I realized she was right. The tears were still flowing. My face was so cold I hadn't even realized it. I wiped them away as best I could and said, "I weep . . . for the waste of the warrior he could have been. For the young man who saved me from beatings or worse, back when I had what few tatters of innocence ever graced my spirit. And I weep for joy that you are safe from him. That . . . is all. If that makes me less the man in your eyes . . ." I let my voice trail off because at that point I didn't care what she thought of me.

She was quiet for a moment and then-surprising me even more-she knelt down next to me and put an arm around my shoulder. Naturally I did not tell her that, most of all, I wept for myself . . . and my betrayals.

We remained that way until the soldiers got close enough. They were looking at us very tentatively, almost as if afraid to believe that they had found whom they were apparently searching for.

"Apropos?" the lead man said to me. I nodded slightly. "I am Captain Gothos, of the king's men. And this . . . ?" He turned to Entipy and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Princess?"

"Aye" was all she said.

That was more than enough. Gothos and the others immediately dropped to one knee and lowered their heads. Entipy rose, looking very regal indeed despite her haggard appearance and the oddness of the situation. "Rise, Captain," she said softly. She didn't sound imperious. Perhaps she, too, was tired.

Gothos and the others rose, and one of the bowmen had come near Tacit's body to inspect the handiwork of himself and his fellows. "Tacit One-Eye, right enough," he said in approval. "The king's been looking for this b.a.s.t.a.r.d since the Pell uprising. And just think, we got here barely in time to stop him from slaying a gallant squire."

"Just think," I echoed.

"Bring his head and his b.a.l.l.s for the king as trophies. Leave the rest to carrion eaters," Gothos said authoritatively, and one of his men moved forward with his sword to do his bidding.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I had interposed myself between the soldier and Tacit's corpse. I had picked up my sword and I was holding it with utter confidence. "So help me G.o.ds," I said very quietly, and very dangerously, "you try to mutilate this man, and I'll kill you myself."

"Squire! Stand aside. This is the king's business!" said Gothos, choosing to pull rank as if I cared about such things at the moment.

"The princess has her own business," Entipy abruptly said, which promptly captured all attention. She glanced in the direction of the cave that we had been in. "Take the body and place it there, in that cave. Seal off the entrance with rocks and debris. It was his home. Let him stay there."

"But princess . . ."

" 'But' and 'princess' are not two words that should keep each other's company, Captain," said Entipy frostily.

Apparently that was all the incentive the "gallant" soldiers needed. They gathered up Tacit's corpse and brought him to the cave. They disappeared within for a few moments and then emerged. They began to hammer at the rocks above, and at other debris and rubble nearby. It was not easy work, covered as it was with h.o.a.rfrost. But within about two hours or so they had managed to completely entomb Tacit into what would be his last resting place. Naturally by the time they had finished I had long since managed to compose myself, and had gone over to t.i.tan to try and calm the great horse down. The poor beast seemed very confused, uncertain of what had happened, and frustrated that two of the individuals to whom he had felt the most loyal had come to blows. But explaining matters to a horse is no easy trick, and I did not even try. Instead I simply patted him on the side of the head, whispered niceties to him, and fed him some oats that one of the mounted soldiers happened to have in his saddlebag.

"The princess looks quite fit," Gothos said to me. He was watching Entipy, who was standing a distance away, watching the laboring knights finishing the entombment of Tacit. "The king and queen are most grateful that, thanks to your efforts, she is alive. And what of the other knights? Those others who served as the escort? What of them?"

I told him, as quickly and straight forwardly as I could, of the circ.u.mstances of how the Harpers had descended upon us. His eyes widened as I recounted it. "The Harpers Bizarre are real?" he said in unbridled surprise. "I thought them merely creatures of myth."

"Oh, they're very real. And we had the fatalities to prove it," I said.

"And what happened then? How did you escape? How did you come to be in the Outer Lawless regions?"

I began to reply, but somehow felt as if I simply didn't have the energy for it. "It is . . . very complicated. Tell you what, Captain. Buy me a few mugs . . . no, a barrel . . . of ale one night, and I'll tell you the entire tortured narrative. Dare I ask where the king is?"

