aHe lost himself and his name. There remained only a title, given by the men who died fighting him. They called him the Shadowed.a aNumberless were the heroes . . .a The otheras voice became part of the story, too. Tier felt his magic rush up to envelope his listener.

aNumberless were the heroes who fell,a continued Tier. aTheir songs unsung because there was no one left to sing.a He paused, letting the other do his part.

aThen came Red Ernave who fought with axe and bow . . .a aA giant of a man,a said Tier. aHe gathered them all, all the men, women, and children who could pick up a stick or throw a stone. He called them the Glorious Army of Man, and he taught them to fight.a As if there were no walls in his cell, the people of the Glorious Army gathered before Tier. Gaunt-eyed and battered, they stood in silent, unmoving defiance of the evil they fought. There were a few men, but most of them were hollow-cheeked women, old men, and a small, precious gathering of children worn by hunger and fear.

Tier knew, by the Owl-borne bond that formed by magic between storyteller and audience, that his listener saw them, too.

aAnd in the first days of autumn the kingas old mage took council with Red Ernave. They talked alone all night, and when the morning sun came, the mageas days had found their number. He was burned in great ceremony, and as the last coals died, Red Ernave assembled his army. He brought them to a flat plain, just beyond the Ragged Mountains.a Tier had been there, once. Head been following the track of a deer and found himself, unexpectedly, on the plain of Shadowas Fall. There was no marker to warn the unwary, but head known where he was. Even so many centuries later, under a blanket of pure white snow, there was death in that place. He could almost feel the soil of the wounded land under his feet.

The meadow stretched out before him now; he recognized the shapes of the peaks that surrounded it. There was no snow on the ground to hide the shape of the bodies littering the ground.

aThere, there they faced the hosts of the Shadowed and fought. The sky grew black and blood drenched the ground.a Tier smelled the bitter scent of old blood and almost gagged at the familiar odor of war.

aBodies piled and the battle raged around them for days. And nights.a His cell rang with the sounds of battle, and he realized head forgotten how overwhelming it was: the clash of metal on metal and the screams of the dying.

aThe Shadowedas creatures needed no sleep and they fed upon the dead. The Army of Man fought on because there was nothing else to do; they fought and died. But not so many died on the third day as had fallen on the second day. By the fourth day it seemed that the evil host was thinning, and hope rose among the ragged banda"and for the first time they drove the host back.a Tier found that he had to stop to catch his breath, and slow his heartbeat. In his pitch-black cell he saw a red-maned, scarred warrior with his axe held wearily against his shoulder, waiting for Tier to continue telling his story.

But it was too real now, and the words were gone, lost in the desolation of the long-ago battle.

aAnd hope flooded the Army of Man for the first time,a said the other, in a voice as ragged as Tieras.

aBut even as they cheered, the skies darkened, though it was yet midday, and another assault began.a The words were Tieras again, though they seemed oddly unreal compared to the scenes that unfolded before him.

It was hard to breathe, the air was so foul. Red Ernaveas hands were weary from the endless fighting. His axe laid into a creature that looked as if it had once been a wolf before the Shadowedas magics had gotten to it. It died hard and Ernave had to hit it a second time before it lay still.

He found himself on a small rise without an immediate opponent. He took the chance to rest briefly and ran his gaze over the fightinga"and saw the Shadowed for the first time since the battle had begun.

The Shadowed was less than head expected. A full head shorter than Ernave and half his weight, he looked no more than a lad. He bore more than a passing resemblance to Loriela"though her eyes had never been so empty. The Shadowed smiled, and Ernave, who had thought he was tired beyond fear, found that he was wrong.

A voice beside him said, aIam here.a It was Kerine, the scrawny Traveler who was now their only wizard. Head staggered into Ernaveas encampment several winters ago and been a thorn in Ernaveas side ever since.

aIt only needed that,a said Ernave sourly.

Surprisingly the wizard laughed. aWhen the Shadow one is dead, Iall wash my hands of you, you hard-headed bastard. But from this moment until that we are brothers, and Iall stand with you. Itall take more than that axe of yours to kill the Shadowed.a Ernave said, aCome then, brother,a and cut a path through the battle to the Shadowed.

The Nameless King fought alone. His own creatures granted him a wide bertha"as if there could only be so much evil in one place and the Shadowedas presence made all other dark things unnecessary.

Ernave approached from the side and swung, but the kingas shield intercepted the blow. Ernaveas axe sank through the thin metal outer layer into the wood underneath and stuck.

