It's full of creatures that must have migrated over from Suvrael looking for an even more horrible place to five. I know. Ihad an encounter with one."

"Something bit you, you mean?"

"A swarnp-crab, yes. Not one of the big ones-you should see the size of those monsters, my lord-" Akbalik spread his arms in a broad gesture. "No, it was a little one, a mere baby, lying in wait, clipped me with its nipper, snap, just like that. The worst pain I ever hope to feel.

Some kind of acid venom, they say, in the bite. Leg swelled up five times normal size. It's not so bad now, I think."

Prestimion, frowning, leaned forward for a better look. "What are you doing for it?"

"I have a Vroon secretary, name of Kestivaunt, very capable. He's looking after it. Puts medicine on it, does a little Vroonish hocuspocus also-if the spells don't cure it, the herbal ointment ought to."

A fresh spasm of blazing pain traveled up Akbalik's side. He clenched his teeth and turned away, determined not to let Prestimion see how much anguish he was in. A change of subject seemed the best idea.

-"My lord, tell me what Dekkeret was doing with you on the Isle, if you will. I would have assumed that he'd have finished up his business in Suvrael-you know, his expiation, his redemption, after that affair in the Khyntor Marches-and returned to the Castle a long time ago."

"He did return," said Prestimion. "Late last summer, it was. Bringing someone with him who he had had a little run-in with in Suvrael. Do you remember a certain Venghenar Barjazid, Akbalik?"

"Knavish-looking little fellow who used to do odd jobs for Duke Svor?"

"The very same. When I sent that troublesome Vroon ThaInap Zelifor into exile in Suvrael, I picked this Barjazid to go with him and make sure he got there. One of the infinite number of mistakes that I've made, Akbalik, since I took it into my head that I was qualified to be Coronal."

Akbalik listened in growing concern as Prestimion sketched the tale for him: Baijazid doing away with the Vroon and appropriating his mind-controlling devices for his own purposes; the episodes of predatory experimentation on hapless travelers with those devices in Suvrael's Desert of Stolen Dreams; then Dekkeret's own encounter with Barjazid in that desert, his capture of Baijazid, his bringing of Barjazid and his machines to the Castle.

"He lost no time asking for an audience," Prestimion said. "I didn't happen to be at the Castle that day, so he met withVaraile, and very carefully explained the power of these devices, and the danger in them, to her. When I returned she tried to tell me the story, but I confess I paid very little attention. One more black mark on my record, Akbalik.

Well, now Barjazid has slipped out of the Castle somehow and made his way down to the Stoienzar to put his machines to work on behalf of Dantirya Sambail. Which is what Dekkeret came running out to the Isle to tell me, and why I've come over to Stoien so quickly myself. If Barjazid and Dantirya Sambail manage to join forces-"

"I'm sure they already have, my lord."

"How do you know that?"

"I said that the Procurator has become very good at eluding our scouts. A magus, I said, who's casting a cloud of unknowingness around him. But what if it's not a magus at all? What if it's this Barjazid? If these devices of his are as powerful as Dekkeret says they are-" Once again Akbalik felt fire in his leg, and hid his shudder of pain from Prestimion.

"A lucky thing for us all that the boy did go to Suvrael, eh? And I tried so hard to discourage him. What is your plan, my lord?"

"I've already told you, I think, that Septach Melayn and Gialaurys are leading a force of troops down to the Stoienzar from Castle Mount.

They'll go after Dantirya Sambail from the western end of the peninsula . I mean to assemble a second army here in Stoien city that will enter the Stoienzar from the other side. My mother will guide our movements: she thinks she knows a way of employing the arts of the Isle to search him out. Meanwhile, to keep him from escaping from the area as we go toward him, we blockade the ports everywhere along the peninsula, north and south-"

"May I ask you, my lord, who will command the army out of Stoien city? 9 Prestimion seemed surprised at that. 'Why, I will."

"I beg you, sir, no."

