"This is the farmland?"

Delil shook her head. "No. This is the ground when we do not till and work to make fields."

"How do you farm for anything in ground like this?"

"You say you have never farmed before?"

"No." He watched her as she stepped. Delil was careful about where she placed her feet, careful about how she settled her weight. A few missteps over the rocks told him why. The moss was solid enough, but the rocks it covered were often lose and he nearly twisted his ankle twice before he started paying better attention.

"The ground is hard. You have to break the ground, and you have to turn the soil and remove the rocks. Then you have to add ash to the dirt, because the ash from the mountains makes plants grow better. Then you have to plant the seeds and keep the watered. Then you have to wait and you have to protect the plants."

"Protect them from what?"

Delil stopped and looked back at him. "We are not alone here. There are other things that live in the valley and they are smaller than us and they fear us, but they are fast and they will eat the plants if we do not guard against them."

"What sort of things?"

"I thought you wanted to know about farming."

"I do. I just want to know the other things, too."

She shook her head. "When I have told you about farming you may ask more questions. Hold them until then."

They traveled a long way the first day, and never lacked for things to discuss. Mostly Delil told Andover about the Taalor Valley and the local plants and animals. It seemed nothing went to waste in the valley. As proof of that, Delil hunted down and killed two small creatures the size of large feral cats, with thick hides and teeth that looked like they were designed to chew out a person's spine.

Delil held the jaw open on one of the creatures, and let him look carefully at the front teeth. "They are long and thin to allow for digging in the ground and for breaking the skin of the logga nuts."

"What is a logga nut?"

"It's what is farmed for in this part of the valley." She dropped the corpse and reached into a pouch on her belt. There were four hard stones in her palm. No. He looked closer and saw the thin seam that ran along each of them. "Logga nuts." Using the hilt of one of her knives she hit the nut hard enough to crack the surface. The meat inside the nut was sweet and heavy. "They are good for traveling. They also make the bread you had at your feast."

"They grow on trees?"

"Vines. The only trees in the valley are much further down. You will see them."

As she was skinning the first kill a and showing Andover how he would skin the second a she explained that the very same creatures were the sort that stole from the farms.

He contemplated the teeth on the corpse, and the wide-set claws capable of tearing through the heavy moss or a person with equal ease, and asked, "Are these particularly large ones? I was thinking something more along the size of a rat."

"No. They are barely even adults."

"Oh."

While he skinned his meal, Delil started a small fire. It was blazing properly by the time Andover had finished his task. They ate the food together as the sun set behind Wrommish. A few small lights glittered on the side of mountain. More lights came from the valley, enough to hide the light from the stars.

Andover chewed at the meat. It wasn't as tasty as Pra-Moresh, but it would keep a belly full. "What's going on in the valley? I don't think there were fires so close to us yesterday."

Delil tore one of the legs from her roast and looked toward the fires. "They are moving closer. Yesterday they were still closer to the foot of Truska-Pren."

"Who is moving closer?"

"You were still visiting with Durhallem when we heard the horns." She looked at his scar for a moment and smiled. "That is the army of Tarag Paedori, the King in Iron."

The timing was good. As soon as she finished speaking the first horn blew a long note into the air. The call came from much closer than Andover would have expected.

A moment later four more calls echoed and joined in on the sound. And a moment after that the entire valley seemed filled with the sound. From behind them on Durhallem and from Ganem and from Wrommish, they heard more horns calling to each other, the sound a powerful note that made Andover's blood race.

"What are they doing?"

"Tarag Paedori calls to the other kings. It is almost time."

"Almost time for what?"

Delil looked toward him in the growing night and her eyes once again glowed with a silver light all their own.

"Your people attacked Tuskandru. The kings spoke together on this matter. Tarag Paedori will now go to meet with your Emperor and discuss the attack and what will be done about it."

"And all of the horns? What do they mean?"

"Andover, the Daxar Taalor assign each king with certain tasks. They are prepared for those tasks by the gods themselves. Like Durhallem has given Tusk the order that he must always protect Durhallem's Pass. That is his sworn responsibility."

Andover knew she was preparing to say something but had no idea what it was. He wiped the grease from his fingers and focused his attention on Delil.

"Tarag Paedori is the King in Iron. He is the Chosen of Truska-Pren. Truska-Pren is the god of formal combat. He charges Tarag Paedori with ruling the armies of the Sa'ba Taalor."

"The armies?" He frowned at the notion. "I didn't think you had armies."

She rose from her spot and looked around for a moment, scanning the horizon. "Come." Delil moved quickly and he followed as she moved into a rocky area and climbed to a greater height.

