"I thought this army was worth something." He jerked his chin in the direction of the troopers mounting up for the march.

"They're good." Bixei's head came up at the challenge.

"But for whom?" Llesho asked. "Where is their loyalty sworn?"

"I am sworn to the Lady SienMa, who has put me in your service." Kaydu spoke up, appropriately as their first captain and trainer. "The imperial militia ride in the service of their emperor. Fewer than I would have liked could be spared from the imperial city, but they will die to win Shou's freedom and, if they survive, will continue to serve at his pleasure. So you have us all until then, and me after, however Shou chooses."

Bixei answered next, "The Thebins who remember the Harn attack on Kungol have sworn life and limb to Thebin's king. I'm not worried that they'll panic when it conies time to attack, but that they'll throw their lives away rather than hear an order to retreat.

"For myself, I ride with the mercenaries, in memory of Master Jaks, to reclaim the honor of his clan lost at the fall of Kungol. We are yours to the Palace of the Sun, and will ride with you to the very gates of heaven if you demand it of us."

"I hope that last bit's not an idle boast." Llesho released a long sigh, feeling the reins of battle coming into his hands, if some more steadily than others. "The Great Goddess needs our help."

Bixei gave a little shudder, but they'd all grown accustomed to traveling with wonders.

He didn't have to ask Harlol. Kagar, the new Dinha, had given the lives of her Wastrels to Llesho for the spending. He knew what he would choose in commanding them. . . .

"Take your men home," he said to his kidnapper, who had become a trusted friend. "There's been enough death among the Tashek. Your dream readers need burying and your living need their brothers."

Prince and Wastrel studied each other across an abyss of culture. Shutting out his other captains and the army mounting up at a short distance, Llesho's eyes narrowed with the intensity of his purpose. He would cut through the Tashek's objections like a Thebin knife.

Harlol, for his part, answered Llesho's desperation with a serene smile. "We go where the Dinha sends us."

"Kagar-the Dinha-believes that you will die." Llesho's voice had fallen to a whisper. The very notion squeezed his heart. He didn't want to imagine a battleground littered with more Tashek dead, and his revulsion curled his lips back from his teeth.

"And so we will die, and heaven will take us in. Water will fall out of the sky on us and we will fill our stomachs with the fruit of lush gardens."

You don't have to die for that, Llesho thought. Llesho thought. The Lady SienMa has gardens and plenty in the imperial city, where rain will fall on your head as often as not. The Lady SienMa has gardens and plenty in the imperial city, where rain will fall on your head as often as not. Harlol knew that, of course, had been to Shan and back again, and still believed in a heaven that looked like the orchards of Farshore Province. Harlol knew that, of course, had been to Shan and back again, and still believed in a heaven that looked like the orchards of Farshore Province.

"If I order you to go-" he began again.

"We will follow," Harlol answered. There would be no bending.

"Come if you must," Llesho told him to end the argument, "but I own you now. Die only at the risk of my displeasure." He turned to walk away, then threw a last warning over his shoulder- "And remember, I have some say in the heavenly gardens. It will not go well for you in any world if you cross me now."

He didn't know that it was true, but Harlol seemed to believe it. The Wastrel stared, unblinking, for a long moment before he dropped his head to accept the threat. Don't die, Don't die, Llesho willed him. Llesho willed him. How can I face the Dinha in my dreams if I have lost the children of her station, and the cousin of her blood? How can I face the Dinha in my dreams if I have lost the children of her station, and the cousin of her blood?

Habiba, crossed by the shadow of the last tent pole standing, was satisfied. Llesho didn't know how he knew, because the magician's mouth remained as thin and expressionless as ever, but the easing of the tension in those shoulders was, for him, the equivalent to a smile in another. He'd done all right, then. Wished Habiba had dealt with the situation instead of giving Llesho a headache trying to figure it out for himself, but he'd done it.

"It had to be you." Dognut had wandered up on the other side and jabbed him with an elbow to punctuate his muttered comment. "They hadn't done harm to Habiba, so he couldn't forgive them."

