He strode the length of the table, staring into the eyes of each of them. Maigraith was astounded at his arrogance. His forces had fallen like cornstalks before the march of Yggur. But then, Yggur was not here anymore.

"Your army is a rabble, Vanhe," Thyllan roared in his face. "Surrender the city and you will be spared! None of us want this war." He thumped away again, thrusting his face at each of them, all the way down.

You're a strutting liar, she thought. This is a charade so you can play the general. "Is he speaking truth?" she said out of the corner of her mouth to Vanhe.

"I doubt it! The only prisoners he takes are those worth ransoming."

The hairs on the back of her neck stirred. If he would not spare a humble foot-soldier, what chance did they have? She felt panicky.

"We are not leaderless, Thyllan," said Vanhe as steadily as he could. "Maigraith was nominated by Yggur before he ... went away. Our expectation is that he will soon return. Until that time we follow her."

Thyllan was taken aback. His darting gaze weighed her up. Then he laughed, a harsh braying that echoed in the bare room. Maigraith trembled. The explanation was hollow, else she would have taken charge weeks ago, before the war was lost.

"We did not fear Yggur in his strength," he boasted. "Why would we listen to the slut he abandoned when he fled? Let go the strings, Vanhe. Your puppet is a rag woman, and you so gutless that you cower in her knickers."

A different approach might have undone Maigraith but insults never would, for she'd had worse from Faelamor the whole of her life.

"What is your answer?" cried Thyllan. He rasped his sword out of its scabbard. No one spoke. "Would an example help you to make up your minds?"

Vanhe signaled frantically but Maigraith could not think what to do. How could she negotiate with this monster? As she agonized, Bindy slipped through the door. "Marshal!" he cried, sliding between the guards to dart up the room. "Treachery! The enemy-"

He was only half way when Thyllan stepped out in his path.

Maigraith sprang to her feet but she was too far away. "Bindy!" she screamed. "Go back!"

Bindy froze, staring up at the scar-faced man. "The enemy-" he repeated.

"Stay where you are, boy," grated Thyllan.

Bindy trembled as the big man stalked toward him. He wanted to run but was too afraid. Thyllan walked right up close and calmly thrust his sword through the boy.

With a barely audible sigh, Bindy slid to the floor. Thyllan turned to the staring room. "Well?" he roared.

Maigraith ran and took Bindy in her arms. He was in great pain. He did not cry, but his face was wrung with sadness. "My poor mother!" he whispered.

"I will see that she is taken care of," said Maigraith.

Bindy gave her a brave smile, then died.

She laid down the crumpled body. What hopes he'd had. How little it had taken to let the life out of him. Tears grew on her lashes. She did not try to hide them. Inside her a fire had begun to smolder. She fed it into fury.

Treating Thyllan as just another problem to be solved was hard, but she did it. After all, her whole life had been discipline. The man was a butcher. If they surrendered he would slay them all as casually as this poor child. She had no option but to take him, right now. Terror almost overcame her-her life had been submission, too. How could she hope to win?

She took charge of herself and in her expressionless rage she was so beautiful that it was terrifying. "The boy was my friend," Maigraith said quietly. She stood up, a quite slender woman, not tall. "Thyllan, I am arresting you for murder. Yield up your tokens of office. You will be tried fairly."

"Murder?" he said in astonishment. "There is no murder in war!"

"Put down your weapon."

"You refuse my peace offering!" he said with a grim smile. He threw up his arm, holding the stained sword high. "Then I will give you war until the streets flow with blood."

"Making war on children is all you're capable of," she spat.

The room was in uproar. "Maigraith!" hissed Vanhe. "What are you doing?"

"What you put me here for," she said. "The boy is dead. Support me or we will all follow him!"

Thyllan whistled. The double doors were flung open. A band of twenty civilians ran in, but as they came through the door they cast their disguises away, revealing them to be Thyllan's elite troops.

"Treachery!" Vanhe shouted, springing to his feet. It was too late; his guards were already being disarmed. "How dare you violate the blue flag!"

"You see?" said Maigraith sadly. "Bindy was right. Thyllan planned this all along."

Vanhe understood, but he did not imagine she could do anything about it. Hennia the Zain half-rose to her feet, as if trying to make up her mind about whom to support, then sat again. The whole room stared at the soldiers, and down at the messenger boy. Their fate was written in the coils of blood on the floor beside him.

BATTLE OF WITS.

Rage was burning Maigraith up, fury for little Bindy, dead at her feet, and for all the innocents who would die for Thyllan's ambition. She must bring down this monster even if she died trying. She would bring him down! But how? She was unarmed while he had twenty soldiers in the room.

As she hesitated, half a dozen of his most senior officers appeared, come to witness his triumph. Somehow they must be neutralized too.

Thyllan's guards were disarming the people at the table. Suddenly only Vanhe was between him and her. His strategy in ruins, Vanhe snatched out his sword and prepared to die.

Her fingers dug into his shoulder. "Fall back, marshal!" she said, and her voice was one that must be obeyed.

"My duty is to defend my captain," he said. "I will not go behind." He moved to one side, but in an instant the soldiers surrounded and disarmed him.