"At Fort Terracote, awaiting our return. We're one of several advance guards sent to sweep the area and see if there was any sign of you. Obviously there was." He shook his head. "Tragedy about what you've had to endure up until now. But worry not. You're with us, now. You'll be safe."

"Funny. That's just what I thought months ago before the Harpers attacked and put me into this position in the first place."

He had no answer for that.

As it turned out, though, the balance of our journey to the fort was sublimely dull. I couldn't have asked for better than that. I rode upon t.i.tan and the princess sat astride the great horse behind me. She leaned her head upon my shoulder and her arms were wrapped tightly around my middle. Some of the other soldiers and knights noticed and nudged each other with amus.e.m.e.nt or winked at me in a manner that seemed to indicate I was doing quite well in courting the fancies of a princess. Me, I couldn't get my last image of Tacit out of my mind. That powerful body being carted off into the cave like so much refuse, tossed in and then entombed. It was better than being decapitated and left for scavengers. But on the other hand, it was far worse than still being alive. Which is what he would have been, if not for his "erstwhile friend."

I wanted to feel relief . . . joy . . . rage . . . something. Instead all I felt was empty. The bleeding from the wounds he had inflicted upon me had stopped, but when Entipy held tightly on to me, they hurt like the devil's own lashes. I said nothing, though. I felt as if I deserved to be in pain. I cannot think of many times in my life when I have felt quite as sorry for myself as I did during that long, slow ride back to Fort Terracote. I would hear the knights talking among themselves in low voices, and sometimes my name would be mentioned. I ignored them all.

We didn't stop the entire way to the fort. We ate while on horseback, Gothos riding over to us to hand us provisions, including a large cooked leg of some sort of bird. Part of me grimly wished it were from the phoenix, considering all the aggravation that the d.a.m.ned bird had cost us. If it had only flown in the right direction, we wouldn't have had all the problems to begin with.

It was getting late in the day. The terrain, while still chilly, had become more forested once again. There were no leaves in the trees, although the branches stretched high. It made me nervous, and I was constantly on the lookout for signs of anything that might come leaping out at us. Nothing was forthcoming, which was a relief. Then the trees began to thin once more and we found ourselves in a gorge that stretched around the corner of a small set of foothills. "Just around this bend," Gothos called. I couldn't have been more relieved. I was tired, weary of being on horseback, weary of having the princess's arms around me as she would continue to tell me about how brave I was. I didn't feel brave. As I said earlier, I didn't feel anything. And more, I was wondering if I ever would again.

We came around the bend and, sure enough, there it was. The fort was on a rise, providing a good view in all directions. It was a good, solid stone fort, made all the better by the fact that its back two walls faced against a sheer cliff, unscalable by anything short of a gargoyle with clawed fingers. So although retreat out of the back of the fort was a practical impossibility, no one could get up from behind, either. The outer wall was at least fifty feet high. The main door appeared to be solid oak, huge and reinforced. It would take a heavy-duty battering ram quite some time to pound through, and during that time archers on the parapets would be picking off a.s.sailants with relative ease. All in all, it seemed a rather safe place to be. Not far off was more forest area, with a wide path heading into it that I a.s.sumed (correctly, as it turned out) to be the main road called the King's Road, which would lead us back to the capital city of Isteria and, ultimately, safety.

I saw dark clouds on the horizon. I hoped they weren't more storm clouds. I'd had enough of bad weather for the time being.

Several knights atop the fort started pointing and waving when they saw us approaching. One of them pulled out a large ram's horn and blew into it, and clear, beautiful notes pealed out from it. The large doors to the fort slowly opened and I was able to see groups of knights on either side pushing their shoulders against them. It underscored just how heavy the doors were. And there, standing in the entranceway, arms draped behind his back, was King Runcible. He was dressed for traveling, but he had the imperial crest on the front of his tunic. He was the image of restraint. I could see from his face, even at this distance, that he recognized Entipy, but he did not run toward her. Instead he remained exactly where he was, not saying a word. He nodded slightly to the incoming soldiers, but his eyes never left Entipy . . . except for one brief moment when they strayed toward me. He nodded to me as well, and I returned the gesture. Once the blast from the ram's horn faded out, there was no noise except the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves.

