuire was the first time she had ever left home in Aerenwe. How could she possibly have lain with …

No, it was unthinkable. And yet, what other explanation could there be? He could not believe it was Michael’s seed that had produced that… thing. Unless, perhaps …

He moistened his lips as the serving wench brought him another drink. It was late, and the small tavern was nearly empty. Tomorrow night, it would be full as people met to discuss what they would doubtless have heard by then.

Had the gods cursed Michael? Had Haelyn punished him? For what? What offense could have been so horrible as to deserve a penalty like that? Michael had been driven to expand the empire and secure its borders. In so doing, he had fought one campaign after another, and the losses had been very high. Had the gods punished him for his arrogant pride and ambition, which had cost so many lives? Why then did Faelina deserve to suffer as she had?

He had known she was dead the moment he entered the room. No one could have survived such terrible wounds. There had been so much blood…. He had felt shocked, horrified, and painfully helpless. He had the blood abilities of healing and regeneration, but he could not reanimate the dead. Michael had known it, too.

He had changed after he met Faelina. The marriage had been so good for him. They were perfectly suited to each other, and they had both recognized that from the moment they met. Michael had doted on her. He had become a different man. Still mindful of the goals he wanted to accomplish, but no longer so driven or possessed. What would become of him now?

Aedan drained the goblet and signaled for another. There would be many more to follow, but he did not think there was enough drink in all the world to numb what he was feeling.

“Lord Aedan?”

He glanced up. A cloaked and hooded figure had approached his table. It was a woman’s voice, and it sounded vaguely familiar. She sat down across from him and pulled her hood back slightly.

“It is Gella, my lord. Perhaps you may recall me.”

The memory clicked. “Oh, yes,” he said tonelessly. “You served the empress.”

“I fear I served her very poorly, my lord. Forgive me, but I must speak with you. There is something you must know. It concerns the empress.”

She is past all concern now, thought Aedan, looking down into his drink. Clearly, Gella was ignorant of what had happened.

“And it concerns Duchess Laera, too. It is she who is behind it all.”

Aedan glanced up sharply. “What do you mean? Behind what?”

The girl leaned forward, speaking in a low voice as if afraid she might be overheard, though there was hardly anyone in the tavern—only a few old men deep in their cups. “I had to flee the castle, my lord, or else she would have killed me. I know this beyond all doubt. I hid outside the walls, waiting for someone I could tell this to, someone who might believe me, but I did not know who that might be. And yet, I had to tell. I had to. When I saw you, I thought you were the only one who might listen to my words and not dismiss them out of hand. You are known to be a fair and honest man. And I… I am but a lowly thief. Still, I swear to you, I swear upon my life, I am telling you the truth.”

“Wait, wait,” said Aedan. “Calm yourself and speak slowly. What are you talking about?”

“Duchess Laera is a sorceress, my lord.”

“A sorceress! Ridiculous. Laera may be many things, and most of them unsavory, but she has never studied sorcery.”

“I tell you she has, my lord. She is well versed in the art. My mother, rest her poor soul, was a witch, and she had taught me a few things before she died. I know a sorceress when I see one. Especially when she takes a token of my hair to use against me in a spell if I should fail to do her bidding.”

“A token?” Aedan knew something about sorcery. His old teacher, after all, had been the librarian at the College of Sorcery in Anuire.

“She kept it in a locket, which she had hidden in a secret drawer inside her jewelry box,” said Gella. “This locket.”

She held it out, dangling it from its chain.

“She likewise had another, which I stole from her as well.” She took the second locket out and showed it to him. “I cannot say for certain, but I believe this is a token of the wizard who comes to see her in her bedchamber at night. She thought I did not know, but I spied on her and saw him. I think it must be the wizard who instructed her, and she had turned the tables on him, so the student became the master.”

“Hold on,” said Aedan, trying to take it all in. “Who was this wizard? What did he look like?

“He was a wizened old man,” said Gella, “very old, with a bald pate. She called him Callador.”

“Callador!” Aedan no longer doubted the girl. Callador had been Arwyn’s wizard, and he had disappeared after the Battle of Dalton.

“She has a third locket, as well,” Gella continued, “but she never takes it off. It is a token of her husband, the duke, whom I believe does not suspect its purpose. Through it, she keeps him in her thrall.”

Yes, thought Aedan, that sounds like just the sort of thing Laera would so. She had always liked being in control. Of men, especially. “I believe you,” he said. “Go on.”

“There was a fourth locket, too,” said Gella, “and I believe it was her own token. Perhaps the wizard held it and she got it back somehow. I saw it once, but I have never seen it again. I think she must have destroyed it. But I stole these. This one, which is mine, I shall keep and destroy so it may never be used against me in a spell. But this one, which I believe is the wizard’s, I shall give to you. I looked inside. The hairs are short and curled. As he is bald, I gather they came from elsewhere.”