"Take her," roared Thyllan.

Maigraith put on her most arrogant expression. "I challenge you, Thyllan-you against me. Do you dare? Are you the equal of one frail woman, or must your dogs do the job for you?"

His face glowed red. He darted a glance at the watching officers. He dared not lose face in front of them.

Without a word he sprang, his sword making a blazing arc in the lamplight. Maigraith put out a slender arm toward him, jerking her outstretched fingers up in the universal gesture of contempt. The action looked incongruous coming from this elegantly attired woman, but it was more than a gesture. Thyllan's legs tangled and he fell on his face, the sword clattering on the floor.

There was a long silence then someone guffawed and most of the room joined in. Thyllan's troops went rigid in outrage, though two of his officers were smiling. They hated him! They followed him only because he was stronger.

Thyllan sprang to his feet, his mouth bloody. Every breath forced scarlet bubbles out of one nostril. Then he hesitated. Maigraith's confusion had been so subtle that he could not tell if it had been power or accident. But he could not afford to be shown up. He lunged at her with his sword, at the same time using his Art to weaken her and make her fear him.

There was strength in his sorcery, if little subtlety, and though the strength shook her, fear was the wrong weapon. Her rage for little Bindy burned it to ashes. She'd endured worse from Yggur in Fiz Gorgo: stronger, more cunning, more subtle and for longer. She brushed the attack aside with a casual flick of one wrist, and again Thyllan went flying. Once more he was left wondering what had happened, unsure if she had power at all, let alone what it was.

Berenet shouted advice in a language Maigraith did not understand. Standing well back this time, Thyllan spoke the words of a different spell. It attacked her self-confidence, something she had always been short of.

Maigraith froze, trapped in indecision. Thyllan was a great general, a great mancer too, one who'd overthrown Mendark himself. She was nothing compared to him! There was no possibility of defeating him. The whole room went still. She felt their eyes on her, knowing how insignificant she was. Hope ran out of her, drop by drop.

Thyllan had learned his lesson. He stood with his sword upraised, weighing her up. Blood dripping off the hilt red-handed him. Bindy's blood! Her rage suddenly rekindled; she laughed in his face. He flushed and she knew his weakness. He had a very short fuse; she must drive him beyond the point where he could control himself.

"You're a murderer, a liar and a fraud," Maigraith said. "Your pathetic Art wouldn't have troubled me when I was a child." While speaking, she was using her own talent to reinforce her words. She turned to his officers. "Did you hear how Mendark humiliated Thyllan in the wharf city? How he fled like a cur?"

Suddenly Thyllan snapped. "Die like a cur!" he screamed, and threw himself at her.

Maigraith stood paralyzed for a moment, then she seemed to flicker to one side. As Thyllan went stumbling past, his sword spearing a long strip out of the tabletop, she smacked him contemptuously on the backside. This time all but one of his officers joined the laughter.

Now even Thyllan's uncouth guard began to realize that something was wrong, as Thyllan tried a new attack, a different way. But he had spent the best of his strength; she countered him with only a tightening of the lips. He stood before her, panting, beginning to feel fear.

Forcing a smile, she stepped toward him. For an instant he seemed mesmerized, then he leapt backwards, crying: "Kill her! Kill her with arrows."

One of two archers at the door drew back his short bow. Maigraith turned her gaze on him, her carmine eyes crossed with indigo, and the man let fly his arrow into the ceiling. The other, a short, handsome fellow with curly brown hair, dropped his bow and put his foot on it. The diversion had not achieved the result Thyllan wanted, but it had made time for him. A knife appeared in his other hand. He flung it at her throat.

Maigraith swayed away but not quickly enough. The knife went deep into her shoulder, striking the bone and wedging there, a silver spike rising out of red petals. The pain was intense, piercing. Even her training was not enough to ignore it. She gasped, losing control.

Thyllan sprang at her, trying to spear her in the belly with his long sword. Maigraith threw herself to her left. The blade carved along her side, crimson following its path, then Thyllan slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. She fell flat on her back, sending a spray of bloody droplets across the floor. Grinning in triumph, he raised the sword in both hands to skewer her to the boards.

Maigraith's whole body was shrieking with pain and her left arm was useless. But after all, this was what her regimen had been for, all the years that she had been doing it. She had absolute control over the rest of her body, and her mind too. And she was working on his, whispering into his mind. Don't strike yet. She's a cunning one. Make sure of her. She drew her knees up into her belly. Come close, my enemy. Closer!

The sword hesitated for a fraction of a second. Putting on a weak little whimper Maigraith rolled back onto her shoulders, and as Thyllan loomed over her she kicked upwards with both feet. They struck him between his legs so hard that something went crack. Thyllan was jerked off the ground, falling backwards with a shriek that hurt her ears.

Maigraith pushed herself up. Her shoulder felt hideous but her will was stronger. Once more she smiled, showing no pain, and went after him. The fury so concentrated her will that he withered. Now he had no doubt that she had power, and it bettered his.

Thyllan crouched down, clutching his violated organs. "Berenet!" he screeched.

Who was Berenet? The memory was gone. Then, recalling Vanhe's warning, she saw that the dandy with the mustachioes was not in his seat. Where was he?