We drew within a few feet of the king and I dismounted. Then I reached up a hand to help Entipy down. She glanced at my hand a moment . . . and then abruptly swung her legs back and vaulted off the back of the horse in a perfect rear dismount. She did everything except spread wide her arms and say something along the lines of, "Ta da."

She faced her father, and he her. The several feet between them seemed like a chasm, and I knew that she still hadn't made up her mind as to whether to forgive him and the queen for sending her off as they had.

Then the king took one step toward her. Just one, and no further. She looked at him in puzzlement as he regarded her, one eyebrow c.o.c.ked in a slightly amused fashion. And then she understood (before I did, certainly), and she likewise took a step toward him. Just one, and no further.

Then he toward her once more again, and she toward him, and in this way they met each other halfway.

"G.o.ds," he said, so softly I could barely hear him. "You're the image of your mother. You've nothing of me in you at all. Count your blessings."

She smiled, and it was a very warm one, with nary a hint of insanity about it.

He started to put his arms out to her, then paused. "Dare I?" he asked.

"What?" She looked confused, but then he tapped his forearm, and obviously the gesture meant something to her because she chuckled lightly and said, "I think it would be safe, yes." He embraced her then, and I felt a great deal of relief. She was so unpredictable, I'd been thinking that maybe she'd pull out a knife and commit regicide and patricide with one stroke. But no, she actually seemed pleased to see him.

"I've missed you terribly," he said.

She took a step back. "You never came to visit," she said evenly.

"No."

"But you could have."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you?" There was enough of an edge in her voice that I was beginning to get wary again.

"Because," he said sadly, "had I done so, I suspect I never would have been able to leave without you. And your mother and I felt it best . . . well," and he tilted his head slightly. "There you have it."

It was the most conversation I'd heard out of the king at one time, but Entipy didn't seem satisfied by it. She seemed about to respond again, and suddenly feeling a touch of concern, I broke in. This was, of course, a horrible breach of protocol. One simply did not interrupt two royals in the middle of a conversation, but I'd been through enough that I was beyond caring about social niceties. "Your Highness," I said. Naturally both of them looked at me. "Perhaps it would be best if this were continued inside, in privacy. Certainly that's more appropriate for such royal discussions."

I heard gasps and a bit of muttering from the knights, who were more than aware of my discarding etiquette, but the king did not seem the least put off. "Yes . . . yes, I daresay you're correct, squire. Come, my dear. We will speak further on this." He gestured for her to enter the fort, and as she did so, he turned to me and regarded me most appraisingly. "And you . . . Apropos . . . I will speak further on this with you as well."

"I await Your Highness's pleasure," I said suavely.

At that point I was feeling extremely tired, not to mention extraordinarily hungry. Suddenly I heard the pounding of hooves behind me, and whirled t.i.tan around instantly to see what new danger was descending upon us. "Get inside!" I shouted even as I did so.

But the other knights were looking at me as if I were insane, and quickly I realized why. It was another squad of Runcible's knights, these coming in from the northeast. Gothos had indeed said that several groups had gone out as advance scouts, and this was obviously one of the others. I saw them approach, and recognized the one in the lead almost immediately, and with appropriately sinking heart.

It was Sir Coreolis. Following just behind him was the easily recognizable Mace Morningstar. There were a handful of other knights behind them, but naturally these were the two who caught my attention. Morningstar had grown a rather impressive and neatly trimmed beard since last I'd seen him, and Coreolis still looked as ma.s.sive-and belligerent-as ever. Both of them realized who I was almost immediately, and seemed duly impressed (or disappointed) upon the realization.

They rode straight up to me and Coreolis reined his horse around. "Well, well . . . Apropos. Still not dead?" he said with a considerable amount of false cheer.

"Not for want of opportunities," I replied easily.

"You wouldn't be on the lookout for one more, would you, Apropos?" Morningstar spoke up in that singsong, musical voice of his.

