'The Prefect, calmer now, actually managed a smile.

"If you mean to comfort me with such a statement, my lord, I must k tell you that you are not succeeding."

"No. I suppose not. But I felt you should know. It's an epidemic, a universal phenomenon. At the moment we aren't sure what's causing it.

But we are very much aware of the problem and we're working on it, and we intend to solve it."

Prestimion heard a faint forced cough from Septach Melayn. He glared sharply at him to let Septach Melayn know that this was no moment for his usual brand of mockery.

At least some of what he had just said was true, after all. Some. They were aware of the problem. They did intend to solve it. But how, or when, or by what means-well, Prestimion thought, one thing at a time.

Lord Stiamot himself could do no more than that.

'There seemed no purpose any longer in continuing the hunt for the escaped Procurator. Prestimion knew that he could run and run, on and on, farther and farther, but he was unlikely to find Dantirya Sambail, nor would he ever escape the demons that were writhing within his own soul by wandering this way and that across the world.It was time to get back to the Castle.

Kameni Poteva, the next day, turned over to Prestimion the file of all the information about the fugitive that he had been able to glean from his fellow administrators in the provinces of Aruachosia and Stoien.

'The whole thing amounted to nothing whatever: sketchy guesses, untrustworthy rumors, and a good many firm denials that Dantirya Sambail had been anywhere in the vicinity of the domain of the official in question.

No definite sightings of the Procurator had been reported since the one that had come by way of Prince Serithorn from his estate manager Haigan Hartha, many long months ago, just outside Bailemoona; and that had been a second-hand report, at that. Aside from that, very little: just Haigan Hartha's own encounter with someone who very likely was Mandralisca, about the same time, and that second sighting of Mandralisca some months later, far to the south, in Ketheron. After that the trail gave out.

' There are just two possibilities," said Septach Melayn. "The first is that they slipped through Arvyanda and Kajith Kabulon without being noticed at all, found a western road to Stoienzar asthe Prefect suggested , got themselves aboard a ship heading for Zimroel, and are somewhere on the high seas between Stoien city and Piliplok at this very minute. The other, since they obviously didn't come by way of Sippulgar and aren't likely to have taken any route that goes east of Sippulgar, is that they wandered into some quicksand bog in the rainforest , were swallowed up, and will never be seen in this world again."

"The Divine would not be so kind to us," Prestimion said.

"You overlook a third alternative," said Gialaurys, giving Septach Melayn a look of glowering irritation. "Which is that they emerged safely from the Kajith Kabulon jungles, entered Stoienzar, discovered the embargo in the ports, and went into hiding in some pleasant little town on the peninsula, patiently awaiting the arrival of a rescue armada that they have summoned by swift courier from Zimroel."

"There's some sense to that notion, I think," said Abrigant.

"It would be like him, yes," Prestimion said. "He's capable of great patience indeed in pursuing his ends. But we can hardly conduct a village-to-village search from here to Stoien city."

"We could have the Pontifex's officials do it for us, though," suggested Septach Melayn.

"We could, yes. And will. My own feelings, I should add, lean toward the first theory: that he's slipped through our net and is already on the way to Zimroel. In which case, we should hear sooner or later that he's arrived there. Dantirya Sambail's not one to remain silent for long on his own turf. Either way, we should return without further delay to the Castle, where there's much for us to do, I suspect."

Abrigant said, "By your leave, brother, if I may speak to another subject , I wish to raise the question of Skakkenoir once again. You told me that when we were finished in Sippulgar, I could go in search of it."

"Skakkenoir?" Gialaurys; said.

"A place said to be somewhere in Vrist, or even farther east," said Septach Melayn with a faint but unmistakable note of scorn in his voice, "where the soil is full of iron and copper that the plants themselves pull up from the ground, atom by atom, so that it can be recovered by burning their branches and leaves. The only problem is that nobody's ever succeeded in finding it, because it doesn't exist."

"It does!" cried Abrigant hotly. "It does! Lord Guadeloom himself sent an expedition to look for it!"

"And failed to find it, I believe, nor has anyone else even bothered to look in the last few thousands of years. You'd do as well trying to fetch iron ore back from your dreams, Abrigant."

"By the Divine, I'll-"

Prestimion raised his hand. "Silence! You two will be coming to blows next!" To Abrigant he said, "Your soul will haveno rest until you make this journey, is that not so, brother?"

"So I do feel."

"Well, if you must, then, take two floaters and a dozen men and go in search of the iron of Skakkenoir. Perhaps the Prefect Kameni Poteva has some useful maps for you."

"You jeer at me too, do you, Prestimion?"

"Peace, brother, I meant nothing by it. It was a serious suggestion.