Aedan took the locket. “I see. Go on. How does the empress fit into all this?” He had the sudden feeling of a pit yawning open beneath him. He sat on the edge of his chair, completely alert and sober now. His blood was racing.

“She planned to insure that the empress would not have a child, so that there would be no heir to the throne,” said Gella. “And if the emperor left no heir—”

“As the firstborn princess of the House of Roele and wife to the Duke of Boeruine, it would be her son who would succeed,” said Aedan. He pressed his hands down hard against the table to stop them from shaking.

Gella nodded. “She assigned me to the empress as her body servant and forced me to give her a potion every night from a vial that she gave me. I was to put several drops into her drink each night, and it would prevent her from conceiving a child. This I did, though I was loath to do it, but you must understand that I did not have any choice. So long as Duchess Laera held my token, I was helpless to resist.”

“A potion …” Aedan said, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Last night, that is, in the evening, before the empress was due to retire, Duchess Laera gave me a new vial, saying I was to use it instead. She said it was a new preparation, more efficient. I was to empty the entire contents of the little vial into her drink tonight, and she insisted I return and tell her when I did it. I did not want to do it, my lord, you must believe me, but I had no choice. I was afraid. When I came back to her tonight to tell her I had done as she commanded, she responded very strangely. She smiled in an evil way and nodded to herself, then turned to gaze out the window for a moment, as if deep in thought. I knew I might never have another chance, so I stole the lockets. I am very quick and light-fingered. It… it was my trade, you know.”

“And you gave her this new potion tonight…” said Aedan, his voice came out hoarse through a constricted throat.

“I fear it may render her permanently barren,” Gella said. “I hope there is an antidote. If that should be so, I pray that it is not too late—”

“The empress is dead,” said Aedan.

Gella gasped and gave out a small cry.

“She died in giving birth to an abomination,” Aedan said harshly. “It quickened within moments and tore its way out of her womb. It was a gorgon. The emperor killed it, and now I fear he may be driven mad with grief.”

“Oh, what have I done?” said Gella in a shocked whisper. She broke down and started sobbing. “I do not deserve to live!”

“But live you shall,” said Aedan. “You are coming back to Seaharrow with me. We shall deal with her ladyship, the duchess.”

* * * * *

Derwyn couldn’t sleep. He was too keyed up. He paced across the room, running his fingers through his hair, frantic with anxiety.

Laera sat on the bed, watching him and listening to him, thinking things couldn’t have gone more perfectly.

“It’s horrible,” Derwyn kept repeating. “Horrible. How could this have happened? The empress dead, the emperor raving, the child… His voice caught. “Dear gods! How can one call that nightmarish thing a child? That poor woman! That poor, poor woman! How she must have suffered!”

“She is suffering no longer,” Laera said. “She has found peace.”

“Peace! Peace? To die like that?” He closed his eyes. “I can only thank the gods she never lived to see the monster she gave birth to! What a horror! What a horror!”

“It was an abomination,” Laera said. “A gorgon child. An awnshegh.”

“You think I don’t know? You think I did not see? How could it have happened? How?”

“It must have been the gods,” said Laera. “That can be the only explanation.”

“The gods? You must be mad! You do not realize what you are saying!”

“How else could it have happened?” Laera asked. “You saw it with your own eyes. I saw it, too. When she went to bed, she was not with child. It happened within moments. Mere moments. We watched the monster child quicken. We saw her stomach swell. It was unnatural. Who else but the gods could have brought such a thing about?”

“But why? Why would they do it? Why would they make an innocent girl suffer so?”

“It was Michael,” Laera said. “They punished Michael for his sins.”

Derwyn stopped and gazed at her with astonishment. “He is your own brother!”

“Even a sister cannot turn a blind eye to the truth,” said Laera. “How many lives were lost because of Michael’s ruthless ambition? How many died needlessly in his campaigns of conquest? And how many died because he would not give in during the War of Rebellion? How many suffered because of my brother’s obsession with power and his thirst for blood? Or have you forgotten that it was Michael who took your father’s head?”

“No, I have not forgotten,” Derwyn said heavily. “How could anyone forget a thing like that? Was I not there to see it? I do not need you to remind me!”

“And now you defend him.”

“He is the emperor!”

“He killed your father.”

“Yes, damn you! But it was my father who had made war on him, not he who made war on my father!”

“And you were your father’s son. What of your duty to him? What of your loyalty? If you had so little loyalty to your own father, what loyalty can I expect as your wife?”

“Do not speak to me of loyalty, you who would condemn your own brother!”

“It is not I who have condemned him, but the gods,” said Laera. “Or can you deny the evidence of your own senses?”

Derwyn swallowed hard. His shoulders slumped. “No, I cannot. Much as I do not want to accept it, I can think of no other explanation.”

