"Charge!" Prado cried, and his own thin line started its countercharge. Armed mainly with swords, they knew most of them would be skewered before they had a chance to come to grips with the Chetts, but also knew that if they tried to flee they would only be skewered from behind.

Prado kneed his horse until he was almost in front. He aimed his sword at the barge pilot's head, promising himself to take out the little bastard before he died. The rider charging beside Gudon caught his attention; he was as pale as mist and as small as the pilot, and he had a scar ...

No, it couldn't be!

Lynan focused on one enemy, a rider with a helmet and a long sword, and for the whole charge kept his sword point aimed at that man's chest. Seconds before they would have collided, his target was taken by a lance and disappeared from view. Lynan swerved to his left, half saw a sword slashing toward him and deflected it easily. His horse veered to avoid a biting stallion and lost its momentum. Lynan wheeled around, searching for the nearest enemy. A young man, no older than he, rode into view, swinging a sword with more energy than skill. Lynan dodged the first blow and drove the point of his own sword into the man's neck. He did not wait to see the results. He spurred his mare into a canter and attacked one of two riders ganging up on a wounded Red Hand. He dispatched the first by stabbing him in the back. The second twisted aside to counter the new threat, and the Red Hand took off most of his face with a slashing cut. More enemies joined the fray, and Lynan found himself in a confusing tumble of men and horses. A Red Hand died in front of him, a dagger in her heart. A wizened mercenary coughed blood, disappeared. A man in the uniform of Haxus was huddled in his saddle with his hands closed over his head, screaming something; Lynan sank his sword into the man's stomach and the screaming stopped. He saw a sword coming toward him out of the corner of his eye and quickly brought his own weapon up to block it; he deflected the killing stroke, but the flat of the other sword thwacked against the crown of his head. Lynan saw stars, felt himself swoon in his saddle. Someone nearby screamed. Hands plucked at him, trying to keep him upright.

And then his senses cleared so quickly it felt as if someone else was suddenly occupying his body. Red Hands were all around him, protecting him at the expense of their own defense.

"Enough," he said, and kicked his heels into his mare's flank. She leaped forward.

Lynan saw a huge mercenary loom in front of him, carrying a long saber in one hand and a spiked mace in the other. He grinned at Lynan, raised his sword, and slashed downward.

Lynan blocked the blow and used his own sword to flick it away. The saber flew out of the mercenary's hands. The impetus of his charge took Lynan past the man, but he swung his sword backward and caught the man in the neck. He twisted his sword free and spurred his horse again into the fray, breaking through the enemy line. He was surrounded by mercenaries. His sword whistled as he thrashed left and right, not aiming at any one target. He kept on moving, plowing through any opposition, not able to control the white fury that had taken over his mind and body. One moment he was surrounded by screaming men, panting horses and the almost overwhelming smell of blood and shit, and then he was in the clear.There was a line of foot archers in front of Lynan, desperately loosing arrows at the Chett horse archers picking at them from both flanks. They did not see Lynan. He charged into them, hewing at heads and arms. The archers scattered, crying in fear, and Lynan rode them down until once again he found himself in the melee and surrounded by the press of fighting and dying men and horses.

He attacked a rider in the uniform of a Haxus officer, someone not much older than a boy. The officer tried desperately to ward off Lynan's attack, and he started to cry.

"Please . . ." he whimpered, blocking another thrust. "Please..." But Lynan only smiled at him and attacked again, his sword slicing through the officer's wrist, then onto into his thigh. The officer wailed as Lynan plunged his sword into his chest, then gurgled and died.

Lynan roared, driving his horse on. Three more enemies. They saw him coming and split to take him from the front and both sides at the same time. Lynan slashed at the one on his right, his sword sinking deep into the man's skull. Something stuck in his waist, and he looked down to see a dagger there, half its length inside of him. He let go of the reins and punched the mercenary on his left in the face. The face crumpled and the mercenary fell back. The mercenary in front gaped in horror and tried to back his horse away. Lynan pulled the dagger out of his side, saw a trickle of dark, dark blood run down his shirt, then threw the weapon at the retreating mercenary, striking him between the eyes.

He wheeled his horse in a tight circle, searching for another enemy, but there was no one left to kill. There were no more mercenaries, no more riders in Haxus uniform, no more archers. A troop of his Red Hands galloped up to him, crying his name, their desperate concern obvious on their faces.

"I am all right," he assured them, then remembered he had been stabbed. He looked down at the wound, but although he found the flat, diamond-shaped cut in his shirt, there was only the faintest mark on the skin underneath.