Ernave jerked his axe hard and forced the Shadowed two wild steps to the side before he slipped his arm out of the shieldas straps.

Ernave slammed the shield into the ground, splitting it as he would have a log so that his axe was free. It was a swift and practiced move, but he just barely managed to bring his weapon up to parry the kingas strike.

The Shadowed fought as well as the old mage, his advisor, had warned Ernave. Time and again the sword slid along Ernaveas axe, turning the blows so that the heavier steel of the axe didnat damage the sword blade.

The kingas mouth moved with magic-making the whole time he fought. For the most part Red Ernave forestalled the spell with heavy blows that forced the king to lose his rhythm and concentrate on swordwork. Doubtless there were more spells that Kerine deflected, but, every so often, a spell touched Ernave with white-hot heat that drained his spent body even more.

The king was fresh, and Ernave had been tired unto death before the battle began. Even so, Ernave planted his feet, and, with a swift pattern of his axe, he forced the king to leap away.

The axe felt heavy in his hands, and every time it jerked as the king turned aside another blow the shock shot up Ernaveas forearms and through his shoulders and neck in a flash of pain.

Ernave stumbled over nothing and, as he fell, his axe caught the king a glancing blow in the knee and laid it bare to the bone. Ernave didnat hesitate, but kept rolling until he staggered to his feet and turned back to face the king.

The Shadowed shrieked and the semblance of the young man the king had been fell away, leaving behind something that was little more than sinew clinging to bone. There was no time for horror. Ernave surged to his feet and struck at the kingas sword again.

The blow hit fairly at last, shattering the elegant blade. Ernave set himself for a killing blow, but the Shadowed dropped his sword and lashed out with his hand. Claws that belonged on no human fingers sunk deep into Ernaveas side.

Ernave cried out, but the pain did not slow his strike and the axe cleaved sweetly through the Shadowedas neck.

Bleeding and breathing heavily, Red Ernave stared in astonished shock at the body of the old, old man who lay on the ground.

Whoad have thought the Shadowed could really be killed?

aHow did you do that? How did you withstand his magic? I couldnat block it all. You are no mage.a Kerineas nagging voice broke through the buzzing exhaustion that made everything seem oddly distant.

aThe old mage,a said Ernave, his breathlessness growing worse until he breathed in shallow pants. aHe gave the last of his life to hold off the dark magic long enough for me to kill the Shadowed. I thought he was a fool to believe it would work . . . but it didnat matter as we were all dead anyway.a As he finished speaking he fell to his knees.

Buried deep in Red Ernaveas heart, Tier, knowing how this story ended, realized his danger and struggled to surface, but there was nothing to cling to as Ernave began to submit to the death bequeathed him by the Shadowed.

A thin whisper rang in his ears.

aAnd so the great warrior died in the wake of the Shadowed and left . . .a aLeft the battlefield.a Tier grasped the words. aLeft his army to mourn.a But he couldnat remember the nexta"

Kerine tried uselessly to save Ernave with what little remained of his power.

aThey burned the thing that had once been a king,a continued Tieras visitor softly when Tier stopped speaking.

Tier fumbled a little but the familiar words began to flow again, separating him from his story. aAnd . . . and scattered his ashes in stream and field so that there would be no grave nor memorial to the king who had no name.a The pain in Tieras side faded and he was once more safe in the dark of his prison.

aThey buried Red Ernave in the battlefield, hoping that his presence would somehow hold the host of darkness at bay. They trailed into the empty city where the Shadowed had ruled and pulled down the kingas palace until not one brick stood upon the other. Then the remnants of the Glorious Army of Man waited, for they had no place to go. The last of the cities and villages were years since ground to dust under the weight of the Shadowed. Only when the food ran short did the army drift away in twos and threes.a Tier found himself shaking in the dark as the story faded away. Next time he experimented with magic, he decided firmly, it would be with a story whose hero survived.

aWhat have you done, Bard?a said the voice from above him. aMagic for music, both becoming more real. What have you done?a And, severing the bond that still held him to Tier, the listener departed without a sound.

Avar, Sept of Leheigh, looked just as a Sept ought, thought Phoran, playing with his breakfast without enthusiasm.

Avar was lean, tall, and heroic. His face was chiseled, his chin firm and his mouth smiling sympathetically. Head come, unannounced, into the royal bedchambers as if he had the right to be there.

aNot hungry this morning, my emperor?a he said, looking at the mess Phoran had made of his plate. aWhen I heard that you were breaking your fast in your room I thought that might be the case. My new man has a potion against drink-sickness. Heas a half-blood Traveler, or so he claims. Heas certainly a wizard with potions and medicines.a aNo, thank you,a Phoran looked down at his plate. Avar was home.