“I can,” said Aedan, standing in the doorway. He had opened it and walked in, hearing the last part of the conversation. “Why don’t you ask your wife how this awful tragedy has come to pass?”

“Aedan! What are you saying? What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Justice,” Aedan replied. “Justice is the meaning. Your wife is a foul sorceress, and it was a potion that she gave the empress that brought about the birth of the abomination. I am here for justice.”

“What?” said Derwyn. “Are you mad?”

“He must be,” Laera said. “The lord chamberlain seeks to find a scapegoat for this tragedy, and he has chosen me because I once rejected his advances.”

“My advances?” Aedan said. “It was you who seduced me, right here in this very castle. And it was your spite at me for breaking off our affair that ate at you like a disease for all these years that led you to this monstrous betrayal.”

“What nonsense is this?” asked Derwyn, staring at him with astonishment. He glanced at Laera.

“He lies,” said Laera. “He is desperate to pin the blame for this on someone, and I am his chosen target.”

“Aedan, I cannot believe you would stoop to this!” said Derwyn. “Where is your proof?”

“Does this look familiar, Derwyn?” Aedan asked, holding up a locket. “It is much like one your wife wears, is it not? It contains a lock of hair, a sorcerer’s token to be employed in the casting of a spell. One just like the token she took from you and wears around her neck, even as we speak. This one contains a token from your father’s wizard, Callador, her instructor in the sorcerous arts. And this one,” he said, holding up a second locket, “contains a token from the woman she used as a dupe, to slip her foul potion to the empress.”

“That is your proof?” said Laera with contempt. “Two lockets which you could have obtained from any jeweler?”

“I have obtained something else, as well,” said Aedan. “Come in, Gella.”

Laera’s eyes grew wide as Gella entered.

“She will tell you that everything I’ve said is true,” said Aedan.

“She is a thief and would-be murderer,” said Laera. “A common whore whom I, in my misguided compassion, sought to help. Is this how you repay me, Gella? By bearing false witness against one who saved your life?”

“You would have taken it when you were through with me,” said Gella vehemently.

“As she planned to take yours, Derwyn,” Aedan added. “When her plot to see her son placed upon the throne came to fruition, you would be all that stood between her and the regency.”

“Enough!” said Derwyn. “I am not going to listen anymore to these ludicrous accusations! I demand you leave Seaharrow at once!”

“You forget, Derwyn, I am the lord high chamberlain of the empire,” Aedan said. “As such, I carry the authority of the emperor himself. And it is only by the emperor’s grace that you have retained your life and lands. If you are too blind to see the truth, I need prove nothing to you, nor account to you for my actions. I am arresting Laera for high treason.”

Derwyn grabbed his sword. “You shall have to come through me.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Aedan. “You never were a swordsman. I have no wish to kill you.”

“Then you shall die!” said Derwyn, rushing at him. Gella cried out with alarm as he brought his blade down, but Aedan ducked beneath the stroke and seized his wrist. As they struggled, Laera snatched up a dagger from her night table and raised it high over her head, rushing at Aedan. But before she got halfway across the room, there was a soft, whistling sound, and a crossbow bolt buried itself in her heart.

Laera stopped and gasped with shock. The dagger slipped from her fingers as she stared with disbelief at the bolt protruding from her chest. She looked up to see Ariel standing in the open doorway, a crossbow lowered at her side. The duchess shook her head, then collapsed to the floor.

“Laera!” Derwyn cried, rushing to her side.

Aedan glanced at his wife with surprise.

Ariel lowered the bow. “I told you that if she ever tried to harm you, I would kill her.”

6

The Army of Anuire stood drawn up in lines at the entrance to the Valley of Shadows. The valley was over twenty miles wide, flanked to the north and south by the steep and rocky mountains of the Gorgon’s Crown. Nestled in the foothills of the mountains to the north and rising high to overlook the city of Kal-Saitharak spreading out below it were the obsidian towers of the castle known as Battlewaite, the fortress of the Gorgon.

They had marched all the way from Seaharrow along a hidden forest trail once used by Arwyn of Boeruine in his repeated forays against the duchies of Alamie during the War of Rebellion, across the northern plains of Alamie and the highlands of Mhoried and Markazor, then through a narrow mountain pass in Mur-Kilad leading to Kiergard.

In the northern highlands of Markazor, where the goblin vassals of the Gorgon had swept down from the mountains and extended their domain, they had to fight the troops of King Rozgarr, who had been ordered by his master to attack the Anuireans on their approach. But Rozgarr’s goblin forces had faced the mightiest army ever assembled in the empire since the Battle of Mount Deismaar, and they didn’t stand a chance.

