"Is that so, my lord?" said Septach Melayn cautiously.

'Very much so."

"You should talk to Dantirya Sambail about what being a prisoner is really like," Septach Melayn said, giving Prestimion an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

The man is irrepressible, Prestimion thought.

"In due time I will certainly do just that," he replied unsmilingly. "But I remind you that Dantirya Sambail's a criminal. I'm a king."

"Who dwells in the greatest of all castles," said Gialaurys. "Would you rather be back on the battlefield then, my lord? Sleeping in the rain beneath a bower of vakumba-trees in Moorwath forest? Struggling in the mud by the banks of the Jhelum? Making your way through the swamps of Beldak marsh? Or wandering about deliriously in the desert of Valmambra once more, perhaps?"

"Don't talk nonsense Gialaurys. You don't understand what I'm saying.

'Qs the Labyrinth, and I the Pontifex, that I'm Neither of you do. Is required to stay in one place forever and ever?The Castle's not the boundary of my life.These few years past all my efforts have been spent on making myself Coronal; and now I am; and it seems to me now that a I've achieved for myself is to make myself the king of documents and meetings.

'The coronation festivities have come and gone. I sit in this office, grand as it is, day after day, yearning with all my heart to be anywhere else. -My friends, I need to get out into the world for a time."

In some alarm Septach Melayn said, "Surely you're not thinking of a grand processional, Prestimion! Not yet! Not in the first month of your reign-nor even the first year, for that matter."

Prestimion shook his head. "No. It's much toosoon for that I agree."

What did he want, though? It was far from clear even to himself.

Improvising hastily, he said, "Short visits somewhere, perhaps-not a grand processional but a little one, through half a dozen of the Fifty Cities, let's say-two or three weeks going here and there on the Mount. To bring myself closer to the people, to get to know what's on their minds.

;,"V I've been too busy in these years of war to pay any attention to anything except raising armies and making battle plans."

"Yes, certainly, travel to some of the nearby cities. Yes, by all means, do," said Septach Melayn. "But it'll take time-weeks, even months-to arrange even the simplest of official journeys. Surely you know that.

The arrangements for proper royal accommodations, the programs of events to be drawn up, the receptions, the banquets that must be orgaI ". nized-"

"More banquets," said Prestimion glumly.

'17hey are unavoidable, my lord. But I have a better suggestion, if you merely want to escape from the Castle for quick visits to the neighboring cities.,, "And what is that?"

"Korsibar, I'm told, also wanted to travel about on the Mount while he was Coronal. And did so secretly, in disguise, makinguse of some shapechanging device that the sneaky Vroon wizard Thalnap Zelifor invented for him. You could do the same, taking on this guise or that one, as it pleased you, and no one the wiser."

Prestimion looked at him dubiously. "I remind you, Septach Melayn, that at this very moment Tbalnap Zelifor is on his way to exile in Suvrael, and all of his magical devices have gone with him."

Frowning, Septach Melayn said, "Ah. In truth I had forgotten that."

But then his eyes brightened. "Yet there's really no need of such magic, is there? I understand it failed one day for Korsibar anyway, while he was in Sipermit, I think, and he was seen changing to his true semblance.

Which gave rise to the silly fable that Korsibar was a Metamorph. If you were to wear a false beard, though, and a kerchief around your head, and dressed yourself in commoner's clothing-"

"A false beard!" said Prestimion, with a guffaw.

"Yes, and I would go with you, or Gialaurys, or the two of us both, also in disguise, and we'd sneak off to Bibiroon, or Upper Sunbreak, or Banglecode or Greel or wherever it is you want to go, and spend a night or two sniffing around having high sport far from the Castle, and no one would ever know? What do you say to that, Prestimion?Would that ease this restlessness of yours at least a little?"

"I do like the idea," Prestimion said, feeling a spark of joy rising within his breast for the first time in more weeks than he cared to count. "I like it very much!"

And would gladly have set forth from the Castle that very evening. But no, no, there were more meetings to attend, and proposals to consider, and decrees that must be signed. He had never fully comprehended until now the meaning of the old saying that it was folly to yearn to be the master of the realm, for you would discover in short order that you were in fact its servant.

"Lordship, it is Prince Abrigant of Muldemar to see you," came the voice of Nilgir Sumanand, who held the post of major-domo to the Coronal now.