He came out from under the table behind her, sprang and put his knife to her throat. Maigraith choked. She had failed after all. Thurkad was doomed.

"Shall I do it?" cried Berenet, his perfumed breath all over her.

"Hold her," panted Thyllan from the floor. He glanced at his officers. Some looked openly contemptuous. "I must do the deed with my own knife."

Lurching to his feet, Thyllan took two pained steps toward her, then froze.

Something went Thunk! like a butcher's cleaver. The knife flew from Berenet's hand. Blood speckled her throat. Berenet stood up on his toes, staring at his hand. His thumb was missing. A razor-tipped arrow had come out of nowhere, taking the digit clean off. He could not comprehend how the mutilation had come about.

No time to work out why, or who. Maigraith locked Thyllan's eyes with her own. "Take back your knife," she whispered.

Fury almost tied him in a knot, but he was beaten. His hand reached out and with one convulsive jerk he pulled the knife from her shoulder, tearing the flesh open. Blood flooded her cream blouse from shoulder to wrist; another stream ran down her side. The knife hand quivered. Behind her Vanhe gasped, sure that Thyllan would slash her across the throat in his rage. For a moment even Maigraith thought that he might break her hold, but she clenched her will even tighter, his hand fell to his side and the knife cried out against the floor.

Maigraith's face was the color of plaster, but she must complete it. With bloody hand she tore the medals and general's blazon from his breast and ground them underfoot. In his pain and humiliation, his face was almost as white as her own.

"Take up your sword and break it. Submit to me, on your knees."

Her voice was harsh with strain. Even now he struggled, then suddenly Thyllan was done. Stumbling over to the dropped sword, he lifted it high and smashed it sideways against a column. It snapped off cleanly at the hilt. At her gesture he went down on one knee and held up the pieces to her, cringing, holding them up like a shield as if he expected her to strike him down. It was agony for him. She was making a terrible enemy if he ever rose again. She took no pleasure in it, only wanting it to be over.

Maigraith scanned the room. The contempt of Thyllan's officers was evident. "Who among you dares to take his place?"

No one answered. They were mere soldiers, for all their rank, and none had the courage to pit his wits against her.

"Go!" she said softly to Thyllan, still holding the broken sword. "Never return to Thurkad or your life is forfeit."

He hobbled down the room and out the door. The shocked officers and guards turned to follow but she called to them, her voice ringing and echoing off the hard walls.

"Put down your weapons! The war is over. Thyllan is broken; neither Warlord nor Magister ever more. Any who serves him is outlaw. Swear to serve me; or if you still follow him, go weaponless." She looked them in the eye, each one.

Most knelt to give her their oath. Some did so willingly, in awe and respect; others out of fear or opportunism. But one or two put their weapons on the floor and went out quietly, including One-Thumb Berenet. Now it took every measure of her will to stay on her feet, though that no longer mattered. The job was done. Even had she fallen unconscious none would have thought the worse of her.

"Come forward," she said to the curly-haired archer who had saved her. "Who are you, and why did you betray your general?"

"I am Torgsted," he said, giving her a warming smile. "I am on secret duty. I never swore to Thyllan."

"Will you swear to me, Torgsted?" She gasped-the pain! He sprang to support her.

"Would that I could, my lady, but I am Mendark's man."

"Then go and do his work. Though we are at odds, I give you my protection until he returns."

Torgsted bowed and withdrew. She walked slowly back to the head of the table. Vanhe made no effort to aid her. Hennia the Zain, who had been up and down like a jack-in-the-box as the battle swayed first one way and then the other, was slumped in her chair. The whole room was stunned at the unimaginable reversal.

"Your puppet walks by itself," Maigraith said to her marshal.

Vanhe sprang to attention. "Do the officers pledge their loyalty?" he roared. "Does the Council show its support? Does the Assembly subordinate itself to Maigraith?"

They rose as one. "Maigraith!" they cried, and the whole room saluted her.

"There will be an election for Magister. I propose that Maigraith be elected. Do any gainsay me?"

Maigraith shook her head. "Nay, do not propose me. The office is not vacant, no matter what claims Thyllan has made. Mendark still holds that honor and can be removed only by death. Does this Council agree? Hennia, what say you? Do you pledge your loyalty, now that the end is known?"

Looking sick, Hennia did so. The times had undone her. Pathologically unable to commit to one side, the constant reversals were driving her mad.

The matter was agreed, attested with signatures, and copies distributed.

"Nor propose me for the Assembly neither," said Maigraith. "I hold no office willingly, but Yggur's I will maintain until he returns, or otherwise."

The meeting was closed. The room gave her an ovation, then Vanhe called for an honor guard, who escorted Maigraith back to her chamber. Vanhe himself saw to her wounds, and his attendants to her bathing and dressing. Then she fell into bed, her self-assurance draining away. She should have done better, sooner.

"Poor Bindy," she said. "Why could I not have saved him?"

"He died like a good little soldier," said Vanhe. "That was his fate."

"What kind of times do we live in that children must be soldiers?" she raged uselessly, knowing Vanhe could never understand.