"You must not go into the Stoienzar jungle. You have no idea how awful a place it is. I don't just mean the heat and the humidity, or the insects half as long as your arm that buzz in your face all day long. I mean the dangers, my lord, the terrible perils that he everywhere around. Do you wonder why there are no settlements there? It is one vast sticky marsh, where your boots sink ankle-deep at every step. Beneath you lurk hidden venomous monsters, the swamp-crabs, whose bite is death, unless you're lucky enough to be bitten by a very small one, as I was. The trees themselves are your enemies: there is one whose seed-pods explode as they ripen, sending long fi-agments in every direction that strike deep into a man's flesh like flying daggers. There is another tree, the manganoza palm, it is, whose leaves are as sharp as--2'

"I know all this, Akbalik. Nevertheless, the task of leading the troops falls to me, and what of it? Do you think I'm afraid of a little discomfort?"

"Many men will die while marching through those swamps. I've seen it happen. I came close to dying there myself. I say that you have no right to risk your life there, my lord."

Anger flared in Prestimion's eyes. "No right? No right? You overreach yourself, Akbalik. Not even Prince Serithorn's nephew should venture to instruct the Coronal in what he ought or ought not to do."

Prestimion's rebuke struck Akbalik with almost physical force. His face went red; he muttered an apology and offered a hasty starburst. To steady himself he took a long draught of the wine. Some different sort of approach was required. After a moment he said in a low voice, "Can your mother really use her arts to help you in this war, my lord?"

"She believes that she can. She may even be able to counteract the mental powers that Barjazid wields."

"And so-forgive me again, Lord Prestimion-you mean to take her with you, do you, into the Stoienzar jungles? 'The Lady of the Isle is to ride at your side as you make your way through those deadly swamps?

Do you really intend to place her in that sort of jeopardy?"

He saw at once that he had scored a point. Prestimion looked stunned. Plainly had not been expecting a thrust from that direction. "I need her close beside me as matters unfold. She willhave a clearer view than anyone of the Procurator's movements."

Akbalik said, "Ibe Lady's powers work at any distance, do they not?

There's no need to bring her so close. She can stay safe in Stoien while the jungle campaign is mounted. And so can you. You and she can devise strategy together and your wishes can be relayed easily enough to the battlefront." And quickly added, as Prestimion began to reply: "My lord, I plead with you to listen to me. Perhaps Lord Stiamot may have led his army into battle seven thousand years ago, but such risks on the part of a Coronal are unacceptable today. Remain here in Stoien city and supervise the conflict from a distance with the Lady's help. Let me lead the imperial troops against the Procurator. You are not expendable . I am. And I've already had some experience in dealing with the conditions that the Stoienzar presents. Let me be the one to go."

"You? No. Never, Akbalik."

"But my lord-"

"You think you've been fooling me, with that leg of yours? I can see how you're suffering. You're barely able to walk, let alone go back into that jungle on a new mission. And how can you tell that the infection won't get worse than it is right now before you startto heal? No, Akbalik. You may be right that it isn't wise for me to go in there, but you certainly aren't going to."

There was a steely note in the Coronal's voice that told Akbalik it was useless to object. He sat in silence, massaging his throbbing leg just above the wound.

Prestimion went on: "I'll attempt to direct operations from here, as you suggest, and we'll see how that works out. But as for you, I relieve you right now from active service. The Lady Varaile is going to leave for the Castle in a few days-she's pregnant, do you know that, Akbalik?and I'm assigning you the job of escorting her back to the Mount."

"My congratulations, sir. But with all respect, my lord, let Dekkeret take her. I should stay here in Stoien city with you and assist you in the campaign. My understanding of the nature of that jungle-"

"Might be useful, yes. But if you lose that leg, what then? It's idiotic for you to remain in Stoien. This is a provincial backwater. We have the best doctors in the world at the Castle, and they'll repair you in short order. As for Dekkeret, I need him here with me. He's the only who understands anything about how this Barjazid device actually works."

"I implore you, my lord-"

"I implore you, Akbalik: save your breath. My mind's made up. I thank you for all you've accomplished here in Stoien. Now get yourself to the Castle with my lady Varaile, and have that leg properly taken care of."

Prestimion stood. Akbalik rose also, with an effort he was unable to conceal. His injured leg did not want to support him. The Coronal seized him around the shoulders, steadying him as he struggled to find his balance.

From outside, far below, came the sudden sound of sirens. People were yelling in the streets. Akbalik glanced toward the window. A new pillar of black smoke was rising in the city's southern quarter.

