"An interesting phrasing, but essentially correct."

"And who exactly changed the laws of the universe? And how? That must have been some trick."

"The Maker is the one who altered the rules of His creation."

"But how? Is that just part of His power? His nature? It seems to me that altering the rules once they're in place would be a lot harder than setting them up at the beginning. Did He alter the mortal realm, as you call it, or the divine place where you hail from, or both? I'm curious how something like that is done."

Zaephos c.o.c.ked his head. "You are oddly perceptive, Captain. I can say only that the Maker has the power to alter His creations as He sees fit. Though it is never done lightly, or without cost."

"What about all these other worlds? Like the one where Naragenth's library is hidden? Did the Maker create all of those, too? Are some of them more real than others? How busy is He?"

"That is a topic I am forbidden to discuss."

Balandrick decided to drop that line of questioning. "So what does our mortal world look like to you now?"

"Much the same as it does to you. These eyes are no different from your own."

"But what you see now is not the same as when you come here without flesh, right? Like when you appeared to Gerin on the road to Hethnost."

"Yes. What I saw then was not only what was, but all of the possibilities of what might be. And if I bent my will to it, what once had been."

Balan tried to conceive what that type of vision might look like and failed miserably. He could not comprehend it. How could anyone see not just one future but many of them? Did I step here, or there? Did I turn my head left or right? Did I cough or not? Do all of those little changes create a different path to the future? It seemed to him there must be an almost infinite number of variations. How could any being comprehend that?

A basic question occurred to Balan that he didn't think anyone else had yet asked.

"What does the Adversary want? What is he trying to accomplish?"

"What he wants does not matter. The only thing we must concern ourselves with is stopping him."

"But if we know what he's after, maybe there's a way of thwarting his plans. Hit him indirectly, since it seems to me that we're woefully unprepared to battle a G.o.d. I think we could use as many plans of attack as possible."

"He and his goals are inextricably twined. One cannot be defeated without defeating the other."

"What does that mean? Is that some kind of riddle?"

Zaephos stood. "It is all I can say. Good night, Balandrick."

27.

It's time to begin your siege, General," said Vethiq aril Tolsadri.

"It is no such thing, Voice," said Lorem taril'na Ezqedir. He held a seeing-gla.s.s to his right eye and surveyed the fortress ahead of them while he spoke. "It's time to observe, and to plan."

He collapsed the seeing-gla.s.s and turned to an adjutant. "Have Tereen prepare my meal," he said. "Find Haavi and have him join me."

Tolsadri could not believe this insect of a general was ignoring him. He was positioning his army too far from the valley where the accursed wizards were hiding. Gerin Atreyano was most likely there as well. The mere thought of the man who had brought humiliation upon him caused blood to rush in his ears and his heart to race. He'd lost stature and standing that he had yet to regain because of the debacle on the island.

Behind him, members of the caste of Elqos the Worker labored to pitch the tents of Tolsadri, Ezqedir, and the other commanders. It galled Tolsadri that his tent was no larger than that of Ezqedir-the man was a general, not even a Sword!-but his machinations to obtain a larger tent befitting his station had been thwarted at every turn.

He fingered the Mark of Bariq the Wise. The medallion was a comfort to him, a rea.s.surance that he served the greatest of the Powers and a reminder of his achievements in becoming both an Adept and Loremaster. He was the greatest of the Adepts and the Voice of the Exalted herself.

Yet all was now in jeopardy because of Gerin Atreyano. Tolsadro knew that the Dreamers were wary of him, and the Exalted had chided him for his loss of the captive. He knew the true fault lay with that wretch of the Harridan, a sp.a.w.n of evil if ever he'd known one. He wondered where she had gone after delivering the location of the Words of Making. He shook his head in disgust. She sullies my mind. Her task is done. Best not to think of her again.

"I demand that you begin your siege," he said in a low voice to the general. "The Words of Making are within that fortress!"

"I am beginning my siege," said Ezqedir. He was taller than Tolsadri, something else Tolsadri did not like about the man. He was broad through the chest and shoulders, his legs thick and well-muscled, typical of the men in the Kledeen Valley where he'd been born. Barbarian giants, all of them. His black hair fell in snaking coils to his shoulders, brushing the top of glinting armor that almost seemed an extension of his bronze skin.