Relief and joy were severely tempered by his suspicion that Toarsenas words last night were truth. Last night head been certain, but in Avaras charismatic presence Phoranas need for Avaras approval vied with the words of a couple of half-drunken lords and scored a narrow triumph. Narrow enough that Phoran didnat ask Avar to join hima"although there were extra plates and plenty of food.

Phoran forked up a bit of fruit and ate it without enthusiasm. aI donat need potionsa"Iam not sick from drinking.a It sounded too much like a pouting child, so Phoran continued speaking. aSo youare back from your sept already?a Did he sound casual enough? aIad thought you intended to be gone longer than this?a Avar looked disgruntled, Phoran thought, feeling a bare touch of triumph. Perhaps Avar had expected a warmer greetinga"or even the scold Phoranad intended to hand out to the Sept before overhearing that conversation last night. Cool composure wasnat a mood the young emperor often indulged himself in.

aWhere is Leheigh, anyway? In the South?a The indifference in Phoranas voice was less of an effort. There. See how little I concern myself with your affairs?

Head looked up the ancient deed in the library and followed the path on several of the maps in the map room. He could have discussed the crops in the Septas new inheritance with knowledge gained from poring over tax records of the past few centuries. But now he would not admit to knowing anything. Avaras brother wouldnat have dared to show such disgust for the Emperor if he had no encouragement from Avar himself.

But Phoran needed Avar. He needed his praise. He needed his support against the older council members who werenat happy with an emperor who indulged himself in nightly parties, and yet they still refused to let him do anything more useful. Needed him because Avar, when he stayed at the palace, often slept in a bed in the Emperoras suitea"and when Avar was there, Phoran was safe.

aLeheigh is southwest, sire, along the Silver River below Shadowas Fall,a said Avar, his face settling into its usual warmth. aI didnat have time to visit the battlefielda"but I will next time I go there, if I can find a guide. All in all, Iam very happy with the lands; my father wasnat a hunter so he left the forest wild and filled with game. The keep dates back to a few centuries after Shadowas Falla"the family legend claims that my many times great-grandfather was a solder of the Remnant of the Army of Man, and a few of those soldiers settled along the river after the final battle. Thereas a couple of towns in the district, a largish village near my keep, and a smaller town on the banks of the river. The Redern villagersa"thatas the smaller towna"still talk as if the Fall of the Shadowed happened yesterday. I suppose because nothing interesting has happened there since.a aI see,a said Phoran. aWhen did you get back?a aThe day before yesterday,a Avar said. aMy apologies for not coming to you directly, but I had to make arrangements for some items I brought back.a He hesitated. aAnd, I came back and found that my mistress had a few extra men warming her bed while I was gone. By the time I dealt with that my temper was none too sweet.a A good reason for waiting, thought Phoran with secret jubilation. Maybe Avaras brother was jealous of the time Avar spent with him; maybe thatas why head said such hurtful things. Phoran could understand Toarsenas jealousy.

aI thought Iad go riding today,a said Phoran, changing the subject as if Avaras trip and return were something that held no interest. aWill you accompany me?a He hadnat intended to ask for company. But Avaras presence soothed the hurts Toarsen and Kissel had dealt. Avar was his frienda"anyone could see it by the warmth of his gaze.

Avaras eyebrows climbed up that perfect forehead. aOf course, my lord. Iall send word to the stables. I left my horse at home.a aIave done that already,a Phoran said, setting his fork aside. aYou can ride the horse my armsman was to take.a Head have no need of a guard with Avar by his side. aI feel as if I havenat been out of the castle in months.a Only after he said it did he realize that it was true. When was the last time head been out? Oh, yes, that tavern crawl in disguise on Avaras birthday four months before.

aAh.a Avar frowned a little. aIs something bothering you?a Phoran shook his head and stood up. aJust bored. Tell me about your new curiosity. A Traveler, you said. Is he a mage?a Avar grinned, aArenat they all? But truthfully, I donat think he has a drop of Traveler blooda"he is, however, a skilled healer.a And as they strode through the palace to the stables, Avar chatted cheerfully about his trip, not at all like a man talking to someone he held in contempt. Phoran wondered whether he should tell Avar what his brother had saida"and decided not to. Not because he was afraid to hurt Avar, but because he didnat want Avar to know that anyone held Phoran in contempt.