On his march through Alamie and Mhoried, Michael had picked up troops from Duke Alam, who had mobilized every available man, leaving behind only a skeleton force to guard his northern borders against incursions by bandits from the Five Peaks. Flaertes of western Alamie had sent more troops, as well, all that he could spare, and additional reinforcements had arrived from Avanil and as far away as Osoerde, Elinie, and Dhalaene. Moergan of Aerenwe met up with them near the borders of Markazor, having force-marched all the way from his domain on the southern coast with every able-bodied man within his province to avenge his daughter’s murder. Avanil had sent more troops, as well as Ghieste and Diemed, and even the tiny city-state of Ilien, on the banks of the Straits of Aerele, had sent a detachment of mounted knights who had ridden without rest to join the march.

News of the Empress Faelina’s death and the circumstances surrounding it had spread throughout the empire, carried by swift dispatch riders who stopped at every town and city that they came to and sent more riders out, so that the news could be disseminated as rapidly as possible. It had not taken long for the true story to come out. Aedan had ordered the army to comb every house in Seasedge and the surrounding area in search of Callador. They had found him in a rooming house in town, where he had been hiding in wait until Laera could manage to secure more suitable quarters for him and replenish his magical supplies. They took him by surprise, in bed, without a struggle, and he was brought before the grief-stricken emperor, to whom he confessed everything in a trembling voice. Those in attendance listened, horrified, as the story of his betrayal came out, and when he was through, they called for the most dire punishments that they could think of.

Some cried out for the wizard to be hanged, others demanded he be drawn and quartered, while still others called for burning at the stake. As Callador listened to these angry cries for his blood, a fierce tremor seized him, and he cried out in terror, clutching at his chest, and fell lifeless to the floor. He was an old man, and his heart could not take the strain. Michael ordered his body burned and the ashes scattered to the winds.

Derwyn of Boeruine had listened to the wizard’s story numbly, unable to believe the extent of his wife’s treachery. In despair, he prostrated himself in front of Michael and begged for his forgiveness, swearing he would lay down his life if need be to avenge the empress. Michael had forgiven him, for in truth, he was blameless in the matter, and Derwyn ordered that Laera be buried in an unmarked grave in the most remote and desolate place his men could find. He did not wish to know where.

As the story spread, the people of the empire responded, not only knights and warriors, but common people, too, who came with pitchforks, spears, daggers, longbows, and whatever other weapons they could get their hands on. As the Army of Anuire set off on its march to the Gorgon’s Crown, villagers lined their route and stood watching silently, their hats removed when the emperor passed by. And as the army marched, it grew, every soldier imbued with a grim purpose.

In northern Markazor, where they met the forces of King Rozgarr, they rolled right over them. They sustained losses, but not nearly as severe as those that they inflicted, and Rozgarr’s troops were routed. They fled in disarray and the army moved on into Mur-Kilad.

In the mountain pass of Mur-Kilad, they were attacked by dwarves, who fired down on them from the heights and rolled rocks down on the troops. But the mountain dwarves who fought them lacked the resolve for a serious engagement. They were a conquered people who were forced to labor hard under their awnsheghlien master, and they put up only a token resistance when foot soldiers swarmed up the steep slopes of the pass to drive them out. Still, losses were sustained, but the army kept on with determination through the harsh and broken land.

In Kiergard, the southernmost domain of the Vos, they passed within sight of the city of Esden, but the grim Vos inhabitants declined to offer combat, though their army had assembled to watch the Anuireans go by. They were no friends to the empire, but they had fought long and hard for centuries to protect their land against incursions by the Gorgon’s savage troops. They would not help, but neither would they hinder.

However, as the army headed north through Kiergard, news of their march spread, and the taciturn common people of the Vos came out from every small village and farm, bearing provisions for the troops. For generations, these simple, hard-working people had lived under the Gorgon’s depredations, and as they came out to feed the troops with whatever they could spare, they wished them luck and the blessings of their god.

Finally, the Army of Anuire stood on the high ground at the entrance to the Valley of Shadows. Battlewaite, with its obsidian walls and towers, loomed ominously in the distance above the Gorgon’s city of Kal-Saitharak. As Aedan glanced at Michael, at whose side he had ridden all the way, bearing his standard, he saw that same grim, stonefaced expression Michael had maintained ever since their march began. And he was worried.

The punitive campaign against Thurazor, which had been the reason for the army’s arrival in Boeruine, no longer mattered. All Michael wanted was revenge against the Gorgon. The Michael of old had returned, driven and obsessed, but to an extent Aedan had never seen before. The air around him seemed to vibrate. Michael was once more in his element, but this time, it was different. He barely spoke at all, except to issue orders. Lord Korven had asked to be included on this march, but the old man had served in his last campaign. He had gone lame, and his strength was failing him. He could still sit a horse, but no one believed anymore that he could fight. Michael had thanked him, but ordered him to remain at home with his grateful wife and children. Michael was the general on this campaign, delegating nothing. He personally saw to every last detail.