Prado received a second wound that day, a hard blow to the back of his right hand. The barge pilot had done that. Prado had been surprised the little Chett could fight at all, let alone outfight someone like himself, a mercenary with a quarter century of combat behind him. As soon as they met, Prado had swung for his head, but the Chett had ducked as lithely as a young boy and brought down the hilt of his own sword on Prado's hand, breaking a few bones and forcing him to let go of his weapon. After that things had become confusing. He remembered being knocked off his horse, two men with red hands falling on him and tying him up. He lost consciousness for a while, and when he woke, the battle was over. The barge pilot had reappeared, made him stand up, and forced him to look over the battlefield.

"We've counted them," the barge pilot told him. "We have removed our eighty dead and already burned them. That is their pyre over there. All the other bodies you see are those of our enemy. Nearly six thousand of them. You are the only survivor." The Chett leaned closer so he could whisper in Prado's ear. "But not for long."

Prado was turned around again. There were five figures approaching. He recognized Kumul and Ager and Jenrosa and-he still could not believe the change-Prince Lynan, but the fifth was a tall Chett female he knew nothing about.

When they were near enough, the barge pilot bowed deeply. "Your Majesty."

Lynan smiled. "Well done, Gudon. How do you feel?"

The Chett called Gudon breathed deeply and joined his companions. "Rejuvenated," he said."What now?" the Chett female asked the prince. "How do you want him to die?"

"Gudon?"

"I have finished with him, little master. He knows I am the one who brought him down. It is enough."

The prince stood directly in front of Prado. The mercenary could not meet the eyes in that pale face and had to turn away. Fear curdled in the pit of his stomach, fear of something much worse than death. Lynan turned to Kumul. "When we were finally reunited in the Strangers' Sooq, I remember you said something about Jes Prado."

"I said I would fillet the bastard," Kumul returned.

Prado went white. He had expected to be paraded before the victors and then beheaded. But not...

"He is yours," the prince said. "But when you are finished, make sure his face is still recognizable."

It took the rest of the day and the whole of the next to gather all the enemy dead together and burn their remains. An expedition was sent to Rendle's distant camp to take care of any guards left behind and to bring back all the booty they could find. They returned with horses, weapons, and the news that on sighting them one of the guards-a Haxus regular-had released several carrier birds, all of which had escaped.

Together, the two mercenary forces delivered a great deal of potentially useful booty; horses mainly, but also weapons, stocks of food, including some hay for the horses, and good clothing, including new leather boots and jerkins. Everything was loaded onto most of their surviving mounts, and a few of the less seriously wounded Chetts were charged with escorting them back to the High Sooq for distribution among all the clans; all except some of the stallions which Kumul insisted on keeping.

"Our mares do not make good chargers," he told his companions. Lynan and Korigan smiled at each other. "What's so funny?"

"You said 'Our mares,'" Lynan explained.

Kumul grunted. "With these bigger eastern stallions we can start breeding a proper war horse."

"We will take your advice on this," Korigan said, and Kumul bowed slightly for the favor she was showing him.

"What did you want with Prado's head, lad?" Kumul asked Lynan.

"Did we find Rendle's remains?"

"Yes, on the slope," Korigan answered. "His head was already off his shoulders. It got trampled on, but it is recognizable."

"Good. Put both heads in a basket. Fill the basket with salt and bring it to me."

"Very well," Korigan said, her voice flat, and gave the order.

Early the next morning the basket was presented to him. He opened it and placed in it the Key of the Union. Those around him gasped in surprise.

"What are you doing?" Ager asked.

Lynan called for Makon, who appeared moments later, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty?""In Gudon's absence you performed well as leader of my Red Hands."

"Thank you, your Majesty."

"I have another important task for you. You must not fail in it. You may take a company of the Red Hands to help make sure you are not interfered with."

"What is the task, my lord?"

Lynan showed Makon the contents of the basket. "You are to take this to Eynon, chief of the Horse clan."

Makon could not hide his surprise. "To Eynon? Including the Key of the Union?"

"You are to tell Eynon that the heads are those of the mercenary captains Prado and Rendle, and are a present to him from Lynan Rosetheme, the White Wolf returned. And as a symbol of my trust in him, I also send the Key of the Union, so that he may find me to return it."

No one said anything as Makon sealed the basket and tied it with sinew. "I will leave immediately."

When Makon was gone, Lynan looked at the faces of Korigan and Kumul, expecting the greatest outrage from them, but both seemed calm.

"Neither of you have any objection?"

Kumul shook his head. "I do not doubt you know what you are doing," the giant said.

