"We've given the Muscobites every reason to believe we're about to invade by sea. The last thing they expect is an overland invasion from the north." Eugene looked the Magus directly in the eyes. "I've ventured everything on this, Linnaius. I can't afford to fail."

"Eugene of Tielen." Eugene signed his name with a flourish on the officer's commission. He never objected to carrying out the regular duties incumbent upon a military commander, yet today his restless mind kept wandering from the task in hand. Since the news from Azhkendir, he had not slept well.

He was damned if he would let all his dreams of empire be frustrated by one man.

The next document bore the name Count Oskar Alvborg: the charges included dueling, gambling, and insubordination.

"What's this, Gustave? A court-martial?"

"Count Alvborg is awaiting sentence in the barracks prison, highness." Gustave handed Eugene the official seal of the commander in chief of the household cavalry.

"Oskar Alvborg," murmured Eugene, remembering.

The spectators in the Hall of Arms fall silent. The duelist removes his mask. Pale, proud eyes stare back at him unrepentantly.

One such as Alvborg might be persuaded to risk his life for a second chance.

Eugene rose, letting the seal drop onto the desk.

"Hold that order, Gustave."

The unannounced arrival of the prince at the barracks prison caused a flurry of panic among the guards and jailers. His highness was promptly conducted to visit Lieutenant Alvborg.

The bare brick walls of the cell were dimly lit by daylight from a high open grille.

"Surely officers usually buy themselves a few comforts: fire, candles, a book or two?" Eugene asked, surprised at the starkness of the conditions Alvborg had been enduring.

"Aye, highness, but it seems this one has gambled the last of his money away."

Eugene nodded. This information only served to confirm he had chosen the right man for the mission he was planning.

The jailer opened the heavy door and barked out, "His highness the prince!"

The prisoner, who had been sprawled on his wooden bed, glanced up, eyes squinting into the sudden stark daylight.

"Welcome, highness, to my humble lodgings. If I'd known I was expecting such an august visitor-"

"Show some respect to his highness!" The jailer grabbed hold of Alvborg and hauled him to his feet.

"Leave us," said Eugene. "We are not to be disturbed."

"I'll be outside if you need me, highness." The jailer retreated, grumbling under his breath.

"D'you know what this is?" Eugene thrust the court-martial order before Alvborg's face.

"My reward for five years' service to Tielen?"

Eugene ignored the jibe. "Gambling debts, dueling. Frankly, Alvborg, you've set a bad example to the younger soldiers, and you deserve this court-martial. You've abused your position."

"I don't deny it," Alvborg said. He shook a wayward lock of pale hair out of his eyes. He seemed unrepentant.

"And yet in action you're a damned good soldier." Eugene threw down a handful of dispatches on the narrow bed. "I've read the reports."

"So?" Alvborg said with a careless shrug.

"I'm offering you the chance to redeem yourself. To escape the court-martial, the disgrace, the debtor's prison. . . ."

He sensed he had Alvborg's attention now.

"I'm sending an advance party into Azhkendir."

"And the assignment is?"

"To distract the Drakhaon and his druzhina druzhina."

"A suicide mission, then," Alvborg said drily.

Eugene forced a smile. "I see you haven't lost your sense of humor. You'll need it."

"So-apart from certain death, what's in it for me?"

"Complete this mission successfully and I'll pay off all your debts."

For a brief moment the mask of indifference slipped.

"And get me back my mother's estates?"

The crack of a lash and muffled cries came from the prison yard outside; punishment was being administered to a malefactor. And Eugene thought he glimpsed Alvborg wince.

He nodded.

"What if I refuse?"

"Your court-martial is still scheduled for tomorrow morning."

Alvborg was silent a moment, arms defensively crossed across his chest.

"What's to stop me absconding?"

Eugene did not dignify the question with a reply, merely turning to call back the jailer.

"Wait."

"You dare tell me me to wait?" Eugene fixed the young man with a look of chill disdain. to wait?" Eugene fixed the young man with a look of chill disdain.

"I'll do it," said Alvborg. "Your highness," he added.

"Decoys," Alvborg said. The firelight glinted in narrowed eyes as he studied the map spread out on Eugene's desk. "Or easy targets, for the Azhkendi barbarians to pick off one by one."

"On the contrary." Eugene gazed back at him, still wondering if he had chosen the right man for the task. "Your mission, lieutenant, is to stay alive. You're no use to Tielen if you get yourselves killed."

"That is why," said a disembodied voice, "his highness has asked me to entrust you with my latest invention."

Alvborg jumped.

Linnaius emerged from the firelit shadows.

Alvborg swore under his breath. He seemed shaken.

"Effective, isn't it?" Linnaius said, with the slightest hint of a smile. "You had no idea I was there, did you, lieutenant?"

"How did you pull off that little trick?"

