The sorceress's expression was a mask of blandness. "You decline to deal with me?"

"I mislike to allow any such knowledge as your spells gather."

"I have never broken a contract! Do you imply that I would?"

Prince Prospero shook his head, holding the pipe and looking into its bowl. "Nay. I'll have none-not even you, dear, honorable Oriana-to know how I fare and whither and when."

Oriana lifted her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Naturally, I'd not say that had I no means of enforcing it," he said, drawing on the pipe.

"Oh?" repeated the sorceress, coldly. "You challenge me?"

"Alas, no. I've struck aforehandedly. Wilt find it laborious and taxing now to use thy Mirrors for the duration of the war, madame. I apologize for the discourtesy, but I remind thee that thy past intrigues leave me scant ground to build trust with thee." He gestured, a wave of his hand, and the Mirror misted and dimmed, then cleared and showed Oriana only her own haughty visage.

She commenced at once another Summoning of Vision. But the spell was only words-when she Summoned the Well to it, the Well flowed weakly, an insufficient power to act on the words and structures. The Mirror of Vision misted, but the commands she had uttered slipped away and did nothing.

Oriana rose and left the room, hurrying to another chamber at the top of the Gla.s.s Castle's glittering keep, and there sought to find what Prospero had done-a barrier to the Well's flow, she suspected, such as the late Panurgus had often shaped, though she had never known how such barriers were made. All that day and the night through she labored vainly to fathom what spell he had laid about her and found no trace of any. At last, hissing a curse on the 110 -= 'Elizabeth Itfittey Duke of Winds through her teeth, she went down again, and vented her frustration other ways.

Dusk had come early, or so it seemed; low, thick clouds had swept in and by their shadow advanced the season to its darkest. The Imperial household's lamplighters hurried through the Palace of Landuc, touching flames to wicks and hearths against the sudden night and cold. Yet the clocks had not struck the first night-hour, and so the gates of Landuc stood open and traffic still pressed through, some with torches and lanterns swinging and some merely benefiting from borrowed light. A city's lamplighters' guild is not so easily moved to respond to circ.u.mstance as those bound to the Emperor, and so the main thoroughfares were dark, even those leading to the Palace, and everywhere called voices uncertainly for misplaced a.s.sociates and streets. "Loto? Your pardon, sir; he has an orange coat as well. Loto! Come up here, sluggard, we are scorching late!-Fire and Flame, this may be Chandler-street, but 'tis snuffed for all I can see of it.-Chandler's one down, my lord!- Mistress Sigune, may I offer this lantern and my arm?-My purse! My purse!"

A lightless messenger, riding up the dim and jostling road on his post-horse, saw his goa! illuminated before him as he approached: windows sprung lit from obscurity to outline the wings, the towers, the walls, and then the lanterns were lit at the very gate he neared, a sight that heartened him to haste. The stone archway glowed with the Well's promise of haven and help. He fumbled at his neck for his pa.s.s-token.

"I've come from Ascolet," he told the lieutenant, as the lieutenant took the token from him and examined it. "I must see His Majesty at once. There's war."

"War? In Ascolet? Do the goats rebel?" asked the lieutenant. "Sir Strephon, isn't it?" He returned the pa.s.s-token.

"Yes-Chard Pirope! Lieutenant Pirope, I should say. How came you here? It's no joke, Pirope; there's blood shed already and my father's in great danger. I have messages for the Emperor."

"Then you'll have to see him, won't you? You, you; escort Sorcerer and a gentleman 111.

Sir Strephon to His Majesty's presence with his news of revolting goats! And you can ask for me at the officers' barracks tomorrow, Stuffy."

Ten minutes pa.s.sed, and the swarthy youth's hoa.r.s.e breath puffed the flame of the lamp on the Emperor AvriPs desk to and fro despite the chimney. His face was chapped with cold and wind.

"You have further news?" asked the Emperor curtly. He handed the letter over his shoulder to Count Pallgrave, scowling at the young man. "Where is our Governor, your father? He does not say."