Llesho didn't know where that came from. Wasn't anything to forgive. He grunted some vague acknowledgment and went off to find his horse.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

THEY had ridden through the morning, and after a stop at the heat of the day, had gone on when Han and Chen rose to chase Great Sun over the horizon. When it grew too dark to continue, Harlol directed them to a sheltered place off the road, with no water or grass for the horses but a bit of scrag for the camels to gnaw on. The rest of them would be living off what they carried until they reached the border.

While a handful of troopers raised the command tent, Llesho wandered out into the darkness. The slide of sad-dies and the thump of packs landing on the ground told of soldiers who would take what rest they could against their tack, but first they tended to their animals, feeding them by hand what forage they carried.

Some few of the soldiers recognized him, and they turned to watch when he passed, nodding an informal salute. Well trained not to demonstrate undue deference for the eyes of spies hidden anywhere, they couldn't hide their battle nerves. No one spoke to him, which was just as well, since he didn't feel much like giving inspirational speeches. The soldiers understood that the world as they knew it rode on their success. His own presence, a deposed prince of a ruined house, was lesson enough of the consequences of failure.

After an uncounted time of such directionless wandering, a dim light flared behind him. Llesho flinched, then settled. A lamp, nothing more, shaded by tent canvas. Llesho turned and retraced his steps. The troopers had departed to their own rest, leaving Bixei and Stipes on guard; Bixei trusted no one else with this duty. They nodded salute as he drew near and stood aside to let him enter.

Habiba had instructed against the laying down of rugs and the hanging of silk from the crosspiece. Their packs lay piled in the dirt of a corner, with Dognut sitting atop the heap like a prince of drovers, his flutes and music quiet for once. On the dwarfs lap, Little Brother slept peacefully, tiny monkey paws curled around the hat of the imperial militia the creature wore. Llesho wished his own rest came so easy.

At the center of the tent Lluka and Balar sat on camp stools. Harlol watched from a corner, his hands on his sword hilts and Habiba, with a dun-colored owl perched on his shoulder, paced impatiently between the dwarf and the Wastrel. The map, as always, lay open on the table like a silent accusation.

"Llesho," Habiba greeted him. A hand stroked the head of the owl, which returned the soothing caress with a head butt to the magician's chin. The owl peered solemnly at Llesho, then, with a ruffle of wings and a fluttering hop, Kaydu stood in front of them, still twitching in the way a bird settles its feathers.

"Spirits of storms!" Harlol made a warding gesture but stood his ground. The regard of Llesho's own brothers sharpened keenly, he noted, though more with scholarly greed than fear or superstition. Lluka gave him a searching look, measuring the ease with which he accepted the owl's transformation.

"You travel with wonders," Lluka reminded him as he had once before.

Yes, brother, he didn't say. he didn't say. I've grown casual around miracles. I've grown casual around miracles. It showed on his face, though, an irony born of darker knowledge than his brothers could imagine, who had lost the understanding of their gifts when they were needed most. Knowing Kaydu as he did, Llesho wondered if Harlol's fear didn't show more sense than any of them. It showed on his face, though, an irony born of darker knowledge than his brothers could imagine, who had lost the understanding of their gifts when they were needed most. Knowing Kaydu as he did, Llesho wondered if Harlol's fear didn't show more sense than any of them.

Kaydu followed the unspoken challenge with her usual ease. She was his teacher, after all, and had long ago learned to gauge his reactions. When she thought the pissing contest had gone on long enough, she grabbed Llesho's arm and tugged him into the group around the map with a proprietary sniff.

"We were about to hear the young Wastrel's report." Absently, Habiba flicked a stray pinfeather from his fingers, commentary of his own laced with an obvious reminder of the powers gathered around them.

"We are here." Harlol came forward and pointed at a spot on the map that showed no human habitation, but a range of hills that folded into the high plateau of the grasslands.

"The border with Ham lies here." The Tashek's finger trailed up the map. "If we rest until Great Moon rises, we can travel through the bright of the night, into the morning. By high sun, we should be within striking distance of the Harnlands."

Habiba turned to Kaydu, who had scouted high above the fleeing Harnishmen and their pursuers.

"And you, daughter? What can you tell us?"

Kaydu studied the map for a moment, as if trying to convert her owl memory into the symbols burned into the leather.

"The Harn are here." A gesture pointed out the place where she had picked up sight of the raiders below her in flight. "Their party has grown since it left Durnhag; they now number a hand of hundreds, though scattered up and down the road for a li or more, each band trying to look like it has no interest in the others.

