It was where he did his best work.

One corner of the chamber was dominated by a massive plate-iron fireplace.

Though Gorgrael constructed many of his creatures from mist and ice, he was warm-blooded himself and needed the heat and comfort of fire from time to time. He wandered over to the cold grate and snapped his fingers. Flames licked their way about the misshapen pieces of wood piled at the back of the grate, and Gorgrael murmured to himself. Sometimes he saw strange shapes in the flames, and it bothered him.

He turned to a sideboard, its undulating planes and angles polished smooth so that the wood shone, and lifted a crystal decanter from its depths. Gorgrael smiled. This decanter and its delicate matching glasses he had brought home from Gorkenfort, and the fact that Borneheld and Faraday had been forced to leave them behind when they fled pleased Gorgrael. He hummed a broken and grating tune as he lifted a glass with one scaled, clawed hand and filled it with good wine from the decanter.

He was civilised. He was as good as anyone else. Certainly as good as Axis.

Perhaps Faraday would enjoy the time she spent with him. Perhaps she would think him polite company. Perhaps he might not kill her after all.

Gorgrael sipped the wine, clinking the crystal against a tusk and dribbling a little of the wine down his chin as his cumbersome mouth and tongue tried to cope with the delicacy of the glass. He reached into the depths of the sideboard again and lifted out a large parcel. Crystal was not the only item Gorgrael had brought home from Gorkenfort.

He grunted in satisfaction and wandered over to his favourite chair, scraping it towards the fire. It was a good chair, throne-like, with a high carved back and wings that reached even higher towards the ceiling. He sat down and ripped open the parcel with his free hand. For a long time he sat there, looking at the parcel's contents, stroking it gently, careful to keep his claws retracted. Then he drained his wine in a gulp and irritably threw the crystal into the fire where it shattered among the flames.

In his lap, tumbled and crushed, lay the emerald and ivory silk of Faraday's wedding gown. Looking at it, absorbing the smell and the feel of the woman who had worn it, Gorgrael felt strange, painful emotions well up inside him. They made him feel merciful - and Gorgrael did not want to feel merciful. Worse, they made him feel lost - and that feeling Gorgrael did not like very much at all.

There was a movement in the air, swirling about the room, and the flames leapt and spat in the turbulence.

"She is a very beautiful woman, Gorgrael," the loved voice said gently behind him, "and it is no wonder you sit there with her silks to comfort you."

"Dear Man," Gorgrael breathed. It had been months since the Dark Man had visited him.

A heavily shrouded figure brushed past his chair and stood for a moment in front of the fire, his back to Gorgrael. The hood of his black cloak was pulled close about his face.

"Have you met her?" Gorgrael asked, desperate for closer knowledge of Faraday. "Have you spoken with her?"

The shrouded figure turned and sat down on the hearth. "I know Faraday, yes. And we have passed the occasional word."

Gorgrael gripped the silk in his hands. "Have you desired her?"

The Dark Man laughed, genuinely amused. "Many desire her, Gorgrael, and perhaps I am one of them. It is of no account. If you want her then I will not stand in your way. You may enjoy her as you wish."

For a while they sat there in silence, Gorgrael fingering the silken dress, the Dark Man contemplating the flames.

Gorgrael had long given up trying to see the face of the Dear Man.

No matter how hard and how craftily he'd peered, always the Dark Man, the Dear Man, appeared as he was now, shrouded so heavily that no-one, not even Gorgrael with his dark talent, could understand or know what lay beneath the folds.

The Dark Man had been a part of Gorgrael's life since he was small.

The five Skraelings who had midwhred Gorgrael's terrible delivery had brought him back to their burrow in the northern tundra, had somehow managed to feed him until he was able to crawl out of the burrow and forage in the snow, catching first small insects, then the white mice of the northern wastes, then finally the small mammals, hot and juicy, that fed his growing flesh and provided the stiff furs that kept him warm at night. The Skraelings had sheltered him and loved him, but Gorgrael had led a miserable life among the silly wraiths until the day that, scampering across a small ice field, he had seen the cloaked figure striding towards him. At first the tiny Gorgrael had been afraid of this tall and mysterious man, but the Dark Man had picked him up and whispered to him of things which soon had him cooing in delight and squirming in the stranger's arms. The Dark Man had sung dreams to the child, had offered him hope.

No-one but Gorgrael knew about the Dark Man - the five Skraelings, later transformed by Gorgrael into Skrae-Bolds, had never known he existed. The Dark Man, the Dear Man, had come to Gorgrael almost every day when he was little. Singing strange songs of power and enchantment, teaching him about his heritage, teaching him about his path for the future. Gorgrael had learned well from the Dark Man, and had come to love and respect as well as fear this stranger who taught him. He had learned very early that it was not a good thing to cross the Dark Man.