"He feared I'd be taken, Your Majesty. Didn't write it. He is in Cieldurne now if all has gone well."

"The fortress."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"With how many men?"

"He had about one hundred twenty when I left, Your Majesty. They were going to split-leave forty to hold the manor and distract the attackers while the rest went with him to Cieldurne. He counted on gathering allies, reinforcements, on the way; but, Your Majesty, in Verdolet I saw men mustering to go, they said, to the King, and they quizzed me roughly about my destination. My lord father may have met opposition on his way to Cieldurne if the countryside rose so quickly, and my mother was with him and sisters-"

"And eighty men of his household and in the Crown's service," said the Emperor. "Pallgrave, his token."

"Sire." Pallgrave handed the token back to the young man, a ring on a stained blue ribbon. It was one the Emperor had given the Governor-General of Ascolet, Earl Maheris, on appointing Maheris to the office.

"Count Pallgrave," the Emperor said, "Sir Strephon is our guest; let him be accommodated. Sir Strephon, we see you have travelled long and hard. You shall attend us again later."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Sir Strephon said, and bowed, and left the room with a footman to whom Pallgrave muttered something.

112.

'EGzaBetk Sorcerer and a (jentteman 113.

The Emperor scowled at Sir Strephon's back, recalling Oriana's remark.

The Emperor's next messenger arrived an hour later, in true darkness and just before the night struck, after His Majesty had spoken with Prince Herne and ordered him to begin preparations to take part of the standing army to Ascolet. This messenger was in worse condition than Sir Strephon, an older man with tattered clothing and battered gear. He rode his weary horse to the Palace gates and demanded entry of the guards there, who denied it to him.

"I've important tidings for the Emperor!" cried the messenger.

"We had one of those already today," said the lieutenant on duty. "You rode a little too slowly." The guards permitted themselves small smiles.

"I've come from the West! It's about the war," the man shouted, furious.

"The war's in the East," Lieutenant Pirope said.

"Idiot!" retorted the messenger, who was tired and overexcited, having lost three days on the wrong roads. He had circled the city without approaching it, misreading the signposts and kingstones, pa.s.sing the same places again and again until he thought himself cursed. "My message is for the Emperor about the war!"

"You're drunk," said the lieutenant. "Get out of here before we arrest you."

"Holy Sun!" cried the messenger. "You'll be sorry if you keep me a minute longer when the Emperor hears of it! Ith.e.l.lin is fallen!"

"Ith.e.l.lin?" said one of the guards. "I'm from Ith.e.l.lin! It's in the West, Lieutenant Pirope - "

"I know where Ith.e.l.lin is!"

"Fallen how?" demanded the guard.

"The Dark Prince of the Air - "

"Don't say it!" cried the water-boy, who had been bringing the guards' supper when the man arrived. The superst.i.tious among the guards brushed their arms and b.r.e.a.s.t.s in warding gestures to avert the attention of evil sorceries.

A shocked silence hung over the courtyard for a moment, and then the lieutenant said, "Dismount and come with me."

Count Pallgrave fixed the second messenger with a cold look as the man dofled his coat, a waistcoat, a jacket, and another jacket beneath. He produced from the inside of his innermost waistcoat a folded parchment doc.u.ment. The Count took the damp, sweat-stained letter gingerly, unfolded it slowly, and handed it to the Emperor with a bow.

To His Right Royal and Gracious Majesty A vril the Emperor ofLanduc and Ruler ofPheyarcet Salutations from his Loyal and Devout Subjects the Master Guildsmen of Ith.e.l.lin which is chartered a Free City under the Crown. We cry to Your Majesty for a.s.sistance as is promised in our Charter in our Affliction of War which hath come upon us of a Sudden in the HI! Month of this Year the XXIII of Your Majesty's Long Reign. For on the Night of the Dark Moon in this Month we found our City surrounded by a Force which overpowered our Defense which could be but meagre being unready for Attack and having no Warning previous of Same and within the Day following were presented with a Choice of Death or Surrender by the A ttacker whose Force battered the Gates of the City and was prepared to breach the Fortifications which have been a Protection to our City since its Founding, Upon which Presentation the Guild Council conferred and Elements within the Council who spoke Treachery and Treason against Your Radiant Majesty prevailed upon Reason to prost.i.tute herself for them in persuading others of weak Conviction and flawed Morals that Capitulation to the Attacker who styleth himself Prospero rightfully King of Landuc- "Scorch his soul!" snarled the Emperor, with an inner wrench, and read on.