"Observing one's enemy to determine both weaknesses and strengths is the first part of any battle," Ezqedir continued.

"You need to attack!" hissed Tolsadri.

"I will attack when I am ready, Voice of the Exalted. And not a moment before."

"While you dawdle, they strengthen their defenses."

"There is nothing they can do now that will make a material difference. But if I attack before I am ready, we may suffer yet another disastrous defeat. One that I'm not sure even you're high reputation could endure."

Tolsadri could not be certain whether Ezqedir was mocking him. He did not know the man well enough to gauge if he was capable of such subtleties. And I will never know him that well, he vowed. I will destroy him for his lack of proper respect, the way I destroyed Drugal.

"The fortress is before you," said Tolsadri. "What more do you need to see? We have the Loh'shree and the eunuchs as well as your Herolen! If that is not sufficient for the task at hand, you should fall on your sword for your incompetence and leave the siege to someone who will take action."

"Did you fall on your sword after your failure to hold the man you're now demanding I recapture? He not only escaped you-and took your life in the process-but escaped your stronghold as well. I have failed at nothing yet, Voice, and I don't intend to."

"You know nothing about-"

Ezqedir moved so close to Tolsadri that the Voice had to take a step back.

"The blockade of their capital city was destroyed by Gerin Atreyano. Nineteen ships drowned. Sword of the Exalted Drugal lost much of his army and his life to Gerin Atreyano before his siege could even begin." He pointed toward the fortress without taking his eyes from Tolsadri. "Gerin Atreyano is more than likely in that place. If you think I'm going to risk my men because of your impatience-brought about by your own incompetence-you'll be sorely disappointed. I suggest you revise your expectations accordingly, Voice."

"You forget yourself, Ezqedir. You are not the Sword. I order you to begin your siege, or I'll replace you with someone who will." As soon as spoke, he knew he'd made a mistake. He cursed his own anger. He usually did not let it get the best of him, did not let it make him speak when he should remain silent-but this was an error.

Ezqedir had the gall to grin. "It is you who forget yourself, Voice. You are right in one thing, and one thing only. I am not the Exalted's Sword-yet. But I have been charged by her to command this army and locate the Words of Making. I lead here in the ways of war, not you.

"I'll conduct this siege as I see fit, so that the victory will be mine. When that is done, I'll become the new Sword. I won't make the mistake Drugal made of underestimating your skill for treachery. The manner of his death has been questioned. There are whispers that he was murdered, that he did not perish in the conflagration set off upon the ridge. There is no proof, of course, and no proof will ever come. But the whispers will remain, Voice, and cling to you like a foul vapor."

The general paused, as if waiting for a response, then went on. "Nothing to say? I'm surprised. You have a reputation for garrulousness. Perhaps that is one of many things exaggerated about you."

"You'll pay for your impertinence and slander."

Ezqedir shrugged. "We shall see about that. Is it not the role of the Voice to parley with our enemies? Perhaps you should knock on their gate and demand they turn over the Words to us."

Tolsadri stepped forward until his chest almost touched the general's. He was hoping that Ezqedir would step back, but the wh.o.r.eson did not move.

"You overstep your place, General. Regardless of the whispers you claim exist, I am still the Voice of the Exalted, chosen by her to speak on her behalf. You will show me the respect owed to my station, regardless of your opinion of me, or I swear by Holvareh Himself, you will be punished. The laws of Aleith'aqtar are not forgotten because we are in a foreign land. Many things changed when Drugal died in battle and the blockade was broken, but not this."

There was another long pause; Ezqedir seemed to be holding his breath. Then he blinked a single time, stepped away from Tolsadri, bowed his head.

"I will not remind you again of your place," said Tolsadri.

"You're right in that many things changed when the Sword died," said Ezqedir. "What you may not have realized is that not all of those changes benefit you."

He turned away and vanished behind the fold of his tent flap.

28.

