He gazed at the flat of Verragar, the blade was nascent now; simple steel, with a glimmering of light that spoke of edge. The light was odd. Not blue, but gold, and at that, faint, as if it were a thing at once liquid and fire.

He frowned.

The kai Clemente brought horn to lip, and in that moment, the Radann par el'Sol understood what the blade knew, and he lifted his voice instead.

"Kai Clemente!" he cried, all formality forgotten.

The younger man turned at the sound of his name, at the use of a familiar t.i.tle carried by a stranger's voice. But the horn did not follow.

Marakas made his way to the stairs and almost flew down them, his left hand anchoring itself to the rough surface of wall, his right hefting blade.

A moment, no more, and then the kai Clemente made his way from the heights as well, surrendering view to the urgency of the Radann's unspoken request.

They met upon the stones carved in the colorless crest of Clemente, boots skirting the edge of the rising sun and the grooved representations of its six rays.

"My pardon," Marakas said, bowing as formally as a man thus accoutred could bow. "Ser Janos kai di'Clemente."

But it was not for nicety of perfect t.i.tle that the young man had descended; Ser Janos waited until Marakas rose, his lips pressed into a thin line within the folds of his slight beard.

"The gate," Marakas said. "The gates must be opened."

The boy was not son to Ser Alessandro; he had none of the older man's fire, and none of his history. He hesitated only a moment, and then he bowed. "As you request, par el'Sol; the clan Clemente is in your debt this eve, and our trust has not yet been misplaced." He turned to the men who manned the gate, and he barked a sharp order. They were better trained than he; they obeyed without hesitation.

"Who are they?" Ser Janos said, offering the bare hint of doubt as the grind and creak of the great gates muted the words.

"I do not know," the Radann par el'Sol replied. "But one among them carries Balagar."

"The kai el'Sol is there?"

Marakas shook his head softly. "No. And if he were, I would not now counsel you to take this action."

"But Balagar is-"

"Yes."

"I don't understand."

"No more do I. But there is a reason, Ser Janos, that the Hand of G.o.d now numbers four; Balagar has not been wielded since the death of Fredero kai el'Sol."

He waited, blade drawn; the kai Clemente dropped hand to sword hilt, but did not likewise arm himself. He drew breath, straightened the line of shoulders that had rested too long in an awkward position, and drew himself to full height.

He was not a short man, although he was not a large one; his face was pale in moonlight, as if he had spent too much time in the Lady's Dominion, and not the Lord's.

But for all that, when the great gates were at last silent, he retreated into silence as well, taking the mantle of the Tor'agar upon slender shoulders.

Wondering-and Marakas could read this clearly as he reached out to touch the kai Clemente's weaponless hand-if that mantle were now his in fact, and not in waiting. The grief and fear in that fleeting glimpse surprised Marakas, altering his opinion not of heir, but of the man who ruled Clemente.

The old ways, Marakas thought: Ser Alessandro had accepted the family his brother had left behind with grace and the strength of a man's affection, and Ser Janos feared to be diminished by his loss.

The Toran who had not been ordered to the side of their Tor-and they numbered a scant four-now hastened down the steps; they formed a small square, two men deep and two wide, on either side of the kai Clemente.

In the moonlight, the riders approached the gates, and as the gates opened, as the archers failed in their fire, one man at last lifted pole and wound banner, and the banner fell like judgment in the blaze of torchlight.

Horse rode across a green field, mane flying, hooves unfettered; upon his back, no man, but rather sword and shield. Beneath his feet, the crescent hill of Southern blade, and above him, rising over the crest of distant hill, the sun with eight rays.

Marakas bowed at once; Ser Janos was a breath behind, but his knee touched ground and his head fell as if the weight of the evening's work could finally be laid to rest.

The Toran did not bow in kind; they offered the obeisance armed men could who did not wish to forsake their chosen duty.

But they offered no insult as the banner flapped in a pa.s.sing breeze; they held their ground as the foremost rider dismounted, aided by a man who wore the robes of the Radann.

Ser Mareo kai di'Lamberto adjusted the fall of his sheathed sword and executed a brief, but perfect, bow. "Well met," he said quietly, as the heir to the Clemente Torrean raised his head to meet the eyes of the man to whom they all owed their allegiance.

"Tyr'agnate," Ser Janos replied, in carefully modulated tones. He did not rise until the Lambertan Tyr strode into the courtyard, beneath the watching eyes of the archers of Clemente.

Tyran joined their lord; they numbered four. The smaller number of chosen men was a gesture of faith, a gesture of trust in a liege.

But the gaze of the Tyran lingered upon the walls above, and their expressions were cool.

"You are prepared for war," the Tyr'agnate said quietly.

"As you see," Ser Janos replied, showing the first sign of hesitation, as if only now remembering his Tyr's great disdain for all things Northern.

"And that war?"

"It is not with you," the younger man replied, discomfort choosing the words. Ser Alessandro would not have been so easily moved to nervousness. "Clemente honors its oath and its pledge."

"And Mancorvo," the Tyr'agnate replied, from a distance that the scant yards could not quite encompa.s.s, "will do no less."

There fell an awkward silence, and such silence, alleviated often by the presence of women, might have been left to linger.

But Marakas par el'Sol chose that moment to break it. He rose from his bow, revealing the smooth skin of his face, his head, the lack of Radann robes and the adornment of the office he held.

But he raised sword, and as he did, the man who had aided the Tyr'agnate now lifted head.

"Jevri," Marakas said softly.

"Radann par el'Sol," the servitor replied, tendering a bow of genuine respect.

Marakas knew, then, who wielded Balagar. Wondered that he had not known sooner.