"I'm always on the lookout, Morningstar. That's why I'm still alive."

Coreolis merely "harrumphed" to himself, snapped his reins, and guided himself and the rest of his squadron into the fort. Morningstar took up the rear, presumably so he could sidle over to me once the others were almost within the perimeter of the fort.

"Well, Apropos?" he inquired.

He offered no follow-up to that comment. "Well . . . what, Morningstar?"

"Is she everything I told you she would be?"

I remembered then the rather colorful stories that he had spun about Entipy. I decided to lie a bit, just for fun and old times' sake. "Actually," I said, looking as contemplative as I could, "she was charming. Quite, quite charming. We hit it off rather well, we two."

His face fell. "Charming? That That little monster-?" little monster-?"

"Tut tut," I cautioned him in a most arch tone. "It would not serve you well to be so outwardly critical of the princess. I doubt her father would take very kindly to that."

"And who's going to tell . . . him . . ." His voice trailed off as he saw the s.a.d.i.s.tic smile upon my face. "Apropos, you . . . you wouldn't . . ."

"Not enough that you call her a monster. But you told me you spied upon her, while she was in her chambers. I somehow suspect that will get her father even angrier . . . ."

He drew himself up, endeavoring to remember where he was in the pecking order of society as opposed to me. "Say what you wish. Who will the king believe: You? Or me?"

"Me, most likely, when his own daughter vouches for your lack of proper behavior."

He went deathly pale, but then composed himself rather quickly and nudged his horse closer to mine. "Don't think for a moment, Apropos, that you are in substantially a better position than you were before. In the final a.n.a.lysis . . . you're still no gentleman."

"Why, Mace!" I said with genuine cheer. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." And with that I urged t.i.tan forward and entered the fortress, happy that-for a moment at least-the image of Tacit lying in the snow could be replaced by the scowling visage of Mace Morningstar wondering just how much trouble he was in.

It didn't surprise me that it was decided we would stay in the fort overnight. Darkness and cold were coming rather swiftly, and surely it made sense for us to remain so that we could get an early start the following morning. I couldn't say that I was looking forward to the ride home. I had, after all, been luckier than I deserved to be in surviving the previous deadly encounter with the forces that roamed in the woods. I didn't think I was going to get quite that lucky again. But there really wasn't any alternative, unless the king chose to declare Fort Terracote as his new castle and set up a permanent home there.

The fortress itself, I learned, was fairly spa.r.s.ely manned. In point of fact, it was somewhat ancient, built so long ago that the names of the original craftsmen had been lost to antiquity. Runcible had "captured" the fort many years ago, mostly because no one else was particularly interested in the place. Reportedly there had been some freelances who had been squatting there when Runcible made his move to take it, and that battle had lasted for as long as it took the squatters to say, "We'll get packed and out of your way."

At the time it held no strategic value at all, and it still didn't, really. It was a convenient resting stop and not much beside that. The garrison stationed there-under command of Captain Gothos, as it turned out (handpicked by the king for the a.s.signment, which made me wonder what Gothos had ever done to deserve the honor)-was fairly small and had become used to its relatively quiet life. That's not to say they weren't necessarily brave men, stout and true. I had, after all, witnessed their bravery as they heroically picked off a swordsman using bows and arrows from fifty paces away. You couldn't ask for more boldness than that.

I didn't see much of either the king or the princess that evening. That suited me just fine, since my mind was in a turmoil over all that had happened. I could see from the way the princess looked at me that she was falling, or had fallen, in love with me. At least, I think she had. I was still uncertain how I felt about that, or how I felt about her. What I did know I liked, though, was the way the knights and soldiers were treating me. They were extremely intrigued to find out all that I knew, all that I had experienced. It made me forget my lowly status and even more lowly birth. I knew on some level that that way lay danger, because it was the knowledge of who and what I was-and the quietly burning fury that I maintained because of that-that remained my best hope for survival. As much as they might treat me like one of them, I was not, and never would be, one of them. Forgetting that fact could have serious consequences. And yet . . .