For all we know there's information about this place buried in the Sippulgar archives. Ask him, at any rate. And then go. But I put one commandment on you, Abrigant."

"And that is?"

"Ibat if you haven't found Skakkenoir an its me san s wi in six months, you turn about and return to the Castle."

"Even if I'm within two days'journey of my goal?"

"How will you know that? Six months, Abrigant. Not an hour more.

Swear me that."

"If I have definite information that Skakkenoir lies a day or two before me, definite information, and-"

"Six months exactly. Swear."

"Prestimion-"

"Six months."

Prestimion held out his right hand, the hand on which he wore the ring of kingship. Abrigant looked at it in amazement for a moment or two. Even now he appeared to be of a rebellious mind.But then, as if remembering that he and Prestimion were no longer just brother and brother but also subject and king, he nodded and lowered his head and touched his lips to the ring.

"Six months," he said. "Not an hour more, Prestimion. I'll bring you two floaters full of iron ore when I return."

Homeward the royal party sped, taking only the straightest and swiftest routes, pausing not at all. Couriers preceding them cleared the roads for their passage north. There were no conferences this time with local dukes or mayors, no official banquets, no tours of scenic wonders: just day after day of hard travel through the southern provinces of Alhanroel, past the Labyrinth, up the Glayge valley toward Castle Mount. But to Prestimion the journey seemed to take an eternity and a half. His mind raced with thoughts of all that awaited him once he was at the Castle again.

And then, at last: the Mount filling the sky before him, and the commencement of the familiar ascent by way of Amblemorn of the Slope Cities. The quick eastern road up the mountain by way of Morvole and Dekkeret's Normork, past Bibiroon Sweep and Tolingar Barrier and the wonderful self-maintaining garden that Lord Havilbove had laid out three thousand years ago, past the Free Cities ring to Ertsud Grand, where the upward slope steepened and the Mount became a gray granite shield pointing toward the clouds that lay just below the summit; Minimool; Hoikmar; the cloud zone, cool and moist, of the Inner Cities.

Passing the sparkling burnt-orange spires of Bombifale, then, and moving on into the realm of eternal sunlight above, with the High Cities just beyond. They were two dozen miles up into the sky by that time, with the thousands of miles of sprawling lowlands of Alhanroel spread out behind them like a map on which the most gigantic cities became mere dots. Here, now, was the summit road, paved with bright-red flagstones, to carry them from Bombifale to High Morpin, with the Castle itself in view above them, finally; and round and round the vast mountain's diminishing tip they went, the ten miles of the Grand Calintane Highway, brightened by the splendor of the myriads of flowers that bloomed every day of the year amidst the gnarled and fantastic spearEke peaks of the summit.

A great crowd was waiting for him at the Dizimaule Plaza, an immense reception party gathered on the green porcelain cobblestones , with the Castle in all its bewildering bulk of thirty thousand rooms as the backdrop. Navigorn, who had served as regent in Prestimion's absence, was the first to embrace him. Prestimion's brother Teotas was waiting also, and Serithorn, and the counsellors Belditan and Dembitave and Yegan and the rest of hisinner circle of government, and such members of Lord Confalume's regime as still remained at the Castle. But one person was not there.

Prestimion said quietly to Navigorn, as they proceeded through the Dizimaule Arch toward Vildivar Close and the Inner Castle buildings that lay beyond it, "And the lady Varaile, Navigorn? How has she fared in my absence? And why was she not at the gate to greet me now?"

"She is quite well, my lord. As for her not being at the gate today, let her give you her reasons herself, I can only tell you that she was invited, and chose not to come."

"Chose not to come? What does that mean, Navigorn?"

But Navigorn would only say again that the lady Varaile would have to explain that herself.

Which could not be done immediately, much to Prestimion's displeasure . There were rites that had to be performed to mark a Coronal's return to the Castle after a long absence, and then it behooved him to go to his office to receive the most urgent of the accumulated memoranda of state, and after that he had his own report to make to the Council. Only then, then, would he be free to pursue private inquiries.

He hastened through the ritual of return in so casual and cursory a way that even Serithorn looked a little shocked. 'The memoranda of state-abstracts of the host of piled-up reports from every region of the world-were not so easy to ismiss, but Prestimion cut corners by devoting most of his immediate attention to the summaries that had been prepared by the office of the Pontifex, abstracts of the abstracts: presumably those had been filtered for their significance before being forwarded to the Castle. What he saw there was dismaying, tales of C mounting insanity in any number of provinces, bands of addled saints drifting about the land and plenty of addled sinners too, riots and other kinds of civil disturbance, fires, crime, a nightmare of ever-expanding chaos. It was precisely as he had said, in an unguarded moment, to the Prefect Kameni Poteva. Bit by bit, it seems, the whole world is going crazy.