"Admit him," Prestimion said.

Tall slender Abrigant, seven years Prestimion's junior and the elder of his two living brothers, came striding into the royal office. The Prince of Muldemar, he was, now, having succeeded to Prestimion's old title upon Prestimion's becoming Coronal. Prestimion was seriously thinking of giving him a seat on the Council as well, not at once, perhaps , but after young Abrigant had had a chance to ripen into his maturity a little further.

Abrigant might more readily have been Septach Melayn's brother than Prestimion's, so different in physical type was he. He was slim where Prestimion was stocky, and lanky where Prestimionwas shortstatured , and his hair, though golden like his brother's, had a sheen and a radiance that Prestimion's had never had. He cut a fine figure, did Abrigant: dressed this evening as though for a formal public occasion of court, with a tight-fitting, high-waisted pinkish-purple doublet of rich Alaisor make, and soft long-legged breeches of the same color, tucked into high boots of the distinctive yellow leather of Estotilaup that were topped with fine lace ruffles.

He offered his brother not only the starburst gesture but a grand sweeping bow, greatly overdone. Irritatedly Prestimion made a quick brushing motion with his hand, as if to sweep the effusive obeisance away.

"This is a little too much, Abrigant. Much too much!"

"You are Coronal now, Prestimion!"

"Yes. So I am. But you are still my brother. A simple starburst will be sufficient. More than sufficient, indeed." He began once more to toy with the slender crown lying on his desk. "Septach Melayn tells me you have ideas to put before me. Dealing with, so I understand it, the matter of bringing some relief to the regions currently suffering from crop failures and other such disruptions."

Abrigant looked puzzled. "He said that, did he? Well, not exactly. I know that certain places here and there around Alhanroel are in bad shape, all of a sudden. But I don't know the whys and wherefores of any of that, except for a few obvious things like the collapse of the Mavestoi Dam and the flooding of the Iyann Valley. The rest's a mystery to me, what might be causing these sudden local outbreaks of food shortages, or whatever. The will of the Divine, I suppose."

Statements of that kind troubled Prestimion, and he was hearing them more and more often. But what could he expect, when he had kept everyone around him in ignorance of the major event of the era?

Here was his own brother, one of his most intimate friends, whom he hoped would also become, eventually, one of his most useful advisers, a member of the Royal Council. And he knew nothing of the war and its effects. Nothing!

A great civil war had devastated great sectors of Alhanroel for two whole years, and Abrigant had no inkling that it had ever occurred.

Living in such darkness, how could he be expected to make rational decisions about public affairs? For a moment Prestimion was tempted to confess the truth. But he checked himself. He and SeptachMelayn and Gialaurys had agreed most vehemently that they should be the only ones to know. 'There could be no revelations after the fact, not now, not even for Abrigant.

"You're not here to talk about remedies for the afflicted provinces, then?"

"No. What I have are ideas concerning ways to increase the general economic well-being of the entire world. If all the world grows wealthier , then the distressed districts will be helped along with everyone else. Which must be what led Septach Melayn to misunderstand my purpose."

"Go on," said Prestimion uncomfortably.

This new earnestness of Abrigant's was very strange in his ears. The Abrigant he knew was energetic, impetuous, even somewhat hotheaded . In the struggle against the usurping Korsibar he had been a valiant, ferocious warrior. But a man of ideas, no. Prestimion had never known his brother to show much aptitude for abstract thought. An athlete , was what he was. Hunting, racing, sport of all kinds: that was where Abrigant's interests always had lain. Perhaps maturity was coming upon him faster than Prestimion had expected, though.

Abrigant hesitated. He seemed uncomfortable too. Aftera moment he said, as if reading his brother's mind, "I'm well aware, Prestimion, that you think I'm a pretty shallow sort. But I do a lot of reading and studying now. I've hired experts to tutor me on matters of public affairs. I-"

"Please, Abrigant. I realize that you're not a boy any longer."

"Thank you. I just want you to know that I've given a lot of thought to these things." Abrigant moistened his lips and drew his breath in deeply. 'What I have to say is simply this. We've enjoyed, of course, a great economic upturn on Majipoor all through Lord Confalume's years as Coronal, and through Lord Prankipin's reign before that. A case could be made that we've been living through a golden age. But even so, we're not nearly as prosperous as we ought to be, considering the wealth of natural resources we have here, and the overall tranquility of our political system."