One of Ezqedir's adjutants summoned Telothes var Nitendi to the general's tent. The commander of the Loremasters attached to this army carried himself as all Loremasters seemed to: with an air of aloof haughtiness, a sense of superiority and a disdain for anything unrelated to their caste or their work. Ezqedir had never met a Loremaster he liked, but Nitendi was at least tolerable compared to some of the others he'd dealt with.

He was aware that Nitendi had just spent the better part of an hour with the Voice, and was curious to see how much Tolsadri's presence might have affected him. He had no doubt that Tolsadri would do whatever he could to make his command of this siege as difficult as possible. The Voice was not so stupid as to want the siege to fail-he was far too eager to claim the Words of Making for himself. But he would do whatever he could to undermine his authority, and twist the smallest signs of weakness to his advantage.

Ezqedir had been under Drugal's command on several campaigns, and his opinion of the late Sword of the Exalted was that he was a brilliant field commander who did not have the ability-or perhaps the desire-to wage the games of intrigue demanded by members of the Court of Kalmanyikul. If Drugal had been more competent in that arena, he would have maneuvered himself into a position to kill Tolsadri, or at least destroy his power and influence, which in the end would have resulted in the same thing.

The general was certain that Tolsadri was involved in the murder of the Sword. He did not care about it personally; he felt no need to avenge Drugal. Indeed, it was the Sword's own indifference to the danger Tolsadri posed that led to his death, and Ezqedir felt only a mild contempt for someone who did not understand the nature of the threats he faced. The Sword played the games of intrigue poorly, and paid a heavy price for his failure. From what little he'd known of the man, Drugal placed a great deal of weight on the guiding hand of Herol.

Ezqedir believed in the Powers and the order they brought to the world, but in his view men needed to look after their own affairs and do everything they could to make themselves succeed, to seize their own destinies. The Powers would not step in to help them; that was not their role. They watched to see how well the men and women who served them did their tasks, and would reward them accordingly in the afterlife. But here, now...it was up to men to do what needed to be done. To be strong. To be smart. To accomplish things like conducting a siege, or ridding oneself of a hated and dangerous enemy.

Long before this campaign began-before they'd left Aleith'aqtar on that interminable sea voyage-the general had identified Tolsadri as the most dangerous man in Kalmanyikul. The Voice was exceptionally talented at covering his trail. He destroyed reputations, and sometimes lives, with devastating efficiency. It was his true talent, even more so than his abilities as a Voice or Loremaster. After someone's fall from grace-or execution, or murder-the halls were filled with whispers that guessed at Tolsadri's involvement. Ezqedir suspected that some of the whispers that pointed to the Voice were in fact started by Tolsadri himself to bolster his own reputation as a power not to be trifled with, and to intimidate those who would oppose him.

I'll trifle with him, and he'll be surprised at what a lowly soldier like me can do, and the knowledge I possess. Yes, he'll be surprised indeed.

Nitendi entered the tent, his graying beard impeccably combed and oiled. He glanced about with an expression of distaste, as if the very air a.s.sociated with Ezqedir were somehow offensive, beneath him in some way.

Tolsadri has done his work with him, thought Ezqedir. Nitendi had been in his tent many times before, and his att.i.tude had never been this openly arrogant.

He offered Nitendi wine, which the slender man declined with a wave of his hand. "I've come as you requested, General. What do you want?"

Ezqedir ignored the rudeness of the man's remark and poured himself some wine, which he sipped slowly while Nitendi waited with increasing impatience for him to speak.

"Loremaster Nitendi, tomorrow you will take your men and probe the defenses of the fortress. I need to know what powers are arrayed against us."

"I believe the demons of the eunuchs would be better suited for that task," said Nitendi.

"They are not. The demons cannot make reports of what they see, Nitendi. Besides, the eunuchs cannot hold their demons here for long. I must be sparing in their use. I need information, of the kind that only you and your fellow Loremasters can provide."

Nitendi glowered at him. "We are not common foot soldiers, General. It is not our duty to march in the vanguard, or to reconnoiter. Isn't a task like this what your precious Predor Company is for?"