But through all these years he had never found out who the Dark Man was. Whenever he asked, whenever he tried to pry, the Dark Man would laugh and evade his questions and inquisitive eyes. There were some things he knew about him. The Dark Man knew Axis, for he had told Gorgrael about his hated half-brother very early in life and had taught Gorgrael the Prophecy of the Destroyer. Gorgrael knew also that the Dark Man lived a dark and crafty life, using his disguises to fool many who loved him. He knew that the Dark Man was a manipulator of considerable skill, and sometimes Gorgrael wondered just how much he had been manipulated as well.

Gorgrael knew that the Dark Man had a purpose, but he did not know exactly what that purpose was.

"It was her wedding gown," Gorgrael mumbled. "Timozel's sleeping mind told me that. Dear Man," he lifted his gaze to the still figure before him. "I need a trustier lieutenant than these SkraeBolds. I want Timozel, but he is tied to Faraday. What can you tell me?"

"You will have hiin eventually," the Dark Man assured him. "Many bonds that have been forged will tear apart. Many vows that have been spoken will become meaningless."

"Will I have Faraday?"

"You have read the Prophecy. You know it as well as any." The Dark Man's voice was a little harder now.

"Axis' Lover. The only one whose pain can break his concentration enough for me to kill him. Faraday."

"Axis' Lover. Yes," the Dark Man agreed. "Only love can provide the means to destroy him. You know the Prophecy well."

Faraday, Gorgrael thought, I must have her!

The Dark Man sat and watched Gorgrael's thoughts play across his face.

Gorgrael would do well - he had proved his worth already - but he would have to learn to curb his impatience.

"You moved too fast," the Dark Man said abruptly, his voice harsh.

"How much longer was I supposed to wait? My forces were massed, my magic was strong, and Axis knew little about his true identity, his true ability. It was a good time tomove."

"You should have waited another year. Waited until you had more Skraelings, more ice creatures who could work your will for you. Waited until you had more control over your creatures!" The Dark Man's voice was scathing now, and he leaned forward from the hearth, stabbing his finger at Gorgrael. "Now you have gained Ichtar, true, but you can go no further until next winter. And meantime the forces of opposition are forming against you. Six months ago Axis had no idea of his true nature. But your precipitate action has flushed out all the major actors in this little drama. Now Axis has cast aside the lies of the Seneschal and absorbs his lessons from StarDrifter as a sponge absorbs water.

You have woken the StarMan, Gorgrael, but you have weakened yourself so seriously in the process that you cannot yet move against him!"

Gorgrael twisted his head away from the Dear Man, sulking. "I will win." Did the Dark Man not believe in him?

"Oh, yes," the Dark Man said. "Undoubtedly. Trust me."

The Brother-Leader PlansThe silvery, secretive waters of Grail Lake lapped against the foundations of the white- walled, seven-sided Tower of the Seneschal. Deep within, Jayme, Brother-Leader of the Seneschal and most senior mediator between the one god Artor the Ploughman and the hearts and souls of the Acharites, paced across his chamber.

"Is there no news?" he asked Gilbert for the fourth time that afternoon.

The fire blazing in the mottled-green marble fireplace behind the Brother- Leader's desk was stacked high and the light it threw off shimmered along the edge of the fine crystal and gold that stood atop the mantel. Before the fire lay an exquisite rug of hand-woven emerald and ivory silk from the strange hot lands to the south of Coroleas. The Brother-Leader's private chambers lacked no comforts.

"Brother-Leader." Gilbert, his junior adviser, bowed respectfully, his hands tucked away in the voluminous sleeves of his habit. "The only word from the north comes from Duke Borneheld s camp at Jervois Landing. And the last Borneheld saw of your BattleAxe, he was whooping and screaming as he led his depleted Axe-Wielders to the north in an attempt to draw the Skraelings away from Gorkenfort."

Jayme frowned at the referral to Axis as "your BattleAxe". Gilbert had never liked Axis, and felt justified in his dislike when news of Axis' appalling betrayal of the Seneschal's cause reached the Brotherhood. Yet Jayme was so sick at heart he said nothing to reprove Gilbert.

"An attempt that nevertheless succeeded, Brother Gilbert," murmured Moryson, Jayme's senior adviser and closest friend for over forty-five years. He sat close by the fire to warm his creaking joints. "Axis' self-sacrifice saved many lives, Borneheld's the most important."

Gilbert continued. "Since the forces of this Gorgrael have moved through Ichtar I have received no word from north of Jervois Landing. Who knows if Axis lives or moulders?" As Borneheld had, so too had Jayme and his advisers reluctantly accepted that the foe they faced, Gorgrael, was something even more terrible than the Forbidden.