I have never had camaraderie. Not ever. It was an uplifting feeling and, selfishly, I didn't want it to end. As we sat around the cookfire in the small but comfortable barracks, I discovered that the best way to impress them was to sound as offhand about my experiences as possible. To simply toss off the facts, or at least the facts as I chose to present them, and then treat their wide-eyed responses quite casually, as if such matters were purely routine. "You rode a phoenix?!" they would say to me, and I would shrug and act as if it was not much different from riding any other steed. "You had your way with the dreaded Warlord Shank's betrothed?!" I smiled enigmatically and waggled my eyebrows. There was much laughter and chortling and elbowing of ribs, which caused me to wince since I was still suffering from the wounds that Tacit had inflicted upon me. But I endured it and maintained a forced smile.

Sir Coreolis had absented himself from the festivities, but his squire was there right enough. Mace Morningstar simply sat and listened to it all, and when there was a lull in the festivities he said quietly, "Some rather tall tales you're spinning there, Apropos."

I looked at him indifferently. "It may surprise you to learn, Mace, that I don't especially care if you believe me or not."

"Oh . . . I don't."

The silence in the room promptly became something else, something more hazardous. If Morningstar was to outright call me a liar, that might very easily be construed as a challenge to my honor. That way lay madness . . . not to mention duels and probably further ugliness.

I smiled in my most charming manner and said, "As you will, Mace. I know the truth . . . as does the princess. Even as we speak, she is no doubt conveying the same tales to her father. You remember her father: The king." I feigned shock. "Are you . . . calling the princess a liar, Morningstar? I would hate to think you were. Such accusations could carry very nasty consequences."

Whereas a moment before, all attention had been upon me, it now shifted back to Morningstar. He squirmed under the sudden scrutiny. "I would never say the princess was lying. But it is possible that she was . . . deceived . . ."

"Unlikely."

It was not I who had spoken, nor anyone else grouped around the cookfire. As one we turned and saw the king standing there. Next to him, in his usual crouch, his jaw slack and his eyes twinkling with quiet lunacy, was Odclay the jester.

Immediately we all went to one knee, although I moaned slightly in doing so from the pain.

"They bow to me!" chortled Odclay. "They know, they know, they make it so, no one can fool 'er, I am the true ruler!"

The king wasted no more than a sidelong glance at Odclay before he turned his attention back to the others. "Squire," he said in a summoning voice.

Immediately Morningstar was on his feet, still bowing deeply. "Yes, Highness."

"Not you," he said dismissively. "Apropos."

Morningstar's face went three shades of red as he went back to kneeling, and I rose and also bowed. "Highness?"

He said nothing, but merely gestured with his head that I should follow him. I did so, not even casting a glance back at the others.

We walked across the small courtyard of the fortress, Odclay gibbering and capering about, until the king said curtly, "Stop that." The jester promptly did so and instead walked silently behind the king, hanging his head slightly and looking a bit crestfallen.

We entered a small building which I took to be, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, the quarters of the garrison leader, Gothos. But naturally he had vacated it in order to accommodate the king. So it was not exactly regal, but it remained the best rooms in the place.

"Sit," said the king.

I sat.

He sat opposite me, gathering his cloak around him. It was black trimmed with silver, but lined with purple.

"Umbrage is dead." There was a hint of a question to it, a vague hope, but in truth he knew the answer before he asked it.

I nodded.

Even Odclay seemed saddened by it, his mood reflecting the king's.

The king absorbed this information, and then said, "Tell me. Everything."

So I did. Even in this recounting, there were certain things I customized in order to make myself sound better. For instance, my pleading with the Harpers for my life became a cunning delaying tactic because I had scented and sensed-with my unparalleled woodcraft-the nearness of a phoenix, and determined that I would enlist the beast's aid in combating the Harpers. Nor did I mention, of course, the details of my final conversation with Tacit right before he was made into a human quiver. Little things like that.

The king listened to all of it, without interruption, occasionally nodding slightly. Finally, when I finished my narrative, a silence fell over the room.

"Did you know," the king said after a time, "that there is a tapestry which hangs in the throne room . . . showing someone riding a phoenix who is destined to rule over Isteria?"