Within ten minutes they'd reached a level where she could show him what she wanted him to see. The lights they had seen were closer than he'd guess and far more numerous. There were hundreds of fires, most of them large enough to cook food as well as provide warmth. Large enough, surely, that more than one person sat at each.

Andover's throat was dry and he wished he'd brought water with him. Instead he worked his tongue around until he could speak again. "How many people are there?"

"I do not know. But we will find out together."

"What?"

Delil scaled down the rocks as quickly as she'd climbed them and Andover did his best to keep up. Her eyes seemed better equipped for moving through the darkness of the valley. The fires were near, yes, but there was enough vegetation and enough changes in the landscape to hide most of the illumination.

"Where are we going, Delil?"

"You are to meet the kings, yes?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"If Tarag Paedori is to leaving the Taalor Valley now is your best chance to meet him before he goes to face your Emperor."

He shook his head, not at all sure that her plan was a good one. She either did not see or did not care. Whichever the case, she headed for the encampment. And after only a moment's hesitation Andover followed.

He'd planned to meet with Tarag Paedori, yes, but after a few more days at the very least and certainly not while the king was gathering an army to go attack or consider attacking the Empire he came from.

Following Delil was easy. She made it easy for him, turning around from time to time and gesturing him forward.

And then it was even easier as they came upon the first of the fires. There were soldiers up ahead and no two ways about that. The figures he saw were dressed in armor as varied as he'd have expected. It seemed that none of the Sa'ba Taalor shared the same designs for their armor. Like with their weapons, the individuals who wore them created each piece of protective gear.

Delil looked at several of the shapes, each seemed more terrifying and less human than the last to Andover's eyes, and finally ran up to one, a bulky shape in the firelight that Andover could scarcely tell apart from any of the others.

Whoever he was, he lifted her into the air as if she weighed nothing and tossed her up and caught her twice before setting her back on her feet.

Each and every one of the faces he could see wore a veil with the exceptions of himself and Delil.

Several members of the group saw her, saw him and stared.

He stared back, his pulse hammering in his chest and his hand resting near the release on his hammer's strap.

Delil pointed toward him and spoke quickly to the man she was with. He in turn looked toward Andover and nodded his head. A moment later he called out in a loud voice and several others joined in. Andover did not recognize a single word they said.

Delil gestured him closer. Despite a growing unease he listened and stepped up to her side.

Up close the man she was with was no less a sight. He wore heavy plates of armor strapped over a dense chainmail. The helmet on his head was not as ornamental as many he'd seen a certainly nowhere as elaborate as Tusk's skull-like affair a but it covered his entire head, leaving only his eyes and his mouth clearly visible. His mouth was hidden under a veil. His eyes burned with that unsettling gray light.

Delil said, "Andover Lashk of the Iron Hands, this is Ventdril the Unbroken. He is my brother." The joy in her voice when she introduced them allowed Andover to relax a little.

The voice was milder than he expected from the monstrous shape. "Delil says you come from Fellein."

He nodded his head. "I was brought here to meet the Seven Kings and to speak with the Daxar Taalor." Both of his mouths spoke, the sound echoing oddly inside his head. He would likely never adjust to the change.

Ventdril spread his arms and then crossed them. "I have called for Tarag Paedori to meet you. He will be here soon." Andover studied the four knives strapped to the man's thick forearm and nodded.

"I am here now." The voice came from a giant. He was bigger than Tusk, bigger than Drask, bigger than most of the shapes standing around, and as he approached, the warriors immediately dropped to one knee, many of them drawing swords or other bladed weapons, turning the hilts toward the giant striding toward Andover and offering the weapons to him. The move was so fluid that it had to be something done regularly.

Delil lowered to one knee and offered one of her swords. Andover looked to her, looked at the others around him and immediately dropped to one knee. The hammer was a heavy weapon but he offered it just the same, his arms straining from the awkward position he held it in.

Tarag Paedori towered above him and grabbed the weapon by the offered handle. He looked it over for a moment, his eyes quickly studying the shape, and then placed it gently back into Andover's grip.

"You are Andover Lashk. You are now called Iron Hands. Truska-Pren offered you a great gift."

Andover looked up at the man and nodded. "I have come to speak to you and to Truska-Pren, to offer my thanks for his gift."

Tarag Paedori made a gesture with one hand and the people around him rose from the kneeling positions, putting away their weapons. Andover followed their lead, and forced himself to breathe.

The King in Iron lived up to his name. His body was covered in iron, from the plates of the stuff that covered his boot tops to the shell of the stuff wrapped around his body. His hands were bare and his face, but almost every other inch of his massive shape was covered. Over that armor the man wore a dark red tunic and a black cloak. On his face he wore a veil that matched his tunic, and on his head he wore a simple crown of black iron.

