Abeleyn had had to struggle up from a great depth, a lightless pit of slumber, but he shrugged off his tiredness and shouted commands at his retinue. Mark had barely two hundred men in his party, and they were taken into the Hebrian tents to save them the labour of erecting their own in the snow-thick gale that still howled about the peaks of the mountains. Servants ran to and fro like men possessed, lighting extra braziers and heaving around platters of food and drink for the cold-blasted men of Astarac. King Mark's bodyguards joined Abeleyn's at the tent entrance, the two groups eyeing each other somewhat askance until some enlightened soul produced a skin of barley spirit and pa.s.sed it round.

Dressed in dry clothes and seated in front of a glaring brazier, King Mark's face became slowly human again. There was little ceremony between him and Abeleyn; the two men had spent much time together as boys, skylarking at past conclaves whilst their fathers helped decide the fate of the world. Mark had a white gap in one eyebrow where Abeleyn had split his forehead open with a lead-bladed sword. They had shared wenches and wine and were much of an age. Now they sat in Abeleyn's tent companionably enough, and sipped mulled ale and listened to the gradually dying hubbub that the arrival of the Astarans had produced in the Hebrian camp.

Mark nodded to the gyrfalcon that perched with closed eyes on the end of Abeleyn's cot."That Golophin's, is it?"

"Aye. Both he and his master are sleeping. He'll be full of life later, no doubt."

Mark grinned, showing strong, even teeth in his square face.

"Saffarac has an owl as his familiar. An owl-I ask you! And of course he has it flying in the daytime with never a thought, and the common folk who see it making the sign of the Saint at the bad omen."

They laughed together, and Abeleyn poured out more of the steaming ale for them both.

"You and your men seem to be in a degree of haste, cousin," he said. He and Mark were not related, but kings often used the term, implying that all royalty were somehow akin to each other.

"Indeed, and I'll tell you why. Do you travel with any clerics in your entourage, Abeleyn?"

Abeleyn sipped his ale, grimacing at the heat of it. "Nary a one. I refused every Raven I was offered."

"I thought as much. I'd best warn you then that I have one here clinging to my coattails. He was foisted on me by the College of Bishops, who were outraged at the thought of an Astaran king travelling without a priest to shrive him of his sins every so often."

"An Inceptine?"

"Of course. Just because I was able to get Merion the Antillian elected Prelate doesn't mean I get my way in all affairs ecclesiastical. No, he's a spy, no doubt about it. It's as well that Golophin is not with you, but I wouldn't let anyone catch you talking to your bird if I were you, cousin. What used to be seen as honest thaumaturgy is being transformed into something entirely different in the eyes of the Church."

"This doesn't explain your haste."

"Doesn't it? We've been pushing as hard as this ever since we left Cartigella; the old crow is near to dropping. With a little luck he'll lose himself in a snowdrift once we get into the mountains proper, and we'll be well rid of his prying beak."

They both roared with laughter.

"Has Saffarac's owl brought you any word of what is going on in the east?" Abeleyn asked when the mirth had faded. Mark's face grew sombre.

"Some word, yes. The Merduk army has stalled, it seems, bogged down by the weather, and Martellus has been sending out reconnaissances in force under the old cavalryman, Ranafast. There has been a good deal of skirmishing, but the Torunnans cannot commit themselves to any large-scale action beyond the Searil. They have not the men. Lofantyr has drawn off all but twelve thousand of the d.y.k.e's garrison, the Saints know why."

"He is afraid for his capital. Are there no generals left in Torunna to advise him?"

"The best one, Mogen, died at Aekir and Martellus commands the d.y.k.e. There is no one else at that level left in the country. Torunna is bled almost dry."

"Aye, they've been the bulwark of the west for too long, perhaps. Have you heard anything of a rumour concerning Macrobius?"

"That he is alive? Yes, I've heard. My guess is it's a tale set about by Martellus to put some heart into hismen. As far as I know there's nothing behind it, but I do know that an old blind man has been paraded before the garrison as the High Pontiff. What the worthies in Charibon will make of that I cannot say.

Martellus may be running a fine line on one side of excommunication with his holy impostor."

"Unless-" Abeleyn began.

Mark glanced at him. "No, I cannot believe it. Not one Ramusian of any rank escaped the wreck of Aekir. I cannot conceive that they somehow missed the most important man of all. He would have been the first they would have sought out."

"Of course, of course. What a blessing it would be for the west, though . . ."

"I take it you're not happy with your fellow Hebrian as High Pontiff."

"He means to excommunicate me, I think, if he cannot geld me first. This is one of the reasons I have asked you to meet me here, cousin."

Mark sat back on his camp chair looking satisfied.

"Aha! I wondered when you'd get round to it."

Abeleyn stared into the steam-wreathed depths of his ale flagon, his dark brows drawn together.