"It gets worse and worse," Prestimion muttered. He turned to go.

"Some day, Akbalik, we'll look back at these times and chuckle, won't we? But I wish we could do a little more chuckling right now."

It was late the next afternoon before Akbalik had any opportunity to speak with Dekkeret. The last time he had seen the young man was in a simple mountain tavern in Khyntor, on a night two years before in early spring, as they sat together over flasks of hot golden wine. That was the night Dekkeret had announced his intention to go to Suvrael. "You judge yourself too harshly," Akbalik had said then. "There's no sin so foul that it merits a jaunt in Suvrael." And he had urged Dekkeret to make a pilgrimage to the Isle instead, if he truly felt a need to cleanse his soul of its stain. "Let the blessed Lady heal your spirit," Akbalik had told him then. It is foolish to interrupt your career at the Castle, he said, for the long absence that the trip to Suvrael would require.

But Dekkeret had gone to Suvrael anyway; and to the Isle as well, it seemed, if only for the briefest of visits. And his travels did not appear to have done any harm to his burgeoning career after all.

"Do you remember what we agreed," Dekkeret said, "when we were sitting together in that Khyntor tavern? That you and I would have a happy reunion on the Mount two years hence, is what we said, when I was back from Suvrael. We would go to the games in High Morpin together, is what we promised each other. 'The two years have come and gone, Akbalik, but we never managed to get to High Morpin."

"Other matters interfered. I found myself here in Stoien instead at the time we were supposed to be holding our reunion. And you-"

"And I went to the Isle of Sleep, but not as a pilgrim." Dekkeret laughed. "Can you imagine, Akbalik, how strange my own life seems to me these days? I, who had simply hoped to be a knight of the Castle, and maybe hold some modest ministerial post when I was old-I find myself keeping company with the Coronal and his wife, and with the Lady herself, and drawn into the midst of the most complex and delicate affairs of state-"

"Yes. Rising fast, you are. You'll be Coronal some day, Dekkeret, mark my words."

"The? Don't be foolish, Akbalik! When all this is over, I'll be just another knight-initiate again. You're the one who might be Coronal!

Everyone says so, you know. Confalume might have another ten or twelve years to live, and then Lord Prestimion will become Pontifex, and the next Coronal might well be-"

"Stop this nonsense, Dekkeret. Not another word."

"I'm sorry if I've offended you. I happen to think that you'd be an entirely plausible person to succeed-"

"Stop it! I've never spent a moment thinking about my becoming Coronal and I don't expect to become Coronal and I don't want to become Coronal. It's not going to happen. just for one thing, I'm the same age as Prestimion exactly. His successor is going to come from your generation, not from mine. But for another-" Akbalik shook his head. "Why are we wasting this much time on anything as idiotic as this? The next Coronal? Let's do what we can to serve this one! -I'm going to be escorting the Lady Varaile back to the Castle in another few days. You'll be staying here, advising Lord Prestimion on ways to deal with Barjazid and his mind-gadget, do you know that? I want you to promise me something, Dekkeret."

"Name it. Anything."

"That if the Coronal takes it into his head to go off into those jungles looking for Dantirya Sambail despite all I've said to him about that, you'll stand up before him and tell him that that' s an insane thing to be doing, that he absolutely must not do it, that for sake of his wife and his mother and his unborn child, and for the whole world's sake, for that matter, he has to keep himself far away from the reach of the things that live in that ghastly hothouse of a place. Will you do that, Dekkeret? No matter how angry you make him, no matter what risks to your own career you may run, tell him that. Over and over."

"Of course. I promise."

"Thank you."

For a moment neither one spoke. It had been an awkward conversation through and through, and it seemed now to have hit a wall.

Then Dekkeret said, "May I ask you a personal question, Akbalik?"

"I suppose."

"It worries me to see you limping around like that. Something really bad must have happened to that leg. You're in alot of pain, aren't you?"