Overall tranquility?

With a terrible war only a few weeks in the past? Prestimion wondered whether there was some irony there-whether Abrigant might remember more of the recent events than he was letting on. No, he thought. There was not the slightest trace of ambiguity in Abrigant's steady, earnest gaze. His eyes, sea-green like Prestimion's own, were focused on him with solemn uncomplicated intensity.

"The big stumbling-block," Abrigant was saying, "is the scarcity of metals here, of course. We've never had enough iron on Majipoor, for example, or nickel, or lead, or tin. We've got some copper, yes, and gold and silver, but not much else in the way of metal. We've been greatly short-changed in that regard. Do you know why that's so, Prestimion?"

"The will of the Divine, I suppose?"

"You could say that, yes. It was the will of the Divine to provide most worlds of the universe with good heavy cores of iron or nickel, and those worlds have plentiful supplies of such metals in their crusts, too.

But Majipoor's much lighter within and without. We've got light rock, or great airy caverns, where other worlds have those masses of solid metal. And there's not much metal in our world's crust, either. This is why gravity doesn't have a really powerful pull here, even though Majipoor is so big. If this planet was composed of as much metal as other worlds are, people like us would probably be crushed flat by the tremendous force of gravity. Even if we weren't, we wouldn't be sufficiently strong to lift a single finger. Not a single finger, Prestimion! Do you follow me so far?"

"I understand something of the laws of gravity," said Prestimion, amazed at being lectured in such matters by Abrigant, of all people.

"Good. You'll agree with me, then, that thislack of metals has been something of an economic handicap for us?That we've never been able to build spacegoing vessels, or even an adequate system of air and rail transport , because of it? That we're dependent on other worlds for a lot of the metal we do use, and that this has been costly to us in all sorts of ways?"

"Agreed. But you know, Abrigant, we haven't really done too badly.

No one goes hungry here, big as our population is. There's ample work for all. We have splendid cities of enormous size. Our society's been remarkably stable under a worldwide government for thousands of years.

"Because we have a wonderful climate almost everywhere, and fertile soil, and any number of useful plants and animals both on land and sea. But plenty of people are going hungry right now, so I hear, in places like the Iyann Valley. I hear about bad harvests elsewhere in Alhanroel, empty granaries, factories having to shut down because something has been strange lately about the shipment of raw materials from place to place, and so forth."

"These are temporary problems," said Prestimion.

"Maybe so. But such things will put a great strain on the economy, won't they, brother? I've been doing a lot of reading,I told you. I've come to understand how one disruption over here can lead to another over there, which causes troubles in a third place entirely that's very far away and before you know it the problem has spread all across the world Which is something you may find yourself facing before you've S ent many months on the throne, I'm afraid."

Prestimion nodded. 'This conversation was getting tiresome.

"And what do you suggest, then, Abrigant?"

Eagerly Abrigant said, "That we bring about an increase in our supply Of useful metal, particularly iron. If we had more iron, we could manufacture more steel for use in industry and transportation, which would permit a great expansion of trade both on Majipoor itself and with our neighboring worlds."

"How is this to be achieved, exactly? By sorcery, perhaps?"

Abrigant looked wounded. "I beg you, brother, don't be condescending . I've been doing a great deal of reading lately."

"So you keep telling me."

"I know, for example, that there's said to be a district somewhere deep in the south, and off to the east of Aruachosia Province, where the soil is so curiously rich in metal that the plants themselves contain iron and copper in their stems and leaves. Which need only to be heated to yield a rich harvest of useful metal."

"Skakkenoir, yes," Prestimion said. "It's a myth, Abrigant. No one's ever been able to find this wonderful place."

"How hard has anyone ever tried? All I can turn up in the archives is an expedition in Lord Guadeloom's time, and that was thousands of years ago. We should go looking for it again, Prestimion. I'm quite serious . But I have other suggestions to make, too. Do you know, brother, that there are ways of manufacturing iron, zinc, and lead out of baser substances such as charcoal and earth? I don't mean through wizardry, although science of this sort certainly seems to verge on wizardry; but it is science all the same. Research has already been done. I can bring you people who have achieved such transformations. On a small scale, yes, a very small scale-but with proper backing, generous funds appropriated from the royal treasury-"

Prestimion gave him a close look. This was a new Abrigant, all right.