Of Dantirya Sambail there seemed to be no news. Akbalik had returned from Ni-moya and was in the western port of Alaisor, awaiting a new assignment. Dekkeret evidently was still in Suvrael. No report had come from Abrigant thus far concerning his expedition to Skakkenoir . From the Isle of Sleep there was a message from the Princess Therissa, suggesting that he find occasion to pay her a visit as soon as his other duties permitted. That would certainly be an appropriate thing to do, Prestimion agreed. He had not seen her for many months. But for the time being that trip would have to wait.

'The Council meeting, which lasted about an hour, came next.

Navigorn's report covered much the same material Prestimion had already seen in the papers on his desk. When he was done, the other Council members expressed their concern over the rising incidence of madness across the world, and Gialaurys offered a motion that the high wizards of Triggoin be summoned to the Castle for a consultation that might lead to a remedy. It passed by a powerful margin, despite a protest of sorts from Prestimion. "It was my hope to reduce the influence of superstition in the world, not to hand the government over to the sorcerers," he said. But even he recognized the value of properly harnessed wizardry; and also he knew only too well how effective the incantations of such men as Gominik Halvor and his son Heszmon Gorse could be. After voicing his objections, then, he quickly withdrew them, and gave his assent to Gialaurys's measure.

At that point, pleading the fatigue of travel, he ordered the meeting adjourned, and went to his private chambers.

"Ask the lady Varaile," he said to the major-dorno Nilgir Sumanand, "if she will have dinner with the Coronal this evening."

She was as beautiful as he remembered her to be: more beautiful, even.

But she had changed. Something was different about the expression of her eyes and the set of her jaw, and she held her lips now in a tightly compressed way that Prestimion did not recall from before.

Of course she had really been not much more than a girl when he had first met her at the time of his little masquerade in Stee. Now she was moving into her twenties; perhaps all that had happened was that the last vestiges of adolescence were going from her face as she made the transition into full adulthood. But no-no-there seemed to be something else at workPerhaps only nervousness, Prestimion decided. She was a commoner, he was the Coronal; and she was a woman, and hea man; they were alone with each other in the Coronal's private chambers. They barely knew each other, and yet, in their last meeting long months ago, they had reached some sort of understanding that neither of them had been willing to voice explicitly, but which clearly had held implications of a future alliance. In all these months they both had had plenty of time to consider and recon sider those few words that had passed between them in the reception hall after the royal levee at which her father had been honored.

To put her at her ease he opened with what he hoped would be a light-hearted approach: "I told you, the last time we met, that we'd have dinner together as soon as I got back from my trip to the Labyrinth. I neglected to add, I suppose, that I would be going on as far south as Sippulgar before I returned to the Castle."

"I did begin to wonder, as the weeks mounted up, my lord. But then my lord Navigorn told me that you would be making a further journey and might not be back for many months. He said it was a mission of the highest importance, one that would take you into a distant part of the continent."

"Did Navigorn tell you just how far I was going, or why?"

She looked startled at that. "Oh, no! Nor did I ask.It's not my place to be privy to the business of the realm. I'm a mere citizen, my lord."

"Yes. So you are. But a lady of the court, also, now. Ladies of the court somehow come to learn of many things that mere citizens never hear of even in their dreams."

It was meant as a joke, if only a feeble one; but it was not received as one. Something was definitely wrong, he thought. A certain degree of tension was only to be expected at such a meeting as this; he felt it himself . But what had impressed him about her whenever he had seen her previously was her remarkable poise, her utter command of self, far beyond her years. She made it seem as if there was no situation, however ticklish, that she would be unable to handle. The unsmiling woman who stood before him now was stiff and uneasy, guarded in her movements , seemingly weighing every word before she spoke.

She said, "Nevertheless, I felt it was inappropriate to inquire after the reason for your journey. Would it be proper to inquire of you whether your trip was a successful one, my lord?"

"It was and it wasn't. My meeting with the Pontifex went well. After that, I visited strange and interesting places, and met the people who govern them. 'That part of it was fine also. But Ihad another purpose, which was to locate a certain troublesome lord whose actions threaten the stability of the realm. Do you know who I mean, Varaile? No. Well, you will, eventually. In any case, I wasn't able to find him. He seems to have slipped through my net."

"Oh, my lord, I'm sorry!"

"So am I."

Prestimion noticed now, for the first time, how plainly and soberly she was dressed: a formal robe, yes, suitable for calling upon a Coronal, but of a drab beige tone that seemed inappropriate for her high-colored complexion, and her only ornament was a slender silver bracelet. And she had pulled her splendid hair back in an unflattering way.