When they had marched halfway across Kiergard, he had stopped the troops on the outskirts of the forest and ordered siege towers built. Squads of men with axes had gone into the forest and felled trees for the purpose, fitting and lashing and pegging the logs together to form three wooden siege towers for the assault on Battlewaite. Large logs were sawed for planks with which to construct the wheels to move them. He also ordered the construction of two trebuchets to hurl boulders at the fortress walls, and large logs were stripped and fitted with handholds to make half a dozen battering rams. A score of scaling ladders were constructed, and archers took the time to make more arrows.

They did not rush unduly in any of these tasks, for there was no point to it. They would have no advantage of surprise. Raesene knew they were coming. They would meet on his home ground in the Valley of Shadows, on the plain outside Kal-Saitharak. Michael knew the Gorgon would be just as busy assembling his army and making preparations to meet the attack.

Now, they stood upon the high ground above that plain, looking down at the opposing army drawn up to meet them. Aedan knew Raesene would not order his forces forward to attack. That would give Michael the high ground. The Black Prince would wait until they came down to him.

There was a distance of several miles separating them, so neither Aedan nor Michael could make out individuals among the opposing troops. They could not tell at this distance if Raesene himself was leading them, but Aedan could not imagine the Gorgon remaining in his castle when the opportunity he had awaited for so long had come marching to his door. For centuries, he had nursed a deep hatred of the Roeles, his half-brother’s descendants, and now it would be settled, one way or the other, once and for all.

As the two opposing armies faced each other, Aedan’s thoughts turned back over the years to a time when two much smaller “armies” had faced each other on the plains of Seaharrow. At this distance, the bodies looked small, and he could easily picture them as children. For a surreal moment, that was how he saw them, in their little suits of armor with their wooden swords and shields, grim-faced and very determined as they prepared to reenact the Battle of Mount Deismaar.

Now they would reenact it once again, in deadly earnest. In years to come, the bards would sing the ballad of this battle, the Battle of Battlewaite. Or perhaps they would call it the Battle of the Gorgon’s Crown. They would sing of all the brave men who were about to fall here, and they would extol the glory of the victor—whoever he may be.

Aedan wondered if Vaesil would compose one of those ballads and if he would survive to hear it. Strangely, for the first time in his life, he felt no fear before going into battle. Just a sense of nervous expectation. Perhaps that wasn’t a good sign. Vaesil would enjoy the irony of this, he thought. If he knew the entire story, he would doubtless include it in his composition, the story of two boys who fought a play battle in their childhood and grew up to relive it for real. Only this time, there would be no arguments about who would play Raesene. Raesene was here himself to act out his own role, much more powerful and dangerous than he had ever been. There would be real goblins shouting their ululating war cries instead of children snarling as they played pretend. There would be real gnolls, with their wolfish teeth and snouts instead of little boys howling in imitation of beasts they had thankfully never before encountered. The only thing missing was the elf contingent, who would not be here to turn the tide of battle at the crucial moment.

The past had come full circle, with the dark forces of the traitor prince faced off against the lineal descendant of the original Roele. Only this time, there were no gods to intervene and shake the earth. This battle would be fought to the bitter end by all-too-mortal men.

The troops waited in expectation for Michael’s traditional address before each battle, but Michael simply sat astride his horse, staring out at the opposing army. He had a faraway look in his eyes, almost as if he weren’t seeing them but something else. Perhaps a row of armored children arrayed across the plain.

“Sire,” said Aedan. “Sire?”

Michael turned toward him. There was a strange look upon his face—distant, dreamy. His eyes, so often angry and full of fire in the past, were calm.

“Sire, the troops are awaiting your address.”

“Ah,” said Michael softly. He rode his horse out in front of them, and a hush fell over the army.

For a moment, he simply sat there, his gaze scanning the ranks. Every eye was on him. He gave the shortest speech he had ever given in his life.

“It ends here!” he said, his voice ringing out clearly. He drew his sword and held it high over his head as he turned his mount. “Advance!”

Aedan trotted up beside him with the standard as the army moved off at a marching pace down the slope into the plain. Across from them, standing perfectly still, was the Army of the Gorgon. They were as motionless as statues, all dressed in black armor, pennants fluttering in the breeze. There was no sound upon the field except the steady tramping of feet and the clinking of armor and gear. Inexorably, they closed the distance.

Michael rode silently, staring intently straight ahead, his gaze scanning the opposing ranks for some sign of Raesene. When they had almost reached the bottom of the slope, Aedan noticed Michael stiffen, and his gaze locked on. He looked in the same direction. For several moments, he could not pick out what Michael saw, and then he spotted it and wondered that it did not stand out more clearly.

It was the first time he had ever laid eyes on Prince Raesene, and he saw that the stories they told about his size were true. He sat astride the largest war-horse Aedan had ever seen, a black Percheron with tufted hooves and a long, dark, flowing mane. But as large as the horse was, its rider dwarfed it. He was easily three times the size of a normal man, incredibly massive and wide, dressed in black armor like his troops except for the red dragon emblazoned on his breastplate. Next to him stood his standard-bearer, holding aloft the black and red colors of Raesene—a red dragon rampant on a field of black, surmounted by jagged lightning.

