Turran mounted the dais. His was the task of binding. Orange and gold, scarlet and purple, motionless, he loomed like a fire demon.

From the Bell Tower, proceeding along a dark, cleared aisle between banks of snow, though the continuing blizzard, the bride's party started toward the hall. Six women, clad in dark green embroidered with thread-of-gold, carried Nepanthe's train. Liveried pikemen marched at either hand. All moved with a slow, measured step despite the cold. Ravenkrak's weddings were performed with regal pomp and deliberation.

The bride's party reached the Great Hall. Valther and Jerrad drew their swords and a.s.sumed Nepanthe'sguardianship. They advanced on the dais slowly.

Saltimbanco experienced eternity during that approach. He stared, marveling anew at Nepanthe's beauty, her dark eyes and hair, her soft skin and delicate features. She seemed beatific this evening, unworldly, under some ecstatic enchantment. Her brothers, too, were under the spell. Briefly, he forgot his fears, hoped this would amply distract them. For the moment they might have thought Ridyeh still living.

Nepanthe reached the dais. The drums fell silent. The ceremony began...

As if bounced through time, Saltimbanco realized it was over, done. Was it true? Yes. The people were leaving for the parties. Where had time gone?

Nepanthe finally looked into his eyes. He took her hand, squeezing gently. At that moment, in that place, she showed neither fear nor doubt.

It was too late for either. She had become committed. She would fight for the commitment as bitterly as she had resisted it.

TWELVE: They Drink the Wine of Violence

Saltimbanco yawned and stretched, reaching the last leg of a long and lazy approach to wakefulness. He stretched again. He was as relaxed as a cat. His extended left arm came down on something soft and warm and swathed in a ma.s.s of silken hair. He yawned again, rolled so he could look into the smiling face of his new wife. He reached slowly, stalking a wisp of dark hair peeping from fold of coverlet, caught it between thumb and forefinger, curled and twirled it while watching her sleep. Then he drew a fingertip lightly over one soft, rosy cheek, following the line of her jaw, ended by tickling the dimple on her chin. The caress excited something at the corner of her mouth, a something seldom seen before last evening, a happy, demonic something that had spent years in hiding, a something now out and winking merrily. Her smile so lightly grew, drawing with its warmth. Those ruby cushions for his kiss parted slightly, permitting the flight of a sigh. She extended a small, delicate hand to cover his own, pressed it to her cheek. Slowly, so as not to disturb her slumber, he leaned and kissed that taunting quirk at the corner of her mouth.

"Uhm," she sighed, eyes still closed.

"Self, have something to confess."

She opened one sleepy eye.

"Self, am not Saltimbanco. Am not simple, wandering fool..."

"Shhh. I know."

"Hai! How? Am still breathing."

"Deduction. Valther's lists. You were the only one who could've gotten to them and have communicated with bin Yousif. In Iwa Skolovda."

Fear smote deeply. "Ridyeh?" he gasped, unable to articulate his question.

"I hated you then. But it wasn't your fault, really. I... uh... Why talk about it? It's over. Don't make meremember. I don't want to. Kiss me. Touch me. Love me. Don't talk. Just make me forget."

"No hate? Ravenkrak will die, and self, in one guise, am prime killer."

"Ravenkrak's dead. Only Ravenkrak hasn't heard."

"You change so."

They were interrupted by a knock. Neither moved. It grew insistent. "You'd better go," Nepanthe said.

"Probably one of my brothers."

It was. Valther eyed the gown of Nepanthe's Saltimbanco had donned, chuckled, said, "Turran wants Nepanthe in the Lower Armories. Luxos just got home. We got him through the gates three steps ahead of bin Yousif's men."

"Self, am dismayed by lack of respect..."

"My own thought exactly," Valther replied, cutting him short. "But Turran wants her, and what he wants, he gets. Got to run." He chucked Mocker under the chin. "The robe becomes you." Laughing, he ducked a spiritless punch and hurried away.

Mocker found Nepanthe dressing when he returned. Her face clouded. She was still afraid.

"Was Valther. Meeting in Lower Armories. Luxos came back."

"I heard. Will you help me?" She quavered when he touched her. A moment later, in a tremulous whisper, she asked, "What do your friends call you?"

"Many names. Hai! Not good for lady's ears, most. But mostly Mocker."

"Mocker, we have to leave."

"Why?"

"My brothers might find out. We should get out first."

"To where? How to live? Moneys from speechifying in Iwa Skolovda repose in secret place in Tower of Moon-lost forever!" This was a wail.

"I don't care where. And I've got lots of valuable things."

"How to escape?"

"There're ways. But you know bin Yousif, don't you?" There was no accusation in her voice.

"Long time."

"You're friends?"

"When gold is right.""Anyone else?" She smiled, easing his tension. He understood.

"Red beard."

"What?" She was startled.

"Rendel Grimnason. True name is Bragi Ragnarson."

"And Astrid?"

"Name is Elana. And Blackfang, Kildragon, Rolf, also. And guess where loyalty of troops lies."

"Oh! Poor Turran. Surrounded by enemies. Even his sister, now. When's it supposed to end?"

Mocker shook his head. "Employer, closed-lip man of first cla.s.s, tells nothing. Not even name. But we find out. Is magical Machiavelli."

"A magician?"

"Yes. Question still is, why so interested in Raven-krak?"

"What's his name?"

"Is Varthlokkur..."

"Varthlokkur!" She dropped to the bed. "I told Turran, but he wouldn't listen."

Her reaction startled Mocker. "What is trouble?"