114 -=> 'Etiza&eth

< p="">

-from either of those Places and so we take the Tidings with Salt. We do send this Pet.i.tion to Your Majesty to invoke our reciprocal Duty of a.s.sistance from the Crown in time of War as stated in the Charter of our City in the V Paragraph II Sentence and send also a.s.surance of the Support of those loyal to Your Radiant Majesty the Rightful Emperor of Landuc in the Name of the sacred Well. Signed this VI day of Bluth . . .

There followed a half-dozen names and seals. He handed it to Pallgrave. "Verify the seals," he said.

Pallgrave murmured "It shall be done, Sire," and bowed.

The Emperor looked at Pudlock, the messenger. "You rode here directly, rather than to the Governor?"

"We had word, Your Majesty, Sire, that the Governor was dead, Sire, and it seemed a bad chance to take. I rode Sorcerer and a (jentteman 115.

to Prendile, Sire, and took ship from there to Roysile."

The man had been uncommonly swift. Thirty-five days in winter-he must have had favorable winds behind him all the way along the river, his bad news borne on the cold blast from the West that had been frosting Landuc unseasonably. He could have gone overland to Chenay (the city where the Governor of the southern province of the same name dwelt), but to do so would have taken nearly as long as the ship voyage.

Prospero, at last. The Emperor had always known his older brother would return to recommence his battle for the throne. If Gaston did not defeat him this time, a fatal defeat, he would come again, and again, and again. This time there had better be no mistakes, or the Emperor might get him a new Marshal. The Emperor's jaw tightened. "You may go," he said to Pudlock, and "Cremmin!" as the man left, escorted by the lieutenant.

"Sire," said Cremmin, from his table near the door.

"Give the messenger from Ith.e.l.lin sixteen crowns and suggest he join the army."

"Yes, Sire."

"We are not to be interrupted save by Prince Herne."

"Yes, Sire."

The Emperor Avril rose and went through a tall door into his private office, where he seated himself at the writing-table before the convex gla.s.s and performed the Lesser Summoning of Vision and Sound for Prince Gaston.

11.IN A LONG ROOM HUNG WITH maps and weapons, with three narrow-slitted deep-silled windows at one end and none elsewhere, two Princes planned war for an Emperor.

Prince Gaston, the Imperial Marshal, and his brother Prince Herne stood at an octagonal table of old dark wood. On it, covering the eccentric webwork of antique curlicues, scratches, and gouges which made it an unsuitable writing surface, a large map lay unrolled and weighted. They were placing counters deliberately, allocating forces, moving them, exchanging them, considering possibilities of weakness and strength. Over their heads above the table hung four yellow-flamed oil lamps in th.o.r.n.y black baskets, four flames per lamp; the flames cast a clear mellow light over the map and put sparks in Prince Gaston's hair and shadows in Prince Herne's tendrilled curls. Beyond the lamplit table, the walls and floor were dark and the windows hollow.

"If he has taken Ith.e.l.lin, then he will next proceed up the Ithel River," suggested Herne.

"Too predictable," Gaston said. "Certes he'll move men there, but 'twill not be hard to dominate the region. He'll not waste any bulk of his force on't. Nay. The question foremost in my thought is, whether he be indeed in the West in Zeachath-or in Ascolet." And his finger tapped the Pariphal Mountains and drew a swift curving line along their length and northward, straight to the City of Landuc. "Think thou like Prospero, not like Herne, and recall his strategies afore this. His works are subtle, indirect, yet apt to his need. He blows hot and cold, here and there; ceaseless movement veils his central purposes. He's mutable, and in his mutability dwell both his strength and weakness. For I do believe that betimes his own deeds surprise him."