"We have met the Servants of the Lord of Night," Marakas told the Tyr'agnate, "And we have triumphed, but at some cost. It was against further attacks of this nature that the walls were manned."

"Further attacks?"

"The Tor'agar is not resident within the city of Sarel."

Mareo kai di'Lamberto nodded.

"He took the better part of his forces, and traveled North toward the village of Damar."

"And there?"

"The Tor'agnate, Ser Amando kai di'Manelo, requested the presence of the Tor'agar; he had issues that he wished resolved through negotiation."

"The nature of the negotiation?"

Marakas' eyes went to the road beyond the Tyr's back; the words were rendered meaningless by the glance. "Within the Clemente domis, two Marente envoys were housed."

"Would I be in error if I a.s.sumed that they are no longer present to be called upon?"

"No, Tyr'agar."

"Good. But Ser Alessandro has not returned."

"No. The better part of the Manelan forces gathered within the West of Damar, and the Tor'agar believed that some unknown number of Marente soldiery also camped within easy reach of the village."

"Then perhaps we will join him there." He asked no permission; none was needed. "Do you fear another attack, par el'Sol?"

Marakas considered the question carefully, and then he shook his head.

"Then if you will join us, join us; we travel in haste."

Verragar was keening as it trembled in his hand.

Avandar had constructed a wall of sorts. Before he began, he caught Jewel by the arms and lifted her almost gently, placing her upon the back of the Winter King. She held her hands in her lap; the stag's horns were stained by something she had seen at a remove: demon blood. It looked black, in the moonlight; she did not want it on her hands.

If you give the Warlord leave, the Winter King said quietly, he will stand against your enemies. Lord Celleriant expended much in his battle to contain the water, and the Northern bard is human.

She shook her head.

I almost lost him, she said softly. And I don't have the strength to call him back again. Not tonight.

Maybe, she thought, not ever.

To her surprise, she felt the stag's approbation. Together, they watched in silence as Avandar worked, lifting dirt and the stones that lay beneath it as if it were whole cloth. He placed these in the streets between the buildings of Damar; drew them from the sloping bank of the now quiet river, and stretched them wide along what was only barely road.

Dust billowed out in clouds; the riverbank was parched as baked clay.

"It will not hold them long," he told her quietly, raising a brow. Asking the question the stag had asked, but without the attendant words.

Her tired smile was all her answer. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose you again.

You may die, here, he replied, his hands momentarily still. And, ATerafin, the chance that I lose you is greater.

What you do when I die is up to you. Everything changed.

"But not before?"

She shook her head. "Not for me. We'll find another way."

The last half of her words were lost to a shout of dismay; the Clemente archers discovered-as did the men who now fell to knees, hands upon the exposed length of slender shafts, that the General di'Marente had learned from the armies of the North as well.

The first volley was deadly; the second far less so. The wind caught arrows in flight, changing their trajectory; it could not send reply in like fashion, but it spared the Clemente cerdan who fought across the bridge. Kallandras of Senniel, bandaged now, had lifted arms as if in greeting. His smile was slender, deadly.

She didn't care; she wanted to watch it forever.

It was so much better than everything else that demanded her attention.

Jewel had never seen carnage like this. The bodies upon the bridge had made stone slick with blood, and where there was no room to fight, men-on either side-slid and fell, to be speared or cut down as they struggled for footing. Bodies were thrown into the Adane, and some struggled a moment with the water and the weight of armor before at last sinking beneath its moving surface.

Avandar, can you bring the bridge down?

He was silent a moment. Yes, he said at last, but it would not be wise.

Why?

If there is no bridge, the forces of our enemy will not be split; they will withdraw, and join the moving force.

But then we can retreat.

Yes, he said quietly.

She didn't like the tone of the yes. But?

It was a . . . gift . . . from the older magics, he said at last.

From the elemental-but- Eyes that were not quite brown met hers. A gift, he said again, quietly. And such gifts, once bestowed, are best appreciated. What you ask can be done, but not without cost. If the water is the most difficult of elements to contain, it is not the most difficult to command.

Jewel, the Winter King moved restively, look at the bridge. And look at the walls.

She did. And she knew he was right. The bridge was whole, a single piece of work. But it was not rough, not elemental; it was crafted, its stone lattice, the exposed sides of its rounded curve worked, as if with chisel and time, into a thing of beauty.

And the wall? Dirt, rock, something thrown up, like tarpaulin, against sandstorm or the careless fall of water. Not, she realized, a gifting-simply a faster, more efficient form of digging and building.

Very few of the Arianni, and very few of the Kialli were so adept at making requests of the wilder forces.

But he's human, she said, defiant. Stupid.

He will never be without power, the Winter King continued. But the depth of his power, the height, must be denied if you wish to keep him.

She was silent for a moment, and then she said, quietly, You were human once.

Yes. And perhaps that is why, little Jewel, I take some interest in the fate of Viandaran. Although he was never ruled, never owned, he has been trapped for far longer than I.

The walls were not of a single piece of stone; the dirt, pulled up, was mired in roots and branches, stronger for it, but less malleable.

Jewel watched Avandar's work in silence, and when it was finished, she exhaled heavily, as if she could claim some part of the exhaustion of his labor. He did not return to her side; instead, he waited while Clemente cerdan came to stand behind the walls. They had no windows, and were offered no easy view of the roads they had now sealed, and the buildings upon the Eastern bank-those that remained standing-were not as fine, or, more significant, as tall as those upon the West. But the roofs were tall enough, and firm enough, to support the weight of men, and men were lifted by foot to shoulder, and from there to building's flat, to watch. They disappeared from view as they gained the height.