"What, you knew her in Neraunce, then?"

"Neraunce?"

"Well, that's where she's spent the last two years, although she is of course Strellian by birth. Her history is quite astonishing, you know. You must entreat her to relate the whole of it when you meet."

"The Regarded Madam liGrozorf is Strellian by birth?" Nