She did not look back-did not dare, for it would show how afraid she was. She could feel their eyes burning into her all the way, wondering how she had got in undetected, trying to understand what it was about her that was not quite right.

"That's not Yggur!" shouted Yetchah.

A ghastly pain spread out from the marrow of her leg bones, a series of contractions. The spell had failed; she was shrinking back. The floor went out of focus; she felt herself toppling. By an effort of will she recovered, suddenly closer to the ground.

"It's Maigraith!" shrieked Yetchah. "Stop her!"

Maigraith broke into a staggering run, trying to get used to her own body again. Her legs hurt as much as Yggur's had. The best she could manage was a lurching jog.

Ahead was the guard post and the front door. Two Ghashad stood there, blocking the way with their spears. Another group came racing up to the right. Even the ones behind were moving faster than she could.

Had she been fit, Maigraith might have used the Secret Art to blast them down, but now she couldn't have blown a gnat out of the air. Then, to her left she saw a series of narrow windows. She clawed her way up onto the sill, kicked out the lead-framed panes and fell through, not knowing whether it was one span to the ground, or ten.

It was far enough to bruise her from hip to shoulder. Japhit appeared at the window, but was too big to get through. Maigraith limped up the street, out of Ghashad-controlled territory toward the safety of the military headquarters.

That was only a few blocks, but she was half-dead before she reached it and an angry swarm of Ghashad were overhauling her two strides to one.

"Help!" she croaked, still a long dash from the gate.

Neither of the guards at the gate post looked up. "Codgie's offering three-to-one on Squeaker," she heard clearly, "but I think I'll go for Old One-Tooth again." They were discussing the mid-week rat races!

"Help!" Maigraith cried despairingly. They ignored her. Then, like a miracle, in the yard beyond the gate she saw a familiar squat officer addressing a parade. "Vanhe!" she screamed.

Good soldier that he was, Vanhe reacted instantly. He pounded through the gate, the squad just behind him. Vanhe snatched Maigraith out from under the nose of Japhit and threw her over his shoulder like a roll of carpet.

The soldiers formed a phalanx before the gate, others running up to support them. The Ghashad froze. Maigraith saw their staring eyes on her. Rulke had ordered them to hold her and they had failed. For a moment it seemed they were going to hurl themselves onto the spears in their desperation to take her back. One man broke free, attempting to do just that, but another tackled him right in front of the soldiers. They faced each other. Maigraith could feel them calling her, their cries tap-tapping at her skull like a chisel-bird after wood grubs.

Yetchah stood at the very front, panting. Hate glittered in her dark eyes. She would have disobeyed Rulke's command right there, had she been able to get to Maigraith.

Reinforcements began to pour through the gate. Japhit took Yetchah's arm. "Come!" he said. "There will be another time!"

The Ghashad were shamed and humiliated. Maigraith knew that they would do everything in their power to get her back, to make up for this disgrace.

Her legs hurt for days after, and the narrow escape made Maigraith realize how unfit she was, mentally and physically. Since taking up with Yggur she had been coasting. Having through her life been accustomed to rigid discipline and unending toil both mental and physical, she began an old regimen to get fit again.

This involved grueling exercise interspersed with periods of meditation. At the same time she set herself to solve an abstract problem involving both a chain of logic and leaps of intuition, while improvising a complex chant. In her youth Maigraith had taken refuge in these rituals, exercises and problems, and they helped her now.

About a week after her escape, there came a gentle knock at her door. She knew who it was-a messenger boy, a cheerful little fellow called Bindy, with a round face framed by dark curls. He came every day, always with the same question.

"What is it, Bindy?" she said.

He gave her an angelic smile. "Marshal Vanhe sent me. He wonders if you've heard news of Lord Yggur today?"

Vanhe grew more anxious every day. Maigraith gathered that the war was going badly. "I'm afraid not," she said.

The boy's face fell. "The marshal will be-"

"What's the matter?" She stooped to his level. "Will you be in trouble?"

"Of course not," said Bindy. "But yesterday, when no one was there, he was tearing his hairs out. I'm afraid we're losing the war. My poor mother cries every night. Since father was killed-"

"How did he die?" she asked gently.

"In the first war, last winter. I have three little sisters, and mother can't earn enough to keep us. If it wasn't for the money I earn we'd starve."

"How much does a messenger boy earn?" she asked him, touched.

"Two whole grints a week!" he said proudly. "And my meals and uniform. And when I grow up I'm going to be an officer in the army. I must report to Marshal Vanhe." Swelling his thin chest, he ran off.

Maigraith went back to her exercises, still thinking about the boy. An hour later she was in the final, or nih phase, that involved a dance of martial movements, now faster than the eye, now with a dreamlike slowness, almost a parody of a ballet, and her chanting was pulselike, a counterpoint to the dance. Suddenly she felt watched. The solution to the problem that she was working on slipped from her mind. The nih ended discordantly.