"You sound just like Prestimion. My leg, my leg, my leg! Look, Dekkeret, my leg's going to be all right. It isn't going to drop off, or anything . While I was sloshing around in the Stoienzar I got a nasty nip from a miserable little crab, and it got infected, and, yes, it hurts, so I've been walking with a cane for a few days. But it's healing. Another few days and I'll be fine. All right? Is that enough about my leg? Lef s talk about something cheerful, instead. Your little holiday in Suvrael, for example-"

It was still early in the morning and already the bitter scent of smoke marred the sweet fresh air: the first fire of the day, Prestimion thought.

This was the day of Varaile's departure for the Castle. A seven-floater caravan was lined up in front of the Crystal Pavilion, a regally grand one for Varaile and Akbalik to ride in, four lesser ones for their security escort, and two for their baggage. The sooner Varaile was back in the safe environment of the Castle, high up above the turmoil that appeared to be engulfing so many of the lowland cities, the better. Prestimion hoped he would be back there himself before the new princeTaradath , they were going to call him, in honor of the lost uncle that the boy would never know-was born.

"I wish you would come with me, Prestimion," Varaile said, as they emerged from the Pavilion and walked toward the waiting floaters.

"I wish I could. Let me deal with the Procurator, first, and then I will."

"Are you planning to go into those jungles after him?"

"Akbalik insists that I mustn't. And who am I to disobey Akbalik's command? -No, Varaile, I won't be going in there myself.I want my mother beside me as we reach out to crush Dantirya Sambail, and the Stoienzar is no place for her. So I've given in. I tell you, though, it galls me to remain comfortably ensconced here in Stoien while Gialaurys and Septach Melayn and Navigorn are sweating their way through the saw-palm forests looking for-"

She cut him off with a laugh. "Oh, Prestimion, don't be such a boy!

Maybe the Coronals we once read about in Yhe Book of Changes went into the forests and fought terrible battles against the monsters that used to live in them, but that isn't done any more. Would Lord Confalume have gone thrashing around in a jungle, if he had had a war to fight? Would Lord Prankipin?" She looked at him closely, then. 'Tou won't go, will you?"

"I've just explained to you why I can't."

"Can't doesn't necessarily mean won't. You might decide that you don't really need to have the Lady Therissa at your elbow while the war's going on. In that case, will you leave her in Stoien city and go into the jungle anyway, once Akbalik and I are far away?"

This was making him uncomfortable. He had no more desire to enter that abomination of a jungle than anyone else. And he understood that a Coronal's life should not be placed lightly at stake. This was not the civil war, when he had been only a private citizen seeking to overthrow the usurper: he was the anointed and sacred king, now. But to fight a war by proxy at a distance of two thousand miles, while his friends were risking their lives among the swamp-crabs and saw-grass-?

"If somehow it becomes essential for me to go there, absolutely unavoidable, then I will," Prestimion said finally. "Otherwise, no." He touched his hand lightly to the front of her body. "Believe me, Varaile, I want to be back at the Castle myself, all in one piece, before Taradath is born. I won't take any risks except those that I have no choice about taking." Then, taking her hand in his, he kissed her fingertips and led her toward the floater. "You should be on your way. But where's Akbalik? He ought to be here by now."

'ffiat's him, isn't it, Prestimion? All the way over there?"

She pointed far across the plaza. A man with a cane, yes. Walking very slowly, pausing now and again to rest and take the weight off his left leg. Prestimion stared balefully toward him. This was a troublesome thing, this infected leg of Akbalik's. Vroonish wizardry could go only so far; the man needed to be in the hands of the Castle'sbest surgeons for this. Akbalik was important to him. Prestimion wondered just how serious this wound of his really was.

"It's going to take him forever to get here," Prestimion said. "Why don't you go into the floater and sit down, Varaile? All this standing around can't be good for you." She smiled and entered the car.

Just then something that had been bobbing in and out of Prestimion's mind for many weeks drifted back into it something that he had been meaning to ask again and again, without ever quite getting around to it. He peered in after her. "Oh: and one question before you leave, Varaile. -Do you recall, when we were at Inner Temple and I was telling the story of the memory obliteration to my mother and you, I mentioned that the name of the son of Lord Confalume who seized the throne was Korsibar? You seemed very surprised when I said that. Why was that?"