'You actually know of such people?"

'Well, at second hand, I have to admit. But reliable second hand. I urge you most strongly, brother-"

"No need for further urging, Abrigant. You pique my interest with this. Bring me your metal-making wizards and let me speak with them."

"Scientists, Prestimion. Scientists."

"Scientists, to be sure. Though anyone able to conjure iron out of charcoal sounds very much like a magus to me. Well, mages or scientists , whatever they may be, it's worth an hour of my time to learn more about their art. I do agree with your basic argument. A greater store of metal will make for great economic benefits for Majipoor. But can we really obtain the metal?"

"I'm confident of it, brother."

"We'll see about that," said Prestimion.

He rose and led Abrigant across the richly inlaid floor, artfully decorated with stripes of ghazyn and bannikop and other precious woods, to the door of the office. Abrigant paused there and said, "One more thing, Prestimion. Is it true that our kinsman Dantirya Sambail. is a prisoner here in the Castle?"

"You've heard about that, have you?"

"Is he?"

"He is, yes. Hidden away snugly in the Sangamor tunnels."

Abrigant made a holy sign. "You can't be serious, brother! What insanity is this? The Procurator's too dangerous a man to treat this way.

"It's specifically because he is dangerous that I've put him where he is."

"But to offend a man who wields so much power, and who is so free with his wrath-"

"The offense," said Prestimion, "was from him to me, not the other way around, and merits what I've done to him. As for the circumstances of the offense, those are of no concern to anyone but me. And however much power Dantirya Sambail may wield, I wield more. In the fullness of time I'll deal with his case as it deserves, I assure you, and justice will be served. -I thank you most warmly for this visit, brother. May it lead to good things for us all."

And the new Coronal," Dekkeret said. "What do you think of him, Ll now?"

"What is there to think?" his cousin Sithelle replied. "He's young, is all I know. And quite intelligent, I hear. We'll find out the rest as time goes along. -They do say that he's very short, I understand."

"As if that matters," said Dekkeret scornfully. "But I suppose it does, at least to you. He'd never marry you, would he? You'd be much too tall for him, and that wouldn't do."

They were walking along the broad rim of the immense impregnable wall of black stone monoliths that surrounded their home city of Normork, which was one of the twelve Slope Cities of the Mount, a long way down the giant mountain from Lord Prestimion and his Castle.

Dekkeret was not quite eighteen, tall and strapping, with a powerful broad-shouldered frame and an air of strength and confidence about him. Sithelle, two years younger, was nearly of a height with him, though of a lithe and willowy build that made her seem almost fragile beside her sturdy cousin.

She laughed, a silvery, tinkling sound. "The, marry the Coronal? Do you suppose any such thing has ever entered my mind?"

"Of course I do. Every girl on Majipoor is thinking the same thing these days. 'Lord Prestimion is young and handsome and single, and he'll be taking a consort sooner or later, and why not a girl like me?'

Am I right, Sithelle? No. No, of course not. I'm always wrong. And you'd never admit that you were interested in him if it was so, would you?"

"What are you saying? Coronals don't marry commoners!" She slipped her arm through his. "You're being silly," she said. "As usual, Dekkeret."

He and Sithelle were the best of friends. 'That was the problem. Their families had always hoped that they would marry some day; but they had grown up together, and looked upon each other almost as brother and sister.

She was a handsome girl, too, with long springy hair the color of fire and bright, mischievous gray-violet eyes. But Dekkeret knew that he was no more likely ever to marry Sithelle than-well, than Sithelle was to marry Lord Prestimion. Less likely, indeed, because it was at least conceivable that she would somehow meet and marry the Coronal, but Dekkeret knew that Sithelle could never be his own choice as a wife.

They strolled along in silence for a time. The wall's rim was so wide that ten people could walk abreast on the road that ran along it, but there were few others up there now. The hour was getting late, the hour of long shadows. 'The green-gold orb of the sun was low in the sky and in just a short while it would move around behind the tremendous upjutting mass of Castle Mount and be lost to their view.

"Look there," Dekkeret said. He pointed downward into the city.

They were at the place where the wall, as it followed the craggy contours of the Mount, made a great curve outward to carry past an outthrusting rocky spur. The ancient palace of the Counts of Normork was tucked into that sweeping bulge.