"You know what he wants from Ravenkrak? Me! For years he's been after me to marry him. Probably for my power. Not the Werewind, but the power within. Storm King blood is strong with it. Our ancestors were n.o.bles of Ilkazar. Matched, little could resist us. Controlling weather would be child's play. Which is why I always turned him down." She flushed. He knew that wasn't her primary reason. "I was afraid Ravenkrak would be first to feel his new strength. I guess he'll destroy us anyway. Sooner or later, destruction overtakes all the children of the Empire. Be ready to leave when I get back. See if your friends will go with us."

She settled her dress more comfortably, gave him a small kiss. "I love you." She struggled with words, but they came. "I'll be back soon."

As Nepanthe left the tower, shawl tightened about her neck and head against the worsening snow, she examined, and marveled at, the changed state of her mind. Though she still feared, her being, like a magnet being drawn, was orienting itself toward one lodestone. Saltimbanco. No, Mocker. But what was the difference? A rose is a rose. Funny. She could almost feel her fears evaporating. She wanted to sing.

It was icy cold. A wind had begun driving the already fallen snow (escaping be a grim, miserable undertaking), but she didn't feel it, didn't care. Her s.e.xual fears had already begun to appear foolish-it hadn't been bad at all-yet thoughts of future encounters still disturbed her.

Nepanthe was last to reach the Lower Armories. She found her brothers waiting impatiently. No one criticized her lateness. After offering belated well-wishes for her marriage, Luxos demanded everyone's attention."These are Ridyeh's things. What I could recover," he said, indicating a clutter on the table. "A gold coin bin Yousif spent after a meeting with an old man at an Itaskian tavern. Given him by that old man. The mercenaries outside are being paid in the same mintage. Turran?"

Turran examined the coin. "Ilkazar. Scarce these days."

"Thousands are being spent."

"Somebody found the Treasure of llkazar?"

"Don't forget, an old man's the source. What old man might know where to find that treasure?"

"Varthlokkur!" Turran snarled.

"Brilliant deduction!" said Nepanthe. "What'd I tell you six months ago?"

"Okay, I apologize. I didn't think he wanted you that bad. That means we've got real trouble. We'll have to fight sorcery and soldiers both."

"I have more," Luxos said. "Concerning who gave that spy list to bin Yousif. I found this paper in Ridyeh's pocket. The river water almost ruined it. But two names are clear: Bragi Ragnarson and Mocker. Meaningless? Rumor has it that bin Yousif operated with men of those names during the El Murid Wars. And one of them was in Itaskia at the time, and was seen talking with the same old man.

Where are they now? What're they doing? I think they're here. In Ravenkrak."

Nepanthe racked her mind for a diversion.

Offering the paper, Luxos said, "There's another readable line."

Turran frowned over ink badly run, read, "'... short and fat. Ragnarson is blond, tall...' That's all?"

They were at the marches of discovery. Nepanthe knew she had to warn her husband.... The thought startled her. Her declaration to Mocker, a half hour earlier, of a shift of allegiance, had lacked conviction.

In the meantime it had matured and grown firm. She rose. To Turran's inquiring glance, she replied, "Bathroom," and left them bent over Ridyeh's effects like ghouls over an open grave.

"Does this mean anything?" she heard Turran ask. And, as she drew almost beyond hearing, Valther replied.

"The only fat man here is Saltimbanco..."

Which precipitated a brief silence. Nepanthe started to run-and collided with a breathless soldier.

"Milady!" he gasped. "They're striking camp. Looks like they're pulling out."

Turran's strategy had been vindicated. "Thank you. I'll tell my brothers. Return to your station." She pretended to return toward the blue glow of the meeting room. She stopped when the soldier pa.s.sed out of sight. She had no intention of telling Turran that he had won. Let him stew awhile, arguing, while she and Mocker got away. Anyway, she had a feeling his victory might not be what it seemed.

Diminished by distance, she heard Turran's anguished, "But we couldn't have married our sister to anenemy!"

"We did!" Valther retorted. "I'd swear, now that I think about, n.o.body else could've gotten to the lists.

Not and have gotten them to bin Yousif. Maybe we can hold his merry hanging after all."

"d.a.m.n!" Turran roared. Metal rattled as he smote the table. "Well, that's one. What about the other?"

"Grimnason," Valther said sadly.

"What? No! He's been our best man."

"A hunch."

"Ridyeh said blond."

"Hair can be dyed. It doesn't matter anyway. We're inundated by enemies, inside and out. We've been outmaneuvered all the way down the line. Which figures with a fox like Varthlokkur. So, after four hundred years, Ravenkrak falls, unvanquished by arms. Treachery's victim, as we always knew she would be. Hail the Empire."

Nepanthe had heard all she wanted. She ran.

Nepanthe rushed into the courtyard, looked around wildly, through the blinding snow barely discerned Ragnarson atop the wall. In a moment she was at his side, breathless. "Bragi, my brothers..."

"I know." He didn't turn. His gaze was fixed in the direction of bin Yousif's encampment. His expression was one of weariness and sorrow. "Mocker told me you wanted to leave. I don't know if we can, now.

By stalling I may have cut all our throats. Haroun won't be happy. He isn't a forgiving man."

"You don't understand," she said. "The game's over. They know. Luxos brought proof. You've got to get out right now."

Ragnarson's shoulders slumped. He sighed. Turning, he replied, "Thank you, Lady. You'd better get your things. Don't bring more than you can carry. Clothes and food. My men are packing already. Can you make it down the mountain in this?"

"I guess so," she replied. "Be careful. They'll do something pretty soon." She left for the Bell Tower.

Ragnarson stood there for a while, staring down the mountain. One by one, as they were ready, his staff came to him. Rolf Preshka, Reskird Kildragon, Haaken on a litter borne by those two, Elana, and a handful of favored soldiers. Finally, he asked, "Where're Mocker and Nepanthe?"

No one knew.

"I don't like leaving the men," Kildragon complained.