"The wizards have power, Nitendi. The Predors have no means of detecting such things. This falls to you."

He straightened, defiant. "No."

"I'll not give my command again."

"Then you'll save me the trouble of refusing again. Find some other means to gather your information." He turned to leave.

"Meloqthes," called Ezqedir.

His first adjutant appeared at the entrance to the tent, blocking Nitendi's exit. "Yes, General."

"Arrest this dog for treason. Call the headsman and relieve him of the haughty lump between his shoulders. When he is dead, burn the body, then quarter it to prevent him from returning. Send his remains to the other Loremasters as a warning that I will not tolerate disobedience. Then have Olo'kidare brought to me. I believe he is second in line after Nitendi. We'll see if he is any better at obeying the will of the Exalted."

"At once, General." Meloqthes gestured. Four armed soldiers entered the tent and surrounded the Loremaster. Two of them gripped his upper arms and held him firmly.

"If he resists, beat him, but do not kill him. I'm curious if he will scream or cry before the axe falls."

"You can't do this!" shouted Nitendi. "I am an Adept and Loremaster of-"

Ezqedir punched him squarely in the face. Nitendi's head rocked back; blood poured from his broken nose. The Loremaster grunted, but the guards would not let him bring his hands to his face.

"No, Nitendi. You are no longer a Loremaster. You're a traitor who has disobeyed the will of she whom we all serve." Ezqedir produced a scroll with the seal of the Exalted upon it. "You know as well as I that the Exalted granted me absolute authority over this army. You and your fellow Loremasters are part of this army. To disobey me is to disobey her. I'll not waste time arguing with you. You obey me, or you will be executed. The choice is yours. I care nothing for your life-I only hope the one who follows you will have learned from your example. It would be a waste to have to kill all of you."

The soldiers began to drag him from the tent. "Wait! Wait! All right! Stop!" shouted Nitendi. His lips were slick and dark with blood, his voice congested from his smashed nose.

Ezqedir gestured for the guards to halt. "Don't think to try to bargain with me. I've given you my orders. I expect them to be obeyed. If you think you can convince me to change my mind, nothing will save you. This is your only chance to remain alive, Nitendi. Think well before you speak."

The soldiers released the Loremaster's arms. He brushed sweat from his brow, wiped the blood from his nose on his embroidered sleeve, and stared at the general with an almost dazed look upon his face. Ezqedir felt only contempt for the man's cowardice. He did not face his death well, he thought. How quickly he folded! I expected more from a man of his station. Are all Adepts so craven?

"We will probe the fortress's defenses, General."

"Have your men a.s.semble behind the forward pickets an hour after sunrise. That is all."

Nitendi actually bowed his head before he left.

"Have him followed," Ezqedir said to Meloqthes. "I want to know if he runs to Tolsadri or back to his fellow Adepts."

"Yes, General."

"It's time, Honored Loremaster," said the captain of the company of hors.e.m.e.n who would protect the Adepts while they probed the defenses of the fortress.

"A moment, d.a.m.n you!" shouted Telothes var Nitendi as he shifted in his saddle in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position. Despite the healing that Klaati had worked the night before, his nose was still tender and swollen. I will find some way to repay Ezqedir a thousandfold for his attack upon me and his threats to my life. He tried to push all thoughts of the general from his mind. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand-if he did not, it was quite possible he would be dead before the day was out. But the humiliation of the previous evening would not let go of his thoughts. They clung like a tenacious dog, jaws clamped tight. The image of the general's fist driving into his face-and the sudden, blinding pain that accompanied it-would not leave him no matter how hard he tried to make it go away.

The horse captain looked away pointedly. Nitendi thought he glimpsed a fleeting look of disdain in the man's dark eyes and fought back the urge to rail against him. It would do no good to antagonize the man charged with keeping Nitendi and his fellow Loremasters alive during this dangerous endeavor. He cursed Ezqedir once more, then turned his ire toward Tolsadri. The Voice of the Exalted had appeared briefly in the tent Nitendi shared with Klaati while Nitendi was still washing blood from his face and beard.

"The Harridan-d.a.m.ned general a.s.saulted me!" he'd said.