"Golophin's falcon was giving me the old man's advice last night, and it concurred with what I was thinking myself. This is a bad time, Mark-like the chaos of the world when the empire of the Fimbrians began to fall apart, or when the Merduks first invaded, or in the Religious Wars when Ramusio's faith was spread through the west with fire and sword. And I think this time may be the worst of the lot.

"It is not just the Merduks. Theirs is an outside threat, which I believe the west can see off if we cease our squabbling. No, it runs deeper than that. It is the very faith we all believe in, and the men who are the custodians of that faith. They have become princes in their own right, and they are hankering after kingdoms to rule. I tell you-I truly believe, and Golophin does too-that the Inceptines are intent on ruling, and if we let them they will make the monarchs of Normannia into mere ciphers, and they will write their rule in letters of fire and blood clear across the continent."

King Mark was listening intently, but he had an uneasy expression on his face. Abeleyn continued: "The Inceptines need their wings clipped, and it must be done now or in the very near future. They have trodden on the authority of the rightful rulers of the kingdoms, and they have reduced the other Ramusian religious orders to the level of servants. With Aekir's fall, they have become not less powerful but more so, because of the fear the city's fall has generated in the west. Macrobius was a moderate, Inceptine though he was, but Himerius of Hebrion is a fanatic. He is determined to harness that fear, to be a priest-emperor."

"Oh come now, Abeleyn-"

But the Hebrian King held up a hand. "The contest has already begun. There are two thousand Knights Militant riding towards Hebrion even as we speak. When they arrive, they will instigate a purge the likes of which the west has not seen for centuries. And they wish to do the same in Astarac, in Perigraine, in Almark, even in besieged Torunna. Himerius' insanities are now Church policy, and we can either stand back and let the Ravens do as they will in our kingdoms, or we can stop them.

"And how do we stop them? Do you wish to be excommunicated, Abeleyn, Hebrion labelled a heretic kingdom, shunned by the other monarchies of the west?""Hebrion may not have to stand alone," Abeleyn said quietly.

Mark stared at him for a moment, then laughed shortly and stood up. He threw his flagon aside and started pacing up and down on the soft tent floor.

"I know what you are asking, and I tell you I want no part of it."

"Will you hear me out before you start refusing me?" Abeleyn asked irritably.

"What is it you envisage? Astarac and Hebrion standing alone outside the Ramusian world, cut off from the other kingdoms, ostracized? The rest of the Ramusian lands would have to mount a crusade to bring us back within the fold-and this in the midst of an eastern war which may be the climax to Merduk expansion. You are mad, Abeleyn. Such a plan would rip the west apart. I will have no part of it."

"For the Saint's sake, sit down, will you? And listen. Astarac and Hebrion would not be alone."

Mark sat, still visibly sceptical.

"Think, man. What is to the east of Hebrion and the north of Astarac? Fimbria. Fimbria, whose empire fell largely because of the Ramusian religion and the conversions of the Inceptines. The Fimbrians may be believers in the Saint now, but they have no love for the Church. And no alliance would lightly seek to force an armament through their electorates; it would be the one thing guaranteed to reunite them and have the Fimbrian tercios at war again."

"So we have Fimbria as a buffer. But there is always the sea route, Abeleyn. You of all people should know that."

"The four major sea powers of the world are Hebrion, Astarac, Gabrion and the Sea-Merduks."

"And the Maca.s.sian corsairs."

"True. And none of them has any love for the Church either. A crusading fleet would have to sail through the Malacar Straits, or detour to the south of Gabrion. The Sea-Merduks would attack any Ramusian naval armament in their waters, as would the corsairs. The Gabrionese would not be happy either. And what was left of it after those nations had mauled it could easily be taken care of by our combined navies."

Mark shook his head. "Ramusian versus Ramusian on a huge scale. I don't like it. It is not right, especially at this time."

"It won't happen, for the reasons I have outlined to you and for others besides."

"Tell me the others, then," Mark said wearily.

"I believe that if we can reinforce Torunna sufficiently then we will nullify Lofantyr's reliance on the Knights Militant. Perigraine may well follow the lead of Torunna and Almark will then be isolated, even if it has the support of Finnmark and the northern duchies. What will the Church do-excommunicate half the monarchs of Normannia? I think not. The power of the Inceptines will be broken, and we can promote another order in their place. The Antillians, perhaps."

Mark chuckled. "Divide and conquer? But what you are advocating could very well lead to a religious schism of the west. Almark is virtually governed by the Inceptines, and their influence runs deep in Perigraine also. Those bastions will not be easy to reduce."Abeleyn flapped a hand casually. "Haukir of Almark is an old man. He will not last for ever. And Cadamost of Perigraine is a lightweight, easily swayed."

Mark was silent for a moment, then said: "How much of this do you intend to outline to the other kings at the conclave?"

"Very little. But I do want to go to the conclave with one or two weapons in my belt."

"Such as?" asked Mark, though he already knew.

"Such as a formal alliance between Hebrion and Astarac."

"And how do you propose to formalize it?"

"By marrying your sister."

The two kings stared at one another, wary, gauging. Finally a grin broke out on Mark's broad face.