"They know they are followed now, and there seems to be a split in the ranks. Markko's supporters ride for-wardmost and wish to reach the Harnlands and their master before attack on their rear can come. Others hope to trade the hostages for wealthy ransoms and lag behind.

"As an owl, I overheard their conferences. Emperor Shou continues to play the part of an indignant Guynmer drawn into events over his head, but they torture him for information to turn against his fellow travelers. Lady Carina and Master Den likewise hold to their disguises and travel under light guard as servants of no consequence. We will have help from that quarter when the attack comes."

"Attack?" Habiba raised a disapproving eyebrow. How much better it would be, Llesho thought, to cut the forces against them in half with the simple application of money. But Kaydu rolled her eyes in disapproval of the message she brought.

"Bor-ka-mar was closest, so I stopped at his camp to pass on the intelligence before I returned. I urged him to pretend surprise when the demand for a merchant's ransom comes, to pay it and quietly return the emperor to the capital city with none the wiser. He chooses battle. Honor is at stake, he claims, and a lesson to be learned."

Llesho wondered who needed the sharper lesson: Bor-ka-mar, who would surely feel the edge of his emperor's temper for taking the path more costly in lives, or the Harn, who would learn not to touch the citizens of Shan. A hostage wanted for his value in cash, however, would remain alive as long as his captors found a value for him. But ... "What of my brother?" Llesho asked.

"Adar is well. For the most part," Kaydu added. "The prisoners ride. They fear he is magical, as the superstitious often see healers. He travels surrounded by heavy guard, but in the company of the leader at the head of the convoy. Lling they move in chains, as befits the armed guard of their prisoner."

Pig, he thought, his hand sweat-tight on the pearls that had fallen from heaven, he thought, his hand sweat-tight on the pearls that had fallen from heaven, how does your mistress allow such torment? how does your mistress allow such torment? Of course, the goddess was herself a prisoner in her heavenly gardens. Of course, the goddess was herself a prisoner in her heavenly gardens.

Kaydu hadn't mention Hmishi, would have let that slide into the misdirection that he suffered the same harsh but honorable fate as Lling. Llesho remembered the cries in his dreams, however, and rejected the non-answer.

"And what of Lling's partner, Hmishi?"

"Not well." Kaydu closed her eyes, whether to call to mind more clearly what she had seen or to blot the image from her inner vision he could not immediately guess. "He lives. We all need our rest now-more can wait."

"I need to know."

Kaydu looked to her father, for permission to speak or, perhaps, for permission to withhold this information. He returned only a narrow shrug. Not his call, or hers. She sighed.

"In Hmishi, they must believe that they have captured the prince they were looking for, and wish to bring him properly chastened to their master."

"And so?" Llesho asked. Absently, he slid his hand inside his shirt and wrapped his fingers around the little sack of pearls, caught between his dreams of dangling in Master Markko's clutches and the waking chaos that awaited them all if the Harn should kill the emperor of Shan.

"And so," Kaydu continued, "the others ride, but Hmishi walks. Chained, as Lling is chained, but with a rope around his neck. When he does not keep up, the rope tightens, pulling him off his feet and choking him. When he loses consciousness, the raiders drop him over the rump of Lling's horse, then set him on his feet again when he comes to." There was more she wouldn't say, but he knew it, had known since he heard the screams of his companions in his dreams, and he didn't press her.

"Evil rules the waking world," he muttered, and felt the thought take root in his own heart. He would risk all to free his companions, but in his most secret soul gave thanks that this time someone else bore the torment in his place. Not for long, of course. If Hmishi survived the journey, Master Markko would know they had brought him the wrong Thebin boy. Then Hmishi would die for the crime of not being , and Markko would send more raiders to search for Llesho again. But for a short time, Hmishi suffered and he did not.

"We have to get him out of there."

"All of them," Habiba agreed. "And before they cross into the Harnlands."

"Here," Harlol traced a route that intersected the raiding party on the road a good twenty li from the border, and east of where they now rested. "There are no roads through these hills, but natural defiles and hidden passes easy enough to find as the bird flies-" He sneaked a nervous look at Kaydu, as if she might peck at his eyes for suggesting such a thing.