Under the cheerful flow of Avaras attention, Phoran began to rethink the whole of last nightas debacle. It was traditional for people not to like their rulersa"and he probably misunderstood what they were saying about his uncle. They hadnat said that they had killed him, just that he had been killed. Phoran hadnat been drunk, precisely, but he hadnat exactly been sober either. It was easy to misinterpret things in that state.

Phoran relaxed and let himself revel in his heroas company. It had been weeks since head had Avaras undivided attention. His contentment was somewhat shaken when they brought his stallion to him.

Phoran, who had learned to ride as soon as he could walk, had to use a mounting block to attain the saddle.

Fat, indeed, he thought, red-faced as the stablemen whoad known him from the time he was a toddler fought not to meet his eyes. At least they had trusted him with his own stallion, who had responded with his usual fury to the weight of a ridera"perhaps a little worse for having not been ridden for so many months.

By the time Blade quit fussing, Phoran was tired, quite certain head pulled a muscle in his back, and thoroughly triumphant. Not everyone could have stayed on such an animal, and head managed it. The stallion snorted and settled down as if the previous theatrics had never been.

aNicely ridden, my emperor,a murmured Avar with just the proper amount of admiration to make the comment too much.

Phoran watched the stablemenas faces change from approval to veiled contempt. Had Avar done that on purpose? thought the small hurt part of Phoran that was still writhing under Toarsenas derision.

Avar had things to look after that evening, and Phoran did not follow his impulse to plead with Avar to stay. The ride had reminded him of his uncle, who had taught him horsemanship. His uncle, who would have been disappointed in the man Phoran had grown to be.

aYou have brains, mialad,a he remembered his uncle saying. aEmperor or not. Use them.a So it was that as darkness fell in his rooms and the flames in the fireplace died to bare glowing embers, Phoran was alone again when the Memory came.

It stood taller than a man and stopped some few feet away. Doubtless, Phoran thought with humor that barely masked his terror, it was taken aback that he was not in a drunken stupor or crying in the corner as he had been on more than one occasion.

It looked like nothing at all, as if a human eye couldnat quite focus on what it wasa"though tonight it looked, somehow, more real than it had been before.

Its hesitation, if it had hesitated at all, was only momentary. For the first time, Phoran stood quietly as it enfolded him in its blackness, taking away his ability to move or cry out. Head hoped that it would be better if he held still, but the burning pain of fangs piercing the inner skin of his elbow was as terrible as he remembered. Cold entered Phoran from the place where the Memory fed, as if it was replacing what it drank with ice. When it was done it said the words that had become too familiar.

aBy the taking of your blood, I owe you. One answer. Choose your question.a aAre you afraid of other people?a Phoran asked. aIs that why you donat come if someoneas in the room with me?a aNo,a it said and vanished.

Shivering as if head been hunting in winter, Phoran the Twenty-Seventh curled up on the rug on the floor of his room.

CHAPTER 8.

This time it wasnat the grating that opened, but the door. Tier shot to his feet and had to stop there because the sudden light blinded him.

aIf it please you, my lord,a said a soft tenor voice that could have belonged equally well to a young man or a woman, aWould you come with me? We have arranged for your comfort. I am to offer you also an apology for how you have been treated. We have not been ready to receive you until now.a Tier wiped his eyes and squinted against the glare of what was, after all, a fairly dim lantern to see the backlit form of a woman.

The sight, he could tell, was staged. She held the light carefully to exhibit certain aspects of her form. The slight tremor in the hand that held the lantern might be faked as wella"but head have been worried about facing a man whoad been caged for as long as Tier had, so he gave her the benefit of the doubt.

aIam no lord,a he said at last. aTell me just who it is I have to thank for my recent stay here?a aIf it please you, sir,a she said. aIall take you to where all of your questions can be answered.a Tier could have overpowered her, and would have if she had been a man. But if they, whoever they were, sent a woman to get him, it could only be because overpowering her would get him nowhere.

aYouall have to give me a moment,a he said, auntil I can see again.a As his vision cleared, he saw that the woman was arrayed in flowing garments that hinted broadly at the body beneath.

A whoreas costume, but this woman was no common whore. She was extraordinarily beautiful, even to a man who preferred his woman to be less soft and breakable. Even if the net of gems and gold that confined quite a bit of equally golden hair was paste and brassa"and he wasnat at all sure it wasa"the cloth of her dress was worth a fair penny.

aCan you see, yet, sir?a she asked.

aOh aye,a he said congenially. Head bide his time until he had enough information to act. aLead on, fair lady.a She laughed gently at his address as she led him out into a winding corridor. Behaving, he thought, as if he were a customer, rather than a man whoad been imprisoned for weeks.