"And I admire the strategy behind the move, your Majesty," Korigan said. "You play this game of kingship very well indeed."

"Ah," Lynan said quietly, "that's because I do not think it is a game."

Chapter 24.

Areava had wanted to keep the investiture ceremony brief, but Orkid argued she should use it as an opportunity for a celebration.

"Celebration!" Areava had exclaimed. "We are at war, Chancellor. Primate Giros Northam is dead. My husband is hundreds of leagues away risking life and limb-"

"Exactly, your Majesty. Which is why your people need to see you are confident about the future, that you are not obsessed with all the problems besetting the kingdom-"

"Of course I'm obsessed by them!" she snapped.

"-and indeed you are thrilled to have the opportunity to throw a party for the city."

"A party?"

"A celebration, your Majesty. Use Father Powl's investiture as an excuse to show the kingdom that you are in charge and that, despite the war, the kingdom goes on."

Areava had agreed reluctantly, and was unsure if she had made the best decision. Until now. Looking down on the palace courtyard, she saw the beaming faces of her people as they enjoyed the early spring sunshine, the free food and drink, and the sign that even with a war the kingdom and its monarch were strong and confident enough to hold such a glorious and pomp-filled event. Father Powl, splendid in the official robes of Primate of the Church of the Righteous God, strolled among the citizens of Kendra, dispensingblessings and thanks to all the well-wishers.

Areava stayed aloof, but was pleased to see her people enjoying themselves so much.

For a while Olio joined her on the south gallery. He placed a hand on her belly.

"Six months, the magickers tell me," she said, and her face became sad.

"He m-m-might m-m-make it b-b-back in time," Olio said.

Areava shook her head. "No, not now. Salokan has taken us all by surprise. Sendarus will not be back until after his daughter is born."

"Daughter?"

"Yes. It is a girl."

"You will call her Usharna?"

Areava's face lost some of its sadness. "What else could I have called a daughter?"

"Oh, I don't know." He grinned suddenly. "Olio would have b-b-been nice."

Areava seemed shocked. "That would only have confused the poor darling. Having an uncle with the same name as herself. What would she think?"

"That her uncle was extremely lucky to have b-b-been named after her, of course."

Areava laughed. "That's true. If she is anything like me, that would not surprise you, I think."

Olio kissed her cheek suddenly. "Everything about you surprises me, sister." He held her hand briefly. "Are you coming down?"

"No. I prefer to watch from up here. But you should go down. They need a Rosetheme to mingle with them."

"They would p-p-prefer you, I think."

Areava shook her head. "You are quite wrong, brother.

They prefer me to be up here. That way everyone is in their place, and they know all is right with their world."

Orkid waited until the new primate had finished receiving everyone's congratulations, and then caught up with him as he walked back toward the west wing to change out of his ceremonial garb.

"The balance of power shifts once again," Orkid said.

Powl looked at him without expression. "That is the most interesting greeting I've heard in some time."

"Now that Primate Northam has gone-God care for his soul-"

"God care for his soul," Powl recited.

"-I feel the council has moved somewhat away from the queen in sympathy and toward the Twenty Houses and some commercial interests in the city."

"Not for my part, Chancellor."

"I have always believed you were on the queen's side. That is why I approached you earlier to establish a special liaison between us."

"For which I was grateful. Regrettably, events have meant we were never able to takeadvantage of that."

"Those events may still occur, but are you still interested in maintaining a special relationship with my office?"

"Unreservedly, Chancellor. Do you feel it will be important in the near future?"

"It is hard to tell, your Grace." Orkid said the title with something like deference, which did not go unnoticed by Powl. "The state of war distorts the normal picture. For the moment we are all on the same side, but who knows what will happen after the war is over?"

"Surely that depends on whether or not we win?"

"Oh, we will win," Orkid assured him. "Maybe not tomorrow, or next week, but inevitably, inexorably, Haxus will pay for its sins."

Powl stopped and looked at the Chancellor. "'Sins,' Chancellor? That is an interesting word to choose. Do you believe whether or not something is a sin is determined by the origin of its perpetrator? Salokan sins because he is from Haxus and is invading Grenda Lear, for example?"

"Surely what is moral in one country-if it is truly moral-must equally be moral in another country?" the chancellor countered.

"That was my point," Powl said, resuming his walk. "I would not like to think we had been reduced to the level where we believed that sin was somebody doing something we didn't like, irrespective of intention or method."

"Are you arguing for Salokan's invasion?" Orkid asked, not even trying to hide the surprise in his voice.

"By no means. I am merely offering, say, guidance, on your earlier choice of words.