"Can be done." She nodded her thoughtful agreement. "Do you hunt with eagles, Wastrel?"

"None so beautiful as my captain," he said, and smiled at his own temerity to give her compliments and put himself under her command.

"A warrior with flattery," she softly teased him.

Llesho wondered if either of them knew what game they played at, here at the edge of the world. "How long till moonrise?" he interrupted this strange courtship.

"Three hours," Harlol answered promptly, and Llesho nodded, suddenly more tired than was reasonable. He hadn't wanted Kaydu for himself, but he felt, as he had when Lling chose Hmishi, the exhaustion of being alone in a world where everyone else came in twos.

"Sleep," Habiba insisted. "Let others keep watch."

As if the magician saw a future in which he could no longer defend his charge. Oh, help me, Oh, help me, Llesho thought. Llesho thought. I am falling through a crack in the world, and no one can save me. I am falling through a crack in the world, and no one can save me.

He let Bixei roll out his blanket, and made no objection when Habiba trimmed back the lamp to the least glimmer. But he did not sleep. In that dim light he checked his pack, drawing out the gifts Lady SienMa had given him. Cross-legged on his sleeping blanket, he set the jade cup before him and meditated upon its green depths. A marriage cup, he knew it to be. In lives past, he had loved and married, perhaps had children, joys and sorrows. A life.

He'd died, but more to the point, his time had come again. What lessons was he supposed to learn from this life? What had he learned in the past of the jade marriage cup? A priceless object, he knew it to be-it would have been even then. Was he always a king or a prince, in all the lives that he had lived in the kingdoms of the waking world? Or did the cup have some other tale to tell? Perhaps a poor soldier had reached too high, touching lips to exalted honey before the bitter gift took it all away. He reached into his pack and took out the short spear that whispered death to him, felt the weight of it settle easily in his hand. Once this spear had killed him, but it was his his spear, no doubt of that, worn to familiarity in his grip and steeped in more blood than his own. spear, no doubt of that, worn to familiarity in his grip and steeped in more blood than his own.

The coming battle would be fought on horseback. Luck had brought Llesho up against his enemies on foot until now, but that wasn't how the raiders of the grasslands preferred to carry out their campaigns. The Lady SienMa had taught him, with Kaydu and his Thebin guards, how to shoot a bow from the back of a horse, how to bring the attack in close, with spear or sword. His wrist still hurt from his fall in Ahkenbad, but he reached for his bow and strung it in the near dark, with fingers that had almost lost the knack of it. When he had done that, he polished the short spear, laying them both nearby before he let his head fall back upon his pack for an hour's rest.

In the hard dark, without even the light of the lantern for comfort, Llesho woke screaming. "They are killing him. Oh, Goddess, they are killing him!"

"What?"

"Who are they killing?"

"Llesho, wake up!"

Of all the voices calling to him, Llesho responded to the last, Habiba's.

"Help me!" he cried, and sprang up, both arms wrapped around his middle. But his heart was beating out of time and he couldn't make his legs hold him. The ground rose to meet him and he let it, curling in on himself and rocking, rocking against the pain. Soldiers tortured him and abused him for pleasure and to vent their anger that their raid had come to nothing, so they thought. Broken, and bleeding inside and out from his many wounds, still they made him walk, until Hmishi had fainted in the dust. Then they tied him to a horse and laughed at his groans and his agony. Now his fever rose unchecked. With two sacred healers in their train they would let no one tend the wounds.

Callused fingers brushed the hair from his forehead "You are with friends, you're safe. He can't reach you here." Habiba called him out of the dream, and Llesho hiccuped, and wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, trying to quiet the erratic thunder of his heart that sent shudders throughout his rocking body. Habiba lied. Ahkenbad proved that Master Markko could reach him anywhere. But it wasn't the magician who was torturing Hmishi to death on the road to Harn.

"He knows it isn't me."

"Not yet," Habiba told him. "Time means little in the land of dreams. But soon perhaps, if we do not reach him first."

Something in the way he looked at Habiba made her ladyship's magician flinch and look away.

"He's angry because they caught the wrong one. He doesn't even care what Hmishi knows or could tell him- he thinks he's got Lling for that when he's done. He's just angry and wants to hurt him for pleasure, but he's gone too far . . ."