"Shadowsilk." The Magus turned away-and merged with the shadows again. In the firelit darkness, it was impossible to tell whether he was still in the room or not.

"Extraordinary," Eugene said softly. The Magus reappeared, shaking his head as though shrugging off a hooded cloak. "What is this remarkable shadowsilk, Linnaius?"

"Suffice it to say that it is not woven in the conventional manner, highness, and that each cloak takes much time and craft. I have manufactured enough for a dozen, no more." Linnaius offered Eugene the cloak to try: a shimmer of shadow draped across his outstretched arms.

When Eugene wrapped the evanescent cloth about himself, he felt a shiver of the Magus' sorcerous glamor that set the hairs on his body prickling. The sensation was not in the least pleasurable. He shrugged off the cloak, relieved not to have to wear it a moment longer.

"But if we're to be fried alive, what use is this clever little conjuring trick?" Alvborg said.

Now Eugene was certain: the nonchalant drawl the young man affected hid genuine apprehension.

"The aim of your mission," he said, "is to tantalize the Azhkendi forces, to distract them, to lead them astray."

Alvborg turned to him, one eyebrow skeptically raised.

"Even though we have no accurate charts or maps, and it's perpetually blizzarding-"

Eugene nodded. "This mission will prove a considerable test of your ingenuity, lieutenant. You will cross the Saltyk Sea not at the narrowest point from the tip of the isthmus here," he pointed to the coastline, "but twenty miles farther north. If our intelligence is correct, you will make landfall near the fishing port of Narvazh. I want you to be sure the people of Narvazh see you before you move farther up the coast."

"And if we're challenged?"

"You retaliate. Azhkendi casualties will bring the druzhina druzhina swarming like flies to carrion-which is exactly what we want." swarming like flies to carrion-which is exactly what we want."

"And if we run head-on into the Drakhaon himself?"

"Magus." Eugene turned to Linnaius. "You've prepared a device for the lieutenant to use if he finds himself and his men in an extreme situation?"

"To be used only in the direst need," Linnaius said. "A different kind of ammunition for your carbines." He undid a soft leather pouch belted around his waist and placed a small, pointed metal capsule on the desk. The metal gleamed dully in the firelight like pewter, and it gave off a low buzzing sound like a drowsy bee.

Alvborg extended his hand toward the capsule-and then sharply drew it away, as if he had been stung.

"That's no ordinary bullet. What the deuce is it?"

Linnaius smiled. "The alchymical elements contained within are extremely volatile, lieutenant. When they are exposed to the element of air, they create clouds of a noxious gas that will confuse your enemy, giving you time to escape. Make sure that you and your men do not breathe in the fumes they give off when they explode."

"Why?" Alvborg said.

"The fumes contain an alchymical poison. Breathe in a little and you suffer confusion, dizziness, sickness. Breathe in a little more and your lungs are seared."

"Clever. Clever-and cruel." Alvborg nodded. Eugene could not tell from his expression if he approved or disapproved. "And how long, highness, are we to carry on this game of cat and mouse?"

"As long as you can hold out, lieutenant-longer still, if you wish to receive your full reward."

Two Tielen ice yachts skidded across the gray ice. Though it was midday, the frozen Saltyk Sea was shrouded in freezing snow fogs, and the sun could not be seen through cloud.

The navigator crouched over his compass, shouting out instructions to the helmsman. The thick ice creaked and groaned beneath the yacht's smooth-honed keel, and the wind gusted noisily in the single canvas sail.

Alvborg looked at his men, who sat huddled together against the cold, clutching their carbines in gloved hands.

Poor deluded fools. Who in their right mind would volunteer for a desperate mission like this? Hugging his heavy greatcoat closer to him, he crossed his arms and stared out into the rolling fogs.

What the devil had made him agree? At this moment, the disgrace of court-martial and debtor's prison seemed quite a welcome alternative.

"Something's wrong with this compass, lieutenant!" yelled the navigator above the wind.

Alvborg fought forward against the buffeting gusts to peer down at the compass. The needle was swinging wildly around beneath the glass case.

"Where's Azhkendir?"

The navigator shrugged.

Damn it all, hadn't Magus Linnaius warned him they might encounter such a problem? But the Magus had shrouded the warning in obliquely mystical talk of inexplicable climatic phenomena emanating from Azhkendir.

"My grandfather used to say," began one of the soldiers lugubriously, "that the Azhkendi protect their shores with the spirits of dead warriors. If you don't starve to death going round in circles, they lead you astray to where the ice is thin and drag you under."

"Tales to frighten silly children," Alvborg said with a weary sigh. Why had he been cursed with a bunch of superstitious idiots to command? "Besides, his highness is relying on us. There's no turning back now. We don't even know which way is is back." back."

CHAPTER 26.

Elysia gazed down from her window. The crowds still surrounded the Winter Palace, their pitch torches a blur of flame in the foggy Muscobar night.