What Aedan at first took to be a helm he realized after a few moments was not a helm at all, but Raesene’s head. The Gorgon rode bareheaded into battle, bony protrusions on his crown and two large black horns curving upward from his temples. He was still too far away to make out the Gorgon’s features, but he was grateful for that. He wondered if the legends were true about the Gorgon’s being able to slay with just his gaze. If so, how was it possible to fight such a creature?

Rank upon rank of goblins, gnolls, and ogres faced them, augmented with human mercenaries, for whom Aedan felt the greatest contempt of all. What kind of men would willingly serve an awnshegh? A creature who had once betrayed his own people to the Dark Lord.

Behind him, Aedan heard the steady tramping of feet and the rattling and squeaking of the siege engines at the rear as they rolled forward, drawn by teams of horses. They would not come into play at this stage of the battle, and perhaps might not come into play at all unless they could not turn the Gorgon’s troops and break them, force them into a retreat back into the obsidian fortress.

The enemy waited as they advanced steadily. A mile…. A thousand yards…. Eight hundred … seven… six…. When they were about five hundred yards apart, the Gorgon raised his sword, and a loud cry went up from his forces as they charged, the cavalry leading the way as they thundered across the field toward them.

“Charge!” Michael screamed, and with their battle cry of “Roele! Roele!” the Army of Anuire surged forward.

Michael headed straight for Raesene, with Aedan galloping at his side. The hoofbeats of the horses made a sound like rolling thunder as they flew toward one another, the foot soldiers running behind them.

The mounted sections met first, and the field filled with the sounds of blades ringing upon blades. Michael met the Gorgon, but they had time for only a quick exchange of blows before they were separated by the plunging beasts around them. Then both armies met with a clashing sound of metal on metal, and the air was filled with the noise of battle—men screaming, gnolls howling, goblins keening, ogres snarling, horses neighing, and above it all, the ringing clatter of swords and shields and spears. Archers on both sides loosed several volleys into the rear ranks of the opposing force, and then there were no more rear ranks as both armies melded into a vast melee as wild as it was deafening.

Aedan tried to stay beside the emperor, but it was impossible with so many bodies surging all around him. His standard fell, the shaft chopped in half by a wildly swinging blade, and one of the foot soldiers picked it up and held it aloft as Aedan reached for the shield slung from his saddle and lashed out all around him, killing and maiming to survive.

The gnolls fought like the half-beasts they were, using teeth as well as blades. One sprang up behind Aedan on his horse, and Aedan twisted, feeling teeth snap on his helm as he brought his shield around and knocked the creature off. A mounted mercenary charged him, and they engaged, Aedan with unabated fury and hatred of this traitorous human, who had sold out his own people for a few pieces of gold. Controlling their horses with their knees, they exchanged blow after blow, each blocking the other with his shield until one of the mercenary’s blows got through. The blade whooshed toward Aedan’s head, but he twisted aside at the last instant, avoiding a stroke that would have split his skull right through the helm. The point of the sword grazed the side of his face, just below the eye guard, and opened up a gash from cheek to jaw. Aedan ignored the pain, screaming through it as he lunged at his opponent. His sword took the man just beneath the arm, and the mercenary fell, screaming, to disappear beneath the swirl of bodies all around them.

The rocky and uneven ground they fought upon made footing difficult for both men and beasts, but it also meant less choking dust was raised. Still, a small cloud formed over the field of battle as the bodies milled around, slamming into one another with a frenzy. Even in the chill of this northern clime, Aedan was soon drenched with sweat beneath his armor. His arms ached from wielding sword and shield, which grew heavier as the battle drew on, and the muscles of his legs felt as if they were on fire from gripping his mount’s flanks and exerting pressure to turn it. His breath came in hoarse gasps as he fought, and every spare moment he could seize, he glanced around him wildly, searching for some sign of Michael, whom he had lost in the milling throng.

It was impossible to tell which way the tide of battle was running, whether in favor of the Army of Anuire or the Gorgon’s troops. The only way the opponents could differentiate one another was by the color of their armor. Only at close distance could humans and demihumans tell one another apart.

Aedan’s ears were ringing from the sound of battle, thousands of swords smashing away, clanging like a symphony of blacksmiths pounding on their anvils. Bodies of men and riders surged back and forth, many tripping over those who’d fallen, and those wounded unfortunate enough to be unable to rise to their feet were trampled to death within moments of hitting the ground. The screams of men and beasts mingled in the air, creating a sound unlike anything Aedan had ever heard before. No battle cries could be distinguished now, only snarls and growls and hoarse-throated screams coming from both human and demihuman throats. It sounded as if the earth were groaning.