"I had heard the name before. From my father, in his ravings one day. He seemed to think that Confalume was still Coronal, and I told him no, there was a new Coronal now, and he said, 'Oh, yes, Lord Korsibar. "No, father,' I said, 'the new Coronal is Lord Prestimion, there isn't any such person as Lord Korsibar.' I thought it was the madness speaking in him. But then, when you told us that the usurper whose name had been wiped from history by your mages was Korsibar-"

"Yes. I see," said Prestimion. He felt a sudden shiver of apprehension . "He knew the name. He remembered Korsibar. Can it be, I wonder , that the obliteration is wearing off, that the true past is breaking through?"

That was all he needed right now, he thought. But perhaps only those in the deepest extremity of madness were experiencing such flashbacks; and no one was likely to take what they said very seriously.

"My father in his ravings," as Varaile had just put it. Even so, it was something that he would have to bear in mind. Consult one of his mages about it, he thought: Maundigand-Klimd, or perhaps Heszmon Gorse.

It was a problem for some other time. Akbalik had arrived at last.

He flashed a broad, unconvincing grin. "All ready, are we?" he cried, with a cheeriness that was all too obviously forced.

"Ready and waiting. How's the leg?" Prestimion asked. He thought it seemed more swollen than it had been the night before. Or was that just an illusion?

"The leg? The leg is fine, my lord. Just a tiny little twinge here and there. Another few days-"

"Yes," Prestimion said. "Just a tiny little twinge. I think I observed you getting a couple of those tiny little twinges as you were crossing the plaza. Don't waste any time getting that leg looked at once you're back at the Castle, eh?" He looked away in an attempt to avoid seeing the enormous difficulty with which Akbalik was entering thefloater. "Safe journey!" he called. Varaile and Akbalik waved to him. The vehicle's rotors began to hum. The other floaters in the caravan were coming now to life also. Prestimion stood in the plaza looking eastward for a long while after the five vehicles had disappeared from sight.

Tell me honestly," Septach Melayn said, "did you ever expect to see this part of the world again in your life?"

"Xhy not?" Gialaurys said. They were entering the Kajith Kabulon rain-forest once more, having made the journey southward through Bailemoona and Ketheron and Arvyanda following the same track they had taken two years before. That time, though, they had been Prestimion's companions on a small exploratory expedition; now they were coming at the head of a great military force. "We serve the Coronal. Prestimion tells us to go here, we go here. He wants us to go there, we go there. If that involves making ten trips to Ketheron the same year, or fifteen to the Valmambra, what should that matter to us?"

Septach Melayn laughed. "A heavy answer to a light question, my friend. I meant only that the world is so big that one never expects to visit the same place twice. Except, of course, goingback and forth among the cities of the Mount. But here we are, plodding through the muck of soggy Kajith Kabulon for the second time in three years."

"I repeat my reply," said Gialaurys grumpily. "We are here because it is the pleasure of the Coronal Lord Prestimion that we get ourselves down to the Stoienzar, and the shortest way from Castle Mount to the Stoienzar runs through Kajith Kabulon. I fail to see any point to your question. But this wouldn't be the first time you've opened your mouth just to let some noise come out, is it, Septach Melayn?"

"Do you think," Navigorn said, as much to break the rising tension as for any other reason, "that anyone's ever lived long enough to see the whole world? I don't mean just getting from here to the far side of Zimroel: the Coronals all do that when they make their grand proces- sionals. I mean going everywhere, every province, every city, the east ern coast of Alhanroel to the western coast of Zimroel, and from the land around the North Pole down to the bottom end of Suvrael."

"That would take five hundred years, I think," said Septach Melayn.

"Longer, I suspect, than any of us is likely to live. But see: Prestimion has been Coronal just a short while, and already Gialaurys and I have been deep into the east-country of Alhanroel, and then down south as far as Sippulgar, and now we are to have the great pleasure of visiting the beautiful Stoienzar-"

"You are very irritating today, Septach Melayn," Gialaurys said. I will ride in a different floater, I think."

But he made no move to halt the vehicle and leave it, and they continued onward. 'The forest canopy grew deeper. This was a green world in here, but for the occasional contrast that the brilliant fungi of the treetrunks provided, mainly scarlet in this part of the forest, occasionally a vivid yellow brighter even than the sulfury yellow of Ketheron.