She opened her eyes, panting, and saw Vanhe there. He was short, only her own height, thick-bodied with a square jaw and a hard skull. Not a kind man, according to rumor, nor a cruel one either. Subverted by the Ghashad the other armies were falling apart, but his troops had stayed loyal. Startled, she gestured to a chair and offered tea.

"Thank you," he said, though his look said he would rather get straight to the point. His problems were pressing. With the war at Thurkad's gates, with no news of Yggur and the violent appearance of a host of Ghashad, events were beyond his control. Yggur had been the leader in every respect. Vanhe was adrift and not a little afraid. "Your exercises look ... challenging," he said.

"They are! When I began this regimen many years ago, I set out to solve the Forty-Nine Chrighms of Calliat. I work at these enigmas and paradoxes while I do my exercises."

Vanhe said nothing for quite a while. When he spoke it was in a rather subdued voice. "And how far have you proceeded? Are there any solutions?"

There was no trace of pride or even self-satisfaction in her voice. "Of the Forty-Nine, I have solutions for twenty-seven. Six more are nested-that is to say, they cannot be solved until all the others on which they depend have been solved. The seventh nest rests on the whole-it awaits the resolution of the other forty-eight. Two are improperly formulated, apparently an error of Calliat or her disciples, and must be restated. I have not done that yet. One is a nonsense-I cannot understand it at all. The remainder I have not tried." Her brow wrinkled as if she might even attempt a solution now.

Vanhe's jaw dropped. What she had just said was impossible. Of the Forty-Nine, only one had ever been solved. It had taken a team of scholars a year, and even now their solution was disputed. But he did not doubt her.

Suddenly Vanhe sprang out of his chair, staring at her with the look of a man who had just found the way out of a desperate situation.

"What is it?" she said, rising as well.

"I think I may have the answer to my problem," he said. 'Tell me, have you had any news of Yggur?"

"Nothing," she replied, wiping the sheen from her forehead with a silken rag. "What problem are you talking about? The war?"

"Yes! Thyllan outnumbers us greatly-"

Again he inspected her. She felt irritated. What did this rigid old soldier, with a face as hard and square and red as a brick, want from her?

The brick softened a little. "You were good for Yggur."

Maigraith laughed ironically. "Good in parts, bad in parts, like the famous egg."

"I sometimes wish I'd not given my whole life to the army," Vanhe reflected. "What sadder thing is there than an old soldier? Still, I chose, and I have seen many things. To business!" He gave a sketch of the situation. It was grim. "We're losing the war. Lost it, I should say. Of our five armies, all but my own, the First, have been undermined by the Ghashad. I don't have enough troops to defend the city."

"What do you require of me, Marshal Vanhe?"

He swallowed, losing control for a moment. The man was afraid. "Maigraith-"

"Yes?" she snapped. The situation must be disastrous, for him to show it.

Vanhe mastered himself. "You have surprised me." He hesitated.

"What?" she said anxiously. "What do you want?"

"I can't stand up to Thyllan. He knows it, and I know it, and so do my troops. If I try, the army will be annihilated and Thurkad ruined! Will you be our commander until Yggur returns ... or otherwise?"

Maigraith was completely taken aback. "You jest, sir marshal!"

"Indeed I do not," said Vanhe steadily.

"I know nothing of leadership or armies."

"I'm not talking about war. We need a strong leader to negotiate our surrender."

Surrender! Suddenly Maigraith felt very afraid.

"I cannot do it, nor any of my officers. If Thyllan invades the city it will be bloody! You are clever, you are a thinker. You have power; you are Yggur's ..."

Don't say woman, or concubine, or any vulgar soldier's term, Maigraith thought, or you will undo your case.

"You are Yggur's partner," said Vanhe. "His equal."

"But I do not know how to command ... I shrink from dominating."

"I have spies and advisers aplenty. I need someone who looks a leader."

"You want a figurehead," said Maigraith, feeling depressed. The man was as bad as Faelamor. "A puppet!"

"I'm desperate, Maigraith. The city will fall within days."

"What can I do that you can't?"

"Thyllan is a mancer of some skill, and so are you. I'm just a soldier. I can never match him, but you can. Make him think we're still strong, then negotiate favorable terms for our surrender."

"I can't," she said weakly.

"You held Yggur for hours back in Fiz Gorgo. No one else has ever done such a thing." He seized her hand. "I'm begging you. Will you take it on?"

Maigraith took up the teapot, laughing nervously. It was empty. Seizing the excuse, she hurried out to the kitchen for hot water. She had always been tormented by self-doubt, had come to adulthood believing that she was of little worth, that whatever task she undertook would be badly discharged. Faelamor had never been satisfied. This offer was incomprehensible.

On returning, Maigraith realized that the marshal was still waiting, and she had laughed at his offer. Perhaps she had insulted him. She could never understand the protocols, the manners of these people. She squirmed under his gaze.

"I did not mean ..." she began, but he dismissed her apologies with an inclination of his head. She tried again. "I'm not even master of myself. How can you ask it of me?"

"You do not want power," observed Vanhe. "That is a good start." He repeated his earlier arguments. "We need strength-you are strong! We need wit and guile; you have these things. And to escape a brigade of Ghashad the other day ... My whole army is in awe of you."