As Aedan fought, twisting left and right and slashing out at opponents both mounted and on foot, he lost all sense of direction. But when he had a brief chance to glance around, he saw that the mountains to the north were closer now. In a flash, he realized what that meant. The Gorgon’s troops, having the advantage of fighting on their own ground, were better able to orient themselves in battle, and they were slowly pushing the Anuireans to the edge of the plain where they had met, trying to force them back against the rocky cliffs, where they could surround them. Aedan glanced up and saw black-clad archers perched up on the rocks in the distance, waiting for the Anuireans to be pushed into range of their bows.

He cried out, “Anuireans! Forward to the center! Avoid the cliffs! Beware the archers in the rocks! Push forward! Forward!”

The cry was taken up all around him as the men realized their danger and redoubled their efforts to push the enemy back. In the distance, toward the center of the plain, Aedan saw one of the siege towers burning. The Gorgon’s troops had separated Michael’s army from their siege engines and enveloped them. Now they were torching and toppling them, rendering them useless. Aedan pitied the souls who had been manning them, but he could spare no time to dwell on their loss. He was beset on all sides as he urged his mount forward, trying to make headway and fighting off opponents as he searched for Michael every chance he got. But it was becoming impossible to see anything clearly beyond a few dozen yards or so. The rocky and volcanic ground on which they fought was being churned up by now, and a grainy ash was floating in the air, making it appear as if they were fighting in a thick, dark fog.

Aedan cut down a mounted goblin, then quickly glanced around. They had gained some distance from the cliffs, but only a little, and it seemed as if they were being forced back once more, within range of those archers on the heights with their deadly crossbows, which could shoot with enough force to pierce right through armor plate and chain mail.

Then, suddenly, Aedan’s horse reared up with a cry as an ogre leapt upon it and fastened its teeth into his mount’s throat. Aedan almost lost his balance, but regained it and chopped down at the loathsome-looking creature, severing its spine, but blood was streaming from his horse’s throat. The ogre had severed a major blood vessel, and the poor horse was rapidly bleeding to death. In moments, Aedan would be forced to fight on foot.

He searched quickly for a mounted opponent that he could engage, in hopes of taking his mount, but there were none close by. A moment later, his horse wheezed and stumbled, then went down to its knees. Aedan had only an instant to dismount before the animal fell over, trapping him. He swung down out of the saddle just as the horse fell over with a gargling exhalation, thrashed its legs several times, and died. Holding his sword and shield, Aedan fought on foot, pressing forward against the tide of warriors trying to push him back.

He could not see Michael. He had lost the advantage of clear visibility and, on foot, he could see only those immediately around him. He ignored the soreness in his legs as he pressed forward, but kept being pushed back by the determined fighters in black armor. He fought despite the burning in his arms and shoulders, hacking with his blade at goblins, gnolls, and mercenaries alike. His shield was badly buckled from the force of all the blows it had taken, and his helm was dented on one side from a glancing blow that struck it and slid off the plate upon his shoulder. He felt blood trickling down past his left ear and did not know how serious the wound was. There was no time to heal it; all his efforts and attention were taken up by the task of trying to stay alive.

It seemed to him that they were losing. They were trying to fight their way back toward the center of the field, but they were slowly, inexorably being forced back against the cliffs. And then he spotted Michael.

The emperor was astride his horse, perhaps some twenty or twenty-five yards away, battling two mercenaries. And closing in upon him, moving relentlessly through the press of bodies, was Raesene.

Aedan fought like a man possessed in an attempt to reach him, but in the tangled melee, twenty yards was as good as twenty miles. He came face-to-face with a snarling gnoll brandishing a spear. As the wolflike creature lunged at him, he batted the spear aside with his sword and brought the blade up in a slashing motion across the creature’s face. The monster howled with pain and went down, clutching its ruined travesty of a face. When Aedan next glanced up, he saw that Michael had disposed of one of the mercenaries and was fighting the other. But Raesene was moving closer. There were only about ten yards between them now, and the Gorgon was steadily cutting his way through to reach him.

“Michael!” Aedan screamed. “Michael, look out!”

But Michael couldn’t hear him.

Grunting with the effort, Aedan hacked his way through the press of bodies around him, desperately trying to reach the emperor’s side. He was perhaps fifteen yards away now, but the Gorgon was much closer. The second mercenary fell then, his skull split by a powerful blow, and Michael spurred toward the Gorgon, each intent on reaching the other.

There were no other mounted men around them, no one to protect him. Aedan gasped as a strong blow smashed into his shield and buckled it completely, starting a split in the top that reached almost a third of the way through it. Aedan smashed the shield into his goblin opponent, charging him behind it, and he knocked the goblin off his feet. He brought his sword up and finished him, then turned to meet an ogre who was rushing at him. The lumbering, drooling beast was carrying a huge club with spikes in it, and Aedan knew if even one blow connected, it would finish him.

