"I was my lord's most trusted servant," Jureem said. "It was my duty to provide baubles and endowments for the concubines. Aside from two or three others, no man has been allowed to know the extent of the harem."

Gaborn's gaze shifted to each of the others. "What do you say? I propose to send a message to Saffira, and let her carry it to Raj Ahten."

"It could work," Jureem said doubtfully. "But I hesitate to believe that Raj Ahten would take her counsel. She is, after all, only his wife."

Borenson wondered. In many parts of Indhopal, it was considered unmanly to listen to the counsel of a woman.

"It could work," Iome said more hopefully. "Binnesman suggested that Raj Ahten has gone mad simply because he has been listening to his own Voice. She might persuade him.

"And what if I were to give her another thousand endowments of glamour and Voice," Gaborn asked, "as a token of my goodwill, so that even Raj Ahten could not resist her?"

"There are facilitators at Obran who are skilled at giving such endowments," Jureem admitted.

"And we have the forcibles to do it with," Chancellor Rodderman cut in. "But it might take a day or two to find women who would serve as Dedicates."

"I'd offer my glamour," Myrrima said.

She glanced nervously toward Borenson, as if afraid of his reaction. She'd used that beauty to try to lure him into marriage. She had to know that it was unfair to offer to give it away now. Yet Borenson admired her all the more for making the offer.

"There are already women at Obran," Jureem said. "Raj Ahten has many concubines, all of whom have been endowed with glamour or Voice. Some of them have suffered greatly because of this long war. They too hope for peace, and I suspect that some of them, perhaps many of them, would act as vectors..."

"You would be taking a great risk," King Orwynne said. "We don't know this woman-nor do we know how such power might affect her. What if she too turns against you?"

"We must try," Gaborn said. "Raj Ahten is not our greatest enemy. I need his strength. I want him to fight the reavers."

It seemed a slim chance, one that Borenson would not have considered himself.

"Perhaps," Erin Connal said. "But we should move forward with a doe's caution. You say that you feel an aura of great danger around us. Even if you send riders tonight, it will take days to reach Indhopal--"

"Not with the right horse," Jureem countered. "The fortress at Obran is in the northern provinces, just south of Deyazz, barely seven hundred miles from here."

Borenson said, "I've never heard of Obran. But if it's that close, then with a king's mount and a little luck, I could take the Raven's Pa.s.s out of Fleeds and be there by early afternoon tomorrow. If she consents, Saffira could deliver the message to Raj Ahten the following night."

He spoke the words without considering the matter. It sounded like a fool's quest. He wondered at his own reasons for wanting to go. In part, he wanted to do it because he knew that he was a good man for the job. He'd performed dozens of dangerous missions in the past.

He could also see that this would give him the opportunity to spy on Indhopal's defenses and study the movements of enemy troops along the border. And as he did so, he would be heading far south, toward Inkarra.

Thus he would begin the quest Iome had set for him.

But a small part of him knew that he wanted something far more: He wanted redemption.

Both Lord Ingress and King Orwynne spoke casually of killing Dedicates, of holding to the endless tradition of butchery that had defined the battle strategies of Runelords in the past. Their strategies were so horrific in part because they were reliable.

But Borenson had little stomach for it now. Gaborn's plan, no matter how poorly conceived, offered some slim hope that Indhopal and Rofehavan could reach an accord, put an end to the madness.

And it was the only such plan on the table.

Borenson had the blood of over two thousand men, women, and children on his hands. Perhaps if he could bring this off, he reasoned, he might someday feel clean again.

"I would not put all of my hopes on this one throw of the bones, Your Highness," King Orwynne said. "You must look to your own defenses.

"Saffira may not be able or willing to do as you ask, and you would not have called this council if you did not plan to bestir yourself, and ride to the defense of Mystarria. You need to prepare to battle Raj Ahten in person, if need be....

"Or you could select a champion. I have a nephew--a lion of a man--Sir Langley. He's here in the camps."

"It's all very well to send a champion," Horsesister Connal urged Gaborn, "but you should not let Orwynne or Heredon fight alone. Raj Ahten may fear Duke Paladane, but if you ride from the north, he'll fear you more. And it would rally every man in the north to fight beside you. The horse clans would ride with you."

Gaborn sat pondering the proposals of his supporters.

The idealistic lad actually hopes to get out of this without fighting Raj Ahten, Borenson realized. But he suspected that Gaborn would never pull it off. A war with Raj Ahten was coming whether Gaborn or any of them willed it or not.

"What will you do?" Borenson pressed him.

Gaborn reflected for another half a second, nodded. "The fate of the world rests upon our decision. I would not make such a decision hastily, and in truth I have thought about little else for the past week.

"My people cannot hide from Raj Ahten, and I cannot drive him away. I would fight him, if I believed that in fighting we could prevail. But I don't believe that. So I must hope to turn him, however slim that hope might be."

Gaborn looked at Borenson. "You'll take my horse and leave within the hour."

Borenson slapped the table with a fist and rose from his chair, eager to be away, but found himself lingering momentarily as a courtesy.

Gaborn turned to King Orwynne. "I've met Sir Langley. He has a good heart. I'll give you two thousand forcibles, to equip him as he wishes."

"You are most generous," King Orwynne said, seemingly astonished that the Earth King would grant such a boon Even ten years ago, when blood metal was amply available, the whole kingdom of Orwynne had probably not seen two thousand forcibles in a single year.

Last of all Gaborn turned to Connal. "You're right. If I march at the head of our armies, Raj Ahten cannot ignore me. I'll ride south, and Fleeds will have two thousand forcibles, too."

Connal grunted in wonder. Her poor realm had probably, never seen two thousand forcibles in any five years.

With that, the meeting ended. The lords pushed their chairs back from the table, began to rise. Gaborn reached into the pocket of his vest, drew out the keys for the King's treasury, and tossed them to Borenson.

"Milord," Jureem said, "May I suggest that you have him take seven hundred of glamour, three hundred of voice?"

Gaborn nodded. "As he says."

Borenson left the room, headed for the treasury in the Dedicates' Keep. Myrrima followed behind, and once they were outside, she accompanied him along the stone wall a couple of steps.

She grabbed his hand. "Wait!"

He turned to look at her in the starlight. The night was a bit chill, but had no teeth that bit. Myrrima stared up at him with worry in her eyes. Even in the starlight, she was gorgeous. The sinuous curve of her waist and the gleaming sheen of her hair tempted him.

"You won't be back, will you?" she said.

Borenson shook his head. "No. Carris is nine hundred. miles south of here. I can reach the northern border of Inkarra only three hundred miles farther on. I'll head south."

She studied him. "Do you even plan to say goodbye?"

Borenson could see that she wasn't going to make this easy. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her. He wanted to stay. But duty called him elsewhere, and he had ever been loyal to his duty. "There's not much time."

"There's time," she said. "You've had all week. Why did you even remain in Heredon, if not to say goodbye?"

She was right, of course. He'd chosen to stay in order to say goodbye to her, to all of Rofehavan, perhaps to his own life. Yet he'd not had the strength to speak of it.

He kissed her lips, tenderly, and whispered, "Goodbye."

He began to turn away, but she grabbed his arm again. "Do you really love me?" she asked.

"As best I know how."

"Then why have you not bedded me? You've wanted me. I've seen it in your eyes."

Borenson had not wanted to broach the subject, but he answered her now as honestly as he could. "Because to do so would risk siring a child--"

"And you don't want me to carry your child?"

"--and bringing a child into the world requires one to accept certain responsibilities--"

"You think I'm not ready for such responsibilities!" Myrrima said too loudly.

"If I should die, I would not want my child called a b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Borenson raged. "Or the son of a kingslayer! Or worse!"

The blood came hot to his face, and Borenson found himself trembling with rage.

But despite his rage he was able to detach himself--as if he were viewing himself from somewhere outside his own body--while he mused about past and present. Ah, it's funny how the old pains can still hurt, he thought. Here he was, kingslayer, reaver slayer, guardian to the Earth King, one of the most feared warriors in all of Rofehavan--and rightfully so. Yet deep inside he was still just a child running through the stucco-walled alleys on the Isle of Thwynn while other boys hurled insults and mud and sharp stones.

Borenson had always felt the need to prove himself. It had driven him to become one of the mightiest warriors of his time. Now he did not really fear any other man on earth.

Yet the notion that a child of his might be hurt as he himself had been hurt seemed unbearable.

He still feared the tauntings of little boys.

"Love me!" Myrrima demanded, trying to pull him close.

But Borenson pointed a finger in her face and said more firmly, "Responsibility."

"Love me," she pleaded.

He shook her hand from his sleeve and said, "Can't you see? This is how you show love. And should I die--as seems likely--you'll have my name, my wealth..."

"I've heard it said that you're a l.u.s.ty man," Myrrima accused. "Have you never bedded a woman?"

Angry now, Borenson sought to control himself. He could not express in words his own self-loathing, his desire to unmake his own past. "If I have, it was a mistake," he said, "for I never imagined that I would meet someone like you."

"It's not responsibility that drives you from my bed," Myrrima accused. "You're punishing yourself: You think you're punishing yourself, but when you do, you're also punishing me--and I don't deserve this!"

She sounded so certain of herself, so sure. Borenson had no reply to her accusation, only the solid belief that ultimately she would come to see that he acted in her best interest.

He squeezed her hand, then left.

Myrrima felt cheated as she watched him turn to go. The ching, ching of his mail echoed between the stone towers.

In a moment he reached the portcullis to the Dedicates' Keep, and was swallowed beneath its shadows. She stood for a moment, watching how the starlight washed the paving stones here in the bailey.

She knew that he thought he was right. Loving someone meant taking responsibility for that person.

But as he went off to fetch his forcibles, Myrrima began to fume. Borenson would not allow this to work both ways.

A few minutes later he came back out of the keep, bearing a leather bag filled with forcibles. He saw her but turned and headed for the stables, as if to avoid her.

She said, "I have one word for you: 'responsibility.' " Borenson stopped and gazed at her half a second. "Why do you insist on being responsible for me, but I cannot be responsible for you?"

"You're not coming with me," Borenson said.

"Do you think I'm less capable of love than you are?"

"You're less capable of staying alive," he answered.

"But--"

"And even if you weren't, there's not a horse in Heredon that can keep pace with the mount I'll be riding tonight." He looked toward the stable.

She thought he'd leave then, but to Myrrima's astonishment, Borenson returned to her, put one huge hand behind her neck, and kissed her pa.s.sionately. He stood for a long time afterward with his forehead against hers, just staring into her eyes. No gleam of starlight reflected from his paleblue eyes. They seemed just empty wells in the night.

But still he had a fierceness to him. She could see it in his will to live, to fight, to return. She could feel it in the way that his powerful hands cupped the back of her head. At last he said evenly, "When I come back, I will love you as you wish--as you deserve."

Then he turned and hurried off. With his endowments of metabolism, his pace surprised her. She stood for a long moment, still smelling him, still tasting his lips on hers. She thought to follow him into the King's stable across the green, but as she gathered her wits and took a few paces, he hurriedly saddled Gaborn's horse and then came riding out like a gale, shouting for the guards to open the gates.

She folded her arms, to fight the night's chill, and watched him go.

As soon as her husband left, Myrrima fetched a lantern and went to the kennels where the boy Kaylin had caged her pups. She'd only been able to sneak away twice to see them today, yet as soon as they caught her scent, the pups began to yap and wag their tails, and soon dozens of pups were yelping for attention.

The boy Kaylin was at the back of the kennel, lying asleep on a bed of straw with at least twenty pups around him, and nothing else to keep him warm.

Myrrima laid her cloak over the boy, then went to the cage that held her pups. She lifted the latch.

She'd brought a few sc.r.a.ps from the table, and she gave these to the pups, spoke to them and made cooing noises, until at last they settled down enough so that she could get them in her arms. "Yes, little ones," she whispered. "You'll sleep with me tonight."

She managed to get two pups in each arm, and went to the kennel door. As she was juggling the door latch, it opened wide.

Iome Sylvarresta stood there with a servant at her back, and her Days behind. Only the stars winging through the heavens lit them.

Myrrima felt sure that Iome had followed her in an effort to catch her stealing the pups. "Why, Your Highness;" she said, "what a surprise!"

Iome glanced down at the pups, looked back toward the keep, as if just as dismayed at having been found out herself.

Then she suddenly set her jaw and looked stern.

"Is the boy Kaylin sleeping here?"