This long-awaited reunion was going most unpromisingly. Some wine and food, he thought: perhaps that would relax things. He summoned Nilgir Sumanand.

Who had everything ready in the antechamber, a feast of truly royal quality. But Varaile only picked at her food, sipped desultorily at her wine.

Prestimion said, finally, when the conversation had sputtered out for the third or fourth time, "There's some problem here, Varaile. What is it? You seem six million miles away."

"My lord, do I? Certainly it was most kind of you to ask me to dine with you, and I don't mean to seem-"

"Call me Prestimion."

"Oh, my lord, how can I do that?"

"Easily. It's my name. A long one, perhaps, but not hard to pronounce . Pres-tim-i-on. Try it."

She looked close to tears. "This is not right, my lord. You are the Coronal and I am no one; and in any event we barely know each other.

To call you by your name like that-"

"Never mind, then." He began to feel some annoyance, but whether it was with her for her moodiness and distance, or for himself for his clumsiness in leading this conversation, he was not sure. Somewhat brusquely he said, "I asked you a minute ago to tell me what the problem was. You evaded the issue. Are you afraid of me? Or do you think it's wrong, perhaps, for you to be here alone with me? -By the Divine, Varaile, you haven't fallen in love with someone while I was away, have you?" But he could see by her face that that was not it either. "Fell me.

You've changed, somehow, in my absence. Whafs happened?"

She hesitated a moment.

"My father," she said, in a voice so faint he could barely make out her words.

"Your father? What about your father?"

Varaile looked away; and a dozen wild suppositions ran through Prestimion's mind at once. Was Simbilon Khayf seriously ill? Had he died? Gone bankrupt overnight through the catastrophic failure of one of his loathsome speculative schemes? Warned Varaile sternly to ward off any romantic overtures the seductive young Coronal Lord might make?

"He's lost his mind, my lord. The plague-the madness that is sweeping the world-"

"No! Not him too!"

"It was very quick. He was at Stee when it happened, and I was at the Castle, of course. One day he was fine, I was told, working on deals, meeting with his agents and factors, arranging the takeover of some company, all his usual projects. The next day everything was changed.

You know his hair, how proud he is of it? Well, his chief clerk, Prokel Ikabarin, is always the first person to arrive at his office every morning.

This time, when Prokel Ikabarin came in, he found my father kneeling in front of his desk, cutting off his hair. 'Help me, Prokel Ikabarin,' he said, and handed him the scissors to reach the places he couldn't get to.

He had hacked most of it off by then."

A surge of amusement welled up in Prestimion at that. He turned aside to conceal his grin from Varaile. Simbilon Khayf's extravagantly foolish sweep of silver hair, cut down to mere stubble? Why, what more delicious kind of insanity could have stricken him than that?

But there was more. And worse.

Varaile said, "When he was done with his hair, he announced that his life had been a sinful waste, that he repented all his greed, that he must at once distribute his wealth to the poor and take up a life of meditation and prayer. Whereupon he asked Prokel Ikabarin to send for his halfdozen closest advisers, and began signing away his property to whatever charitable organizations happened to come to his mind. He gave away at least half his fortune in ten minutes. Then he put on beggar's robes and went out into Stee to ask for alms."

: This isn't easy for me to believe, Varaile."

'Do you think it was for me, my lord? I know what sort of man my father was. I never had any illusions about him at all; but it wasn't for me to lecture him on his ways, nor was I the sort to turn my back on his wealth myself, I suppose, no matter how I felt about his business practices . But when they came to me here at the Castle-I have been in residence here all the time of your absence, you understand, my lord-when they came to me and said my father was roaming through Stee in a torn and dirty robe, begging for a few copper weights for his next meal-well, I thought it was some black jest at first, of course. And then-then, when other reports came in, and I went down to Stee to see for myself-"

"He's given away everything? The house, too?"

"He didn't remember about the house. Just as well, too, for what would have become of all our servants, turned out into the streets overnight? Did he expect them to become beggars too? No, he didn't manage to give it all away. His mind was too murky to manage that. 'Thousands of royals went yes-millions, maybe-but there's plenty left. He still controls dozens of companies, banks all over the world, great estates in seven or eight provinces. But he's completely incompetent now. I had to have a receiver appointed to manage his holdings-it's not something I could do myself, you realize. And he's completely insane. Oh, Prestimion, Prestunion, I was aware of all my father's faults, his vanity, his hunger for money, his coldblooded treatment of anyone who stood between him and what he wanted, but still-still-he's my father, Prestimion. I love him. And what has happened to him is so utterly terrible."

It did not escape Prestimion's notice that she had begun calling him by his name.

"Where is he now?"