"So the mighty tree is felled at last. Abeleyn the Bachelor King will finally consent to share his bed with a wife. She is not pretty, my sister."

"If she brings the friendship of a kingdom with her she can be as plain as a frog for all I care. What say you, Mark?"

The Astaran king shook his head ruefully.

"You are a cunning dog, Abeleyn, to sweeten the bitterness of your pill thus. You know that half the kings in the west seek an alliance with Hebrion for the trade privileges it would bring, and now you throw it in my lap. But at what a cost!"

"I also have a certain influence with the corsairs who infest your southern coast," Abeleyn remarked.

"Oh, I know! Many's the Astaran cargo that has ended up on the wharves of Abrusio. You'd help curtail their depredations on your brother-in-law's ships, then?"

"Perhaps."

"An alliance. Where would it end, Abeleyn? I can see what you are doing-forming a trading block in the west of the continent that can remain self-supporting even if it becomes outcast from the rest of the Five Kingdoms. Even if it means increased trade with the Sea-Merduks. And you will hold this over the heads of the other kings like a cleaver over the neck of a lamb. Yet it is not lambs we are dealing with, cousin, but wolves."

"Which is why we must move quickly, and with sufficient might to force the issue. If you and I can go to the conclave already allied and say to the other kings, 'Look, this is the way things will be,' they should be startled enough to pay some attention to our ideas. And if you can promise help to Torunna also, why then I think we have them."

"If I can promise help?"

"Why, yes. You are closer to the d.y.k.e than I. You could have the place reinforced within two months by land or half that by sea, if you had a mind to."

"And if the place is still standing by that time.""True. But the gesture is everything. Lofantyr will be grateful, and will not have to be so reliant on the soldiery of the Church. He will be his own man again."

"You mean he will be our man."

Abeleyn smiled. "Perhaps," he said again.

"My sister's dowry may yet cost me my throne," Mark muttered.

"Will you agree, then? Think of the opportunities, Mark! Our combined fleets would be irresistible. We might even clear Maca.s.sar of the corsairs entirely and make it into Rovenan again, your lost province."

"Don't seek to convince me with pipe dreams, Abeleyn. I must think about this."

"Do not take too long."

"My advisers will throw themselves into fits when the news gets back to the court."

"Not necessarily. All they need to know is that you have finally succeeded in wooing Hebrion. There should be no trouble from that quarter so long as they do not know the whole story."

Mark contemplated Abeleyn's face. "We have been friends for a long time, you and I, insofar as monarchs can ever be friends. I pray to the Saints that I do not let that friendship cloud my thinking now.

I like you, Abeleyn. It is our mutual esteem that has brought an end to the endless raiding and rivalry that plagued our two kingdoms from time immemorial. But I tell you this as Astarac's king: if you play me false, or if I find that you intend to use Astarac as Hebrion's workhorse, then I will annul our alliance in the blink of an eye, and I will be in the first rank of those who bay for your blood."

"I would do likewise, were I Astarac's king," Abeleyn said gently.

"So be it." Mark stood up and held out a brawny hand.

Abeleyn rose also and took it, face grave. Mark topped him by half a head, but he did not feel the smaller man.

"Come," said Mark. "Let us sniff the air. My head is full of the fumes of ale and coal."

They slipped out of the tent together, the bodyguards at the entrance snapping to attention as they appeared. Their fire had burned down low and the men were stamping their feet and flapping their arms.

Mark and Abeleyn dismissed them and stood alone. As one, they walked out to the edge of the camp where the ground fell away in a gentle curve of white to the lower land below. They trudged through knee-deep snow, bound by some mutual arrangement, until they could hear the tiny rill and trickle of water. The Arcolm river. When they found it, they each stood on one side: one man in Astarac, the other in Narboskan Fimbria.

The sun was beginning to top the mountains so the Malvennors were a huge soundless silhouette of shadow. Behind them the sky was brightening and glowing a delicate lilac, whilst over the highest of the peaks wisps of cloud caught fire from the sun and blazed in a glory of saffron and gold.

"Our path will be a hard one," Mark said quietly.

"Aye. But men have trod it before, and no doubt will again. And these mountains will see other sunrises, other kings making bargains in their shadow. It is the way of the world."

"Abeleyn, the Philosopher King," Mark said with gentle mockery.Abeleyn grinned, but when he spoke again his voice was serious.

"We have the luck or the misfortune to be part of the forces which shape the fate of the world, Mark.

We have a conversation over a flagon of ale and lo! History is changed. Sometimes I think about it."

He fumbled in his fur-lined robes and produced a small silver flask. He unscrewed the top, which transformed into two tiny, gleaming cups.

"Here. We'll seal our history shaping with a little wine."

"I hope it's good," Mark said. "We must toast the alliance of Astarac and Hebrion in the finest you possess."

"Good enough."

They raised their cups to each other and drank, two kings sealing a bargain, whilst above them the sun broke out over the peaks of the mountains and bathed them both in blood.