Jayme paced about the centre of the chamber. "Artor curse it, I did not love Axis and raise him from a baby to lose him like this! How many hours did I nurse that parentless child, sing him cradle-songs to comfort him to sleep?"

"Better to have lost him in the service of Artor than to lose him to the service of the Forbidden," Gilbert intoned.

"How could Axis betray the Seneschal - and me - like this!" shouted Jayme.

"Blame it on Rivkah for bedding with one of those damn lizards!" spat Gilbert. Borneheld's report had been very detailed. "Women ever were the weaker vessel!"

"Gilbert! Enough!" Moryson stood up from his chair, wavered for a moment, then walked over to put a comforting arm about Jayme. "Recriminations will not help us at this point, Brother Gilbert. We need to plan for the future."

Gilbert's lip curled at the two old men. What the Seneschal needed was an infusion of blood strong enough to save the Brotherhood from the possibility that the Forbidden would one day re-enter Achar. Artor needs young men to save the Seneschal, Gilbert thought, his eyes expressionless, not old men afraid of fighting words and deeds.

"Thank you, my friend," Jayme muttered, patting Moryson's arm. "I am all right now. Just for a moment..."

Moryson nodded in understanding and let Jayme go. When word of Axis'

defection to the Forbidden had reached the Tower of the Seneschal it had almost caused Jayme a fatal apoplexy. That a man entrusted with such a position of responsibility within the Seneschal could defect to the Forbidden of all things - the races he was committed to destroy - was almost beyond belief. But what cut even deeper was that Jayme had raised Axis from a new-born infant. Oared for him, loved him, taught him, indulged him. And for that care and love Axis had not only led the military wing of the Seneschal, the Axe-Wielders, to the service of the Forbidden, but he had betrayed both his god and everything Jayme believed in. Jayme's hurt was the pain of a father betrayed as much as that of a Brother-Leader deceived.

"I must assume he is still alive," Jayme said. "I must prepare for the worst scenario - that Axis survived, the command he led survived, and all are now in the employ of those," he paused, "flying lizards." His voice strengthened as he spoke, and by the time he was finished Jayme's back was straight and his eyes gleamed with renewed strength. The Seneschal needed him and he would serve.

If Axis had abandoned Jayme and the Seneschal, then Jayme and the Seneschal would abandon Axis.

"I am told that news of this cursed Prophecy spreads within Achar," he said with new resolve.

Gilbert nodded. "Yes. Those of Borneheld's soldiers who brought his report from the north, also - Artor damn them -brought this evil Prophecy. Once they had delivered Borneheld's report to King Priam they took their worthless and pox-infected bodies off to a tavern where they recited the Prophecy for the edification of the tavern patrons."

"Is it too late to stop word of the Prophecy spreading?" asked Jayme.

"Unfortunately so, Brother-Leader. Gossip will spread -and the Prophecy is so damnably ensorcelled that all who hear it remember it instantly."

"And curse those two Brothers Ogden andVeremund for finding and showing the Prophecy to Axis!" Jayme rasped. He still found it hard to believe that the Brotherhood's small outpost in the Silent Woman Keep had been so corrupted by the isolation and the records of the Forbidden they had found there.

Of course, none of the three in the room had yet heard news of the true identity of the two beings who wore the shapes of the long-dead Ogden andVeremund.

"Axis hardly needed those two fools to read him the Prophecy," Gilbert said.

"He could read the depraved script in the Forbidden's books as easily as you would read the word of Artor himself. I, for one, do not find it hard to believe that Axis is of such tainted and ungodly breeding. None else could have read those ghastly lines. He was betrayer-bred, Brother-Leader, and his blood would always lead him to forsake you and the one true god Artor."

Gilbert paused, watching the older men carefully. "Axis' capitulation to the forces of evil may not be our worst threat. There may be traitors closer to home."

Jayme narrowed his eyes. What did Gilbert know now? Over the past months Jayme had learned to respect Gilbert's sources of information. "Well?" he barked finally, his entire frame tense and wary.

"I have heard word of Priam's private deliberations," Gilbert said casually.

Artor, but the little turd-faced bastard must have spies at the keyhole to Priam's privy chamber, thought Jayme. No doubt he has word on how many times Priam mounts his wife at night. Jayme rarely let the language and imagery of his peasant youth intrude into his conscious mind. It was a measure of his unease that he did so now.

. "Priam has become obsessed with the Prophecy," Gilbert observed. "He believes its advice more than he believes the advice of the Brother-Leader. It is rumoured that Priam wavers towards supporting Axis and his cause. That he begins to think that alliance with the Forbidden might be a way to defeat Gorgrael."