His eyes regarded Andover for several seconds and Andover had to resist the burning desire to fidget. He had a powerful suspicion that moving around would be seen as a sign of weakness.

Finally the man gestured with one scarred hand. "You will come with me. We go to meet Truska-Pren."

Without another word the man turned and strode toward the side of the mountain. The Sa'ba Taalor parted for him, leaving a wide path that Andover followed as quickly as he dared.

Delil did not go with him.

The caravan was a compromise. The initial idea was for only a dozen or so people to head for the parley, but Nachia's insistence in being along changed everything. Desh Krohan could not stop the Empress from coming, but he could decidedly make sure it was more challenging for her.

Fifty of the Imperial Guards rode along with the caravan, dressed in full armor and prepared for any eventuality. At least Merros expected them to be prepared. They were among the best-trained soldiers Fellein had to offer.

Seven wagons of supplies rode along, including cooks, serving staff and a few surprises that Merros did not feel the need to share with anyone else. Desh Krohan had one of the wagons as his own, and Nachia Krous rode with him. It was a wagon that Merros himself had once been a guest in and though he could not prove it he suspected there might be something of a magical nature involved. The wagon looked as pristine as it had since heading into the Blasted Lands, while everything else that had gone along had been scoured by the winds and debris until paint and finish were ruined.

They reached the designated site well before they had to be there, and Merros was surprised to find Goriah and Tataya waiting for them. The Sisters were dressed for the weather, meaning they had heavy cloaks and the rain washed off the well-oiled materials.

The Temmis Pass was nothing remarkable to see. Unless one knew what one was looking for the spot differed little from the rest of the vast edge to the Blasted Lands. In this area there was a good deal of grassland and in the distance the town of Hallis crouched. Hallis could only properly be called a town if one was feeling generous. There were seven buildings all told, and half of them were abandoned and falling in on themselves, but it was the closest sign of human life.

The people of Hallis a all eleven a stared with wide eyes when the caravan rode past. One old man a Merros could not remember his name a nodded and waved when he recognized Merros. The general nodded back but did not wave. Though he could hardly blame the man for charging insane prices for his supplies he still wasn't fond of anyone who charged that much for barrels of water.

This time they had plenty of water along with them.

Merros waved the caravan to a halt, and the Sisters looked in his direction and approached. He'd expected them to head for the wagon but instead they came to him. Goriah smiled softly in his direction. "You are earlier than expected."

"I prefer being ready for when the Sa'ba Taalor arrive."

"They are still well away. You have time yet."

He did not bother asking how they knew.

"Excellent. We'll have a chance to make a proper presentation for them."

The Empress came out of Desh Krohan's wagon and headed immediately for the edge of the land where it fell away into the Blasted Lands. The perpetual storm below them was lower than Merros has seen it in some time, and through the clouds holding below that edge the distant spires of the Seven Forges were visible, though heavily sheathed in clouds of their own making.

"It doesn't seem that far to travel, does it?" Nachia's voice was low and her eyes studied the distant forges.

"It's deceptive. The storms within the area are constant and keeping any sense of direction is nearly impossible." He looked to the Sisters. "I have no proof but I suspect the journey might well have been aided by these ladies."

They offered no confirmation, nor any denial for that matter. Merros merely smiled. He was beginning to believe they'd be more likely to deny being able to do things rather than to confess what they might be capable of achieving. Like Desh Krohan, they preferred an air of mystery surround them. Rumors had their own sort of power.

Both of the Sisters bowed formally to Nachia Krous and she nodded her acceptance of the gesture.

From the third wagon in the caravan a head appeared briefly and then vanished. After several seconds it showed again, just peeping past the door of the wagon, and then finally a man slipped free of the thing. He was not a very tall man as it went. In fact he could be called short without stretching the truth in any significant measure.

If he was the scout for the party inside he barely showed it. A tiny gesture from his hand and he was heading for Merros and the rest, ducking his head again and again, as if he were practicing how to bow while only involving his neck in the effort.

He came closer and kept his eyes on Merros. In his defense the general was the only one of the four carrying a weapon, but in truth all three of the women he was with were far deadlier.

Nachia turned her head and regarded the man for a long moment and as she did, Merros watched the subtle transformation in her demeanor. Her shoulders shifted a bit, straightening, and she lifted her chin. The lines of her face seemed to harden and the warm expression he was used to seeing grew as cold as the Blasted Lands.

The man came closer still, looking toward Nachia as if he were seeing her for the first time, and then remembered that he should bow to the Empress. Had a man ever looked more wretched? Not that Merros could remember.

"Your Highness...."