Maigraith was afraid. Afraid of daring; afraid of failing. "You need me?" she murmured.

"Only you can do it," said Vanhe. "If you dare not, Yggur's empire will fail. It does already, for all our efforts. Would you give it away?"

"I don't care for empires," she said quietly.

"Do you care for people? If we fight over Thurkad there will be bloodshed not seen here for a thousand years. Do you want that?"

"I do not," she said, almost inaudibly. "But I am incomplete; insufficient."

"I did not say that you were the best we could hope for," said Vanhe bluntly. "Plainly you are not! But you are the best we have." Then he hit upon a winning formula, the only words that would do. "Do you not see a duty here? Surely, having made this alliance with Yggur, there is a duty that comes with it. Will you not take it up?"

Duty! She hardly heard the rest. How often had that obligation beaten upon her brow. The very word made her withdraw into herself, so that she could not question, once it was put upon her. Why had it been her duty to serve Faelamor and obey her will? She scarcely knew. It was, and she did. Somehow with her alliance with Yggur, duty to Faelamor had failed. Now a new one was forced upon her. All the joy had gone out of the day.

"I will do my duty," she said. "What would you have me do?"

Maigraith sat at the head of the war table, awaiting her first test with an empty feeling in her stomach. Thyllan had come into Thurkad to parley, though not to bargain. His strength was overwhelming.

Vanhe was on her right; the other senior officers on either side. A remnant of the Council and the Assembly were here too, a ragged lot. Time passed. Thyllan was late.

"Bindy," said Vanhe to the messenger boy, "slip outside, run down the street and watch for Thyllan. Keep an eye out for any funny business."

Beaming, Bindy ran out. "The boy loves to feel useful," grunted Vanhe. "He'll make a good soldier one day."

Maigraith's skin prickled. "Now, Maigraith," said Vanhe, "remember what I said earlier. You must look the part. You must steel yourself to power and to command."

"I have never held power. I don't know how."

"Try! You cannot appear to be a puppet."

"But I am a puppet-a mouthpiece for your orders."

He ignored that. "You must learn domination, or appear to have it. No soldier of mine has the discipline or the capability to do what I saw you do yesterday. Just take this as a fiftieth of your puzzles, which you must also solve. But first: Listen! Question! Think! Decide! And when you decide, know that you are right. Let the will burn within you like a flame. And then enforce your will!"

So here she was, maintaining an outward, regal self. In this she was helped by her striking if chill beauty, her stern demeanor and her reputation. Maigraith was little known but the subject of much rumor, from her first appearance at the Conclave to her reappearance as Yggur's consort. Rumor held that she was a woman of terrible power.

Save for Vanhe himself, the officers were sullen, afraid, and in one case openly insubordinate; but they would follow if she could prove her strength. The governing Assembly had always been puppets-they were of no account but to fill up the empty seats. The Council likewise, except for saggy old Hennia, a Zain who had betrayed Mendark's ragtag group at the fall of Thurkad.

"Thyllan is quick-witted, bold, fearless, aggressive," said Vanhe. "A confirmed opportunist. Don't trust him an ell, even though he comes under a flag of truce. If he knew how weak we are he wouldn't be here at all. The best we can hope for is to exact a few concessions in exchange for our surrender."

"I still don't know what you want me to do."

"Look confident, and when it comes to negotiation, consult your advisers and give ground grudgingly. We may yet escape with our lives, and Thurkad intact. Drat that Bindy-why has he been so long?"

At that moment the iron-bound doors were pressed open. A standard-bearer appeared, holding high a blue truce-flag. Marching up the room he slammed the pole into a socket at the head of the table. The flag hung limply, as if ashamed.

"All rise for Lord Thyllan," the standard-bearer thundered.

A tall, red-faced, scarred man stood in the doorway, waiting until every eye was on him. Tossing back his cape, he strode to the empty chair. A smaller man followed, gliding across the floor as on oiled castors. He was beautifully dressed, his black close-cropped hair gleamed with oil and his long mustachioes were waxed and coiled at the ends.

"Berenet!" said Vanhe in her ear. "He was once Men-dark's lieutenant, and being groomed to succeed him, but they fell out as Mendark fled Thurkad. Watch him-he's smarter than Thyllan, and almost as cunning."

Berenet sat down at Thyllan's right hand. Thyllan stood, twirling the skirts of the mancer's robes he affected. Further down the table, Hennia kept shifting her dumpy body in her seat, her eyes darting from Maigraith to Thyllan and back again. Maigraith knew her only by reputation-a brilliant woman for all her appearance, but as unsteady as quicksand. Her support could only be relied on when it was not needed.

"Listen to me, all as one!" Thyllan had a booming voice. He played at being an orator, though he lacked the subtlety for it. "I speak as Magister, with the authority of the Council and the Assembly. The old fool Mendark is gone, the upstart usurper fled too, terrified of these Ghashad that he liberated but could not control. There is only one authority now-mine!"