Jayme cursed under his breath, staring into the fire in order to hide the expression on his face. Even Moryson looked mildly surprised at Gilbert's news.

"It is rumoured," Gilbert continued, staring at Jayme's back, "that Priam is...disappointed...with Borneheld. That he now wonders if Borneheld was such a good choice forWarLord. Priam believes Ichtar's loss underscores the need to pay close attention to the advice of the Prophecy."

The Brother-Leader's clenched fist slammed into the mantel above the fire, sending chills of music rattling around the room.

"I would rather see Priam dead" Jayme seethed, staring first at Gilbert and then at Moryson. "Has he lost his mind to consider an alliance with the Forbidden?"

Moryson and Gilbert were stunned by Jayme's violent outburst. Moryson's eyes flickered to Gilbert then back to Jayme. He laid a soothing hand on Jayme's shoulder.

"Priam ever was a waverer," he said gently. '"Tis perhaps not unexpected that he should vacillate in this present crisis."

Jayme shook Moryson's hand off his shoulder and stalked into the centre of the chamber. "Priam leads the nation!" he snapped. "Should we let him lead it back into subjection under the yoke of the Forbidden?"

Gilbert's bright eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, Brother-Leader?"

"I mean that perhaps we - Achar - would be better off if we had a King whose loyalties were uncompromised."

There was utter silence for several heartbeats; even Jayme was a little surprised by what he had just said.

"Brother-Leader," Moryson said calmly. "It may be best if Borneheld knows of the situation. It might be best if Borneheld himself were here. To stop Priam from wavering, of course."

"Borneheld is an experienced leader and battle commander," Jayme said thoughtfully. "His hatred of the Forbidden and devotion to Artor is well known.

He is also heir to the throne. I'm sure that he, too, would be appalled to learn of Priam's treasonous thoughts."

"Treasonous to Achar," Moryson said. Jayme gave him a hard look. "Treasonous to everything the Seneschal stands for. We cannot let the Forbidden back into Achar. Gilbert*."

Gilbert jumped to his feet.

"I think it were best that you left for the north on the next river transport."

Gilbert smiled and bowed. He could see nothing but advantages for himself in these developments.

"Borneheld needs to be advised of where Priam's mind is turning," Jayme continued. "We are vulnerable now that the majority of the Axe-Wielders either he dead or run with the traitor Axis. Only one cohort of Axe-Wie'ders remain to guard the interests and the persons of the Seneschal."

Not in a thousand years had the Seneschal been as vulnerable as it was now. That thought was uppermost in Jayme's mind. He would do whatever he had to do to ensure the Seneschal's survival. "What we do we must do for the good of the Seneschal."

"For the good of Artor and for the good of Achar," Moryson added mildly.

"Of course," Jayme said blandly, "that's what I meant. Furrow wide, Moryson, furrow deep."

The Blood-Red Sun ~*-"^ on't try to overpower me through such direct means. You leave yourself open. I grab your - -S wrist and elbow, twist, and you're crippled."

SpikeFeather gave a gasp of pain and dropped the iron-tipped stave he was carrying, his free hand flying to the arm that Axis held in a vice-like grip. Axis casually kicked one leg out from under the Wing-Leader and SpikeFeather collapsed to the ground in an undignified heap.

Each day for over two weeks Axis had worked with individual Wings of the Strike Force, getting to know the Wing commanders and the individual members of the Force. They were obstinate and thin-skinned, Axis had decided, but they had the makings of a fine force, despite having degenerated over the past thousand or more years into little more than a decorative appendage to Icarii society. Axis had transformed the Strike Force's exercises and training from displays of graceful acrobatics in the sky and on ground to difficult manoeuvres that would win them battles rather than parades, lives rather than hearts and cheers.

Axis leaned down and offered SpikeFeather his hand. SpikeFeather was one of the more skilful fighters among the Icarii and he had caused Axis a moment's worry during their demonstration. SpikeFeather hesitated an instant, then took Axis' hand, standing up in a flowing movement.

"You could have killed me, Spike Feather," said Axis, making sure he spoke loudly enough for the other Icarii standing about to hear, "if you had used your most potent weapon."

"What do you mean, Strike-Leader?" SpikeFeather frowned. "I could not hold the stave while you twisted my arm so."

"Your wings," Axis said, exasperated. "You could have knocked me with one or both of your wings, or so distracted me that I would have let you go. Don't forget your wings. They may save your life one day."

Axis was intent on making the Icarii realise that even defensive fighting should be aggressive, and that surprise and skill would always win over brawn and superior weaponry. But the Icarii needed experienced practice partners before they could develop the instinct necessary to survive the inevitable battles with Gorgrael's forces.