"Master Markko?" Kaydu asked, softly, as her father spoke, trying not to panic him again.

Llesho thought a moment, going over the dream in his head. "He isn't there. I don't know how he knows." He wouldn't say any more. Finally his heart and his breathing settled. His own stink, stale fear-sweat drying on his body, embarrassed him but he couldn't do anything about that now. Gradually, when his silence made it clear that there would be no further revelations, his companions drifted off to their own disturbed rest. Only Habiba stayed, stroking Llesho's hair back with a soothing rhythm that belied the tears falling absently from unseeing eyes. So only Llesho heard the magician's whispered prayer, "Dear lady, why? They are only children."

Habiba served the mortal goddess of war. If she were listening, she would have understood Llesho's thought. We are not children. We never were. We are not children. We never were. But he was too tired, too heartsick and still aching from his dream. Habiba, he decided, would have to figure it out on his own. But he was too tired, too heartsick and still aching from his dream. Habiba, he decided, would have to figure it out on his own.

Pfloonrise cast ghostly shadows over the army stirring out in the cool of night. Llesho shivered,ftot from the temperature, but from superstitious dread of the images moving like a dream in his head. Armies of the dead. In the moon-washed night, it seemed that he led armies of the dead. Blanched of life and color, his companions readied themselves for battle. Habiba rode at the head of their forces. Lluka and Balar had sorted themselves out amid the protection of their few countrymen. Kungol had hired mercenary guards because Thebin had turned away from war long ago. Now Kungol and heaven itself needed Thebin warriors, and skills long practiced as royal arts showed their military bones. His brother-princes would be as safe among Shokar's Thebin recruits as any soldiers could make them.

Harlol stood waiting with Llesho's horse. "Dognut rides with the baggage," he said. "I've assigned two Wastrels to stand guard when the battle comes." Two at least who might be saved, this much he gave .

"Thank you."

Llesho set his bow and arrows in their saddle quiver and shifted his shoulders to bring the short spear to a more comfortable rest at his back. His place was at Habi-ba's left, flanking the magician-general, except that Harlol, respectful but determined, would have ridden in front, to take the first wound for his Dinha. Llesho glared him down. At his side, then, in the first ranks as befit the envoy of Ahkenbad.

Kaydu rode to battle in the shape of an eagle, seated on a hunting perch set up for the purpose on the pommel of her father's saddle. They would need her special skills soon.

"That's really her?" Harlol muttered as he settled his horse next to Llesho's.

"Probably."

At a flick of Habiba's hand, horses moved, carrying their riders into a landscape of broken shadows. The path they followed between naked hills scoured by wind erosion carried them higher, to the elevated plains of the Harnlands. Llesho's horse set a steady pace and he let Harlol distract him from reliving his dream with questions about Kaydu.

"It might be someone else, or even a real hunting eagle. But if you know what to look for, you can usually tell. The general her father always has that funny line next to his mouth when Kaydu is performing a transformation. I've figured it half for pride and half for terror that she'll forget how to change back."

With a horrified start, Harlol jerked on the reins of his horse. The animal sidled nervously until brought under control again.

"She hasn't forgotten yet," he reminded the Wastrel, and shifted the pack that rode in front of him on his saddle. Little Brother peeked out at the passing scenery but made no comment for a change, which was some relief. The monkey had objected loudly when Llesho tried to hand him off to Dognut. No amount of argument had convinced Little Brother that he'd be safer riding with the dwarf among the baggage. And no amount of dread and foreboding could withstand the foolishness of a fight with a stubborn monkey.

Harlol watched Kaydu's familiar for a moment. Finally, he subsided into his own thoughts, perhaps trying to judge if Little Brother was more than he seemed as well. Llesho had wondered that on occasion, but he'd never seen a sign of anything but monkeyness. If Little Brother were some prince or magician, Llesho figured he'd long ago forgotten his way back to human form.

Habiba would never let that happen to Kaydu, so he, too, held his peace. He didn't mention a fear-question, really-he'd carried since Shan and the fight in the market square. Was his captain human in reality, or was that shape as false as the eagle? Her father had fought as a roc and, Llesho suspected, as one of the dragons who had come to their aid in that battle. The Dinha had called Habiba and his daughter her children, and the Dun Dragon had said the same of the Tashek people.