The hall ceiling was so low he could have easily touched it with a hand. On either side of his cell there were doors that opened to his hand and revealed rooms that looked much like his. The woman was patient with him, waiting without murmuring and pausing with him when he stopped by an iron door twice as wide as the one that led into his cell. The door stuck fast when he tried it.

The woman said nothing. When he took the lantern from her and adjusted it brighter so he could look more closely at the doors, she merely folded her arms under her full breasts.

He ignored her until he was certain that the door was hinged on the other side, with two iron bars (barely visible in the narrow space between door and frame) in place to keep the door shut. If head access to a forge he could fashion something to unbar the doora"but they were unlikely to allow him such.

He handed the lantern back to his hostess and allowed her to lead him.

The hall continued around a sharp bend and ended in double doors. Just before the walls ended, there was a door on either side. It was the left-hand door the woman opened, stepping back for him to precede her.

The smell of steam and the sound of running water emerged from the opened door, so he was unsurprised to enter a bathing room. He knew what one looked like because the Sept of Gerant had held war conferences in hisa"saying that the sound of the water kept people from overhearing anything useful. But that austere chamber had as much to do with this one as a donkey had with a warhorse. A golden tub of a size to accommodate five or six was brim full of hot, steaming water with a tall table near it holding a variety of soaps and pots of lotion. But by far the most impressive part of the room was the cold pool.

Water cascaded from an opening in the ceiling high above and poured onto a ledge of fitted rock where it was spread to fall in a wide sheet to the waist-deep pool below. He could tell the pool was waist-deep because there were two naked, frightened, and obviously cold women standing in it.

aSssst,a hissed his guide in sudden irritation. aYou look as if you are about to lose your virtue again. Does this look like a man whoad hurt women?a She softened her voice to velvet and turned back to Tier. aYouall forgive them, my . . . sir. Our last guest was none to happy with his captivity and took it out on those who had nothing to do with it.a He laughed with honest amusement. aAfter that speech I would certainly feel like a stupid lout to try any such thing,a he said.

In the brighter light of the bathing chamber he could see that she was more than beautifula"she was fascinating, a woman whoad draw menas eyes when she was eighty. He mentally upped her probable price again. So why was he being offered such service? The thought pulled the smile from his face.

aSo Iam to clean myself before being presented, eh?a he said neutrally.

aWe will perform that service, sir, if you will allow us,a she said, bowing her head in submission. aWhen you are finished bathing, there are clean clothes to replace the ones you wear now. This is for your comfort entirely. If you choose, you may stay as you are and Iall take you in now. I thought you would prefer not to appear at a disadvantage.a aDisadvantage, eh?a He glanced at his clothes. aIf they kidnap a man at the tail end of a three-month hunt, they get as they deserve. Iall wash, but you ladies get yourselves out of here or my wife will have my head.a The women in the pool giggled as if head been witty, but they waited for a gesture from the woman head followed before they left the pool. They wrapped themselves in a couple of the bathing sheets folded in piles on a bench and exited the room through the same door head entered.

aYou too, lass,a he told his guide. aThe high-born you serve may be comfortable with help, but we Rederni are competent to wash ourselves.a Smilingly she bowed and left, shutting the door behind her. He hadnat noticed a latch, but he heard a click that could be nothing else so he didnat bother to try the door. The waterfall was more intriguing.

Four leaps gave him a fingerhold on the lowest ledge and he climbed the rest with relative ease. When he found the opening the water fell through in the corner of the ceiling, it was grated with iron bars set in mortar.

He slid back down and splashed uncaring of his battered clothing into the cold pool of water. He hadnat expected such an obvious way out, but he needed to know what he dealt with. Eventually head manage a way outa"in the meantime there was no need for filth.

He washed the clothes on his body first, then threw them into the waiting hot tub, where head soap down both them and himself when he was ready.

The cold water poured over his face, clearing his head and his thoughts as he scraped away dirt.

He hadnat heard anyone enter, but when he stepped out from the waterfall, there were clean clothes waiting for him.

He ignored them and settled into the tub of hot water, soaped himself off, and gave rough service to his clothes. Rinsing everything in the cold pool, he draped his clothes where he could. Shivering now, he dried himself and examined the clothing shead left for him.

It was serviceable clothing, very like the filthy garments head taken off, though less worn. He fingered the shirt thoughtfully before donning it. The leather boots fit him as well as his old ones, lost somewhere during his captivity.