"We need fresher tidings," Herne said. He folded his arms and studied at the table. "Hm. Gaston, there was some rumor-very recent-about Lys."

"Lys?"

Herne grunted an affirmative. "You recall Red Bors of Lys-he died in that battle against Golias, with Sebastian. Lys's army turned that one for us. I can't think what I heard, but it was about Lys."

"Lys," Gaston said to himself. There, extending from the forested foothills of the Pariphals across the Plain of Linors, lay Lys, an inconsequential kingdom in bygone days, now a bucolic County.

Herne nodded. "Lys. It's too much of a coincidence, that we have trouble boiling up there and hear something or other from that backwater."

Sorcerer and a Qentfeman 117.

"The men of Lys fight well. I'll draw upon them 'gainst our opponent in Ascolet."

His brother frowned. "You think Prospero could be there?"

"I questioned Sir Strephon. He said that the men he met mustering did so in the name of the true King." Gaston picked a half-dozen counters up and weighed them in his hand.

"Prospero right enough. Odd. Ascolet's never been partial to him nor any but their sheep and goats,"

"He'll have struck some bargain with them. Yet there be no grievances to my knowledge. Tis but another Crown province." Gaston placed three tokens near the City. "Hath ever Avril studied reviving that Barony?"

"No. I mentioned it to him once-I thought to reward my man Sir Anguran with at least a Baronetcy. Avril said it's as extinct as Sebastian." Herne snorted. "Anguran has nothing still," he said.

Gaston nodded and tapped a pa.s.s on the map. "He'll hold this ere I arrive, an he be Prospero," he murmured.

"You'll go to Ascolet?"

"Aye. The terrain's like to my Montgard. I'll bring men hither. An this be Prospero, shall want the best force available to me there; an it be some other, and Prospero in the West, then shall I put this down and join thee. Thou'lt take the ma.s.s of our forces with thee to Zeachath,"

Herne pounded his fist into his hand. "That misbegotten sorcerer. I'll take his head off when I see him."

"That's no man's prerogative save the Emperor's, and methinks even he would hesitate to exercise it," Gaston said coldly.

Baring his teeth briefly in a humorless grin, Herne paced beside the table and watched his older brother allocate the army.

That night at the Emperor's semicircular high table, Prince Herne said, "I heard some news from Lys, but I can't recall now what it was." The Emperor set his spoon down with a frown. Empress 118.

'EtizaBetfi Glencora, with a serious expression, sat a little straighter and watched him. Princess Viola took on a knowing look, and Princess Evote's mouth settled in a thin line. Prince Gaston continued with his soup without reacting.

"Your memory is usually not so poor," Evote said, and lifted her spoon to her lips.

"Well, it was minor scandal," said Viola. "n.o.body took any note of it. Lys-really." She shrugged Lys to oblivion.

"n.o.body with half a brain," the Emperor said caustically. "Lys. Yes, there was news recently. Why do you inquire?" he asked Gaston.

Gaston shrugged.

"Then it can wait," said the Emperor, "until we have supped."

And the meal resumed, with Viola unusually quiet as she strove vainly to recall particulars of the forgotten gossip from Lys that might hold secret significance.

Afterward, the Emperor collected Herne and Gaston with a nod and led them to his private office.

"Are you intending raising troops from Lys?" he asked point-blank.

"Aye," Gaston said.

The Emperor nodded.

"Something wrong there?" Herne half-asked.

"We hope not," the Emperor said. "This will be a test of whether anything has, as you put it, gone wrong. You recall that Bors and Sithe of Lys left one surviving child, a girl."

"The son died hunting," Gaston said. "I recall no girl."

"There was a daughter, much younger. Bors took his wife back to Lys when she was carrying, rather than stay here, although Panurgus wanted them to stay, Bors was a favorite-you know how he was. The wife died of childbed-fever, although the girl lived, and then Bors was killed. Thus the girl became a ward of the Crown, and the Crown appointed Baron Ocher of Sa.r.s.emar her guardian."