He hurled his ruined shield at the ogre, and as the brute flinched and tried to block it with its club, Aedan ran it through. Then, using both hands to swing his sword like a flail, he slashed around him in all directions as new opponents pressed in, desperately looking for a shield he could seize. He cut down several goblins and one gnoll, then came up against a human mercenary … with a shield large enough for him to wield. He smashed at the man, who took the blow upon his shield, and Aedan ludicrously hoped his blow had not been strong enough to damage it. He blocked the mercenary’s blow, taking it upon his sword, then launched a hard kick at the man’s groin. As the mercenary doubled over with a grunt, Aedan cut him down and wrenched his shield from him. Then he looked up, searching for Michael.

An instant later, he spotted him. He was locked in combat with the Gorgon, dwarfed by his opponent, and they were smashing away at one another with a fury. By the movements of his body, Aedan could see that Michael had loosed his divine wrath. His blood abilities allowed him to call upon great strength, as well, which made him an unstoppable juggernaut in battle, but the Gorgon was three times his size, massive and powerful, with a sword twice as large as his. Michael fought furiously, but Raesene was his match, and as Aedan fought to reach him, he saw that Michael was being steadily forced back by the rain of blows falling on his shield, smashing it into a twisted, buckled ruin.

Aedan cut down three more opponents in quick succession, plunging through the throng around him. He was about ten yards away now. He glanced up and saw that Michael’s shield was gone and he was swinging his sword with both hands, trying to batter his way through the Gorgon’s guard.

Then the unthinkable happened. Before Aedan’s disbelieving eyes, the Gorgon brought his sword down in a vicious blow that Michael took upon his sword … and his sword was snapped in two. The blow continued down and cleaved him right through the shoulder, severing his arm.

“NO!” screamed Aedan as he battered his way through to reach him.

But he knew it was too late. Blood was pouring from Michael’s wound, and Raesene’s next blow struck him from his saddle. Aedan charged his way through the bodies all around him and reached Michael just as the Gorgon dismounted and raised his mighty sword for the killing blow, and the blood-theft that would follow. In that instant, Michael struggled to his knees and reached out with his one remaining hand, placing his palm flat upon the ground. He jerked, convulsively, and bits of earth and rock erupted from the ground where he had placed his palm, grounding his powers, channeling them into the earth and denying Raesene the ultimate victory of bloodtheft.

With a howl of rage, the Gorgon brought his blade down and cut Michael in two.

Aedan went berserk. With a wild scream, he charged Raesene, slamming into him with all his might, but it was like hitting a stone wall. He bounced back and fell, shocked by the impact, and the Gorgon raised his blade to finish him. If he could not have the satisfaction of bloodtheft from the emperor, he would take what he could get from his lord high chamberlain.

The sword came down, but Aedan rolled at the last minute. It struck the ground beside him with such force that Aedan felt the impact. He struggled to get back up, but the Gorgon was already raising his blade again for the final blow. But it never came.

There was a fierce gust of wind, and a funnel cloud came down, enveloping him and spinning him around, causing him to lose his balance. A new sound filled the air, rising above the din of battle. The sound of wailing horns blowing in concert mingled with the shrill, high-pitched war cry of the elves.

As in the Battle of Mount Deismaar, they had arrived to join forces with the Anuireans at the key moment of the battle, when it seemed all was lost, and they pitched into the Gorgon’s troops with a frenzy. As Raesene struggled to rise to his satyr’s legs, the funnel cloud swirled away from him toward Aedan, enveloping him, and Aedan felt the dizzy, falling sensation he had felt once before as his corporeal body faded, transmuted into wind that raised him high into the air, above the battlefield.

Gylvain!

Sylvanna would never have forgiven me if I had let you die, the elf responded.

You should have left me. Michael’s dead. The Gorgon killed him. All is lost. I should have died with him.

All is never lost, the elven mage replied. And you must live. It is on you now to assume the regency and hold the empire together. You must salvage what you can from this defeat and build anew. You must live, Aedan, for your wife and for your children, for your friends who love you and for the people who will need you. I share your grief and sorrow and regret that we did not arrive in time. But life goes on. It must. Even if it hurts.

Below them, on the battlefield, the Gorgon’s troops were in retreat, heading back toward the obsidian fortress. The Anuireans were still fighting them as they retreated, but they were tired and grateful to the elves, who forced the monsters back. There would be no siege, for the siege engines were destroyed. The towers, the trebuchets were in flames. At a glance, it seemed as if only half the army remained. The field was so thickly littered with bodies, it was impossible to see the ground.

It was over. The emperor was dead, and his troops had no will to fight on without him.

It does hurt, Gylvain. It hurts more than I could ever say. And I am so very weary….

Sleep, my friend. Let go of the pain now. Everything shall pass in its own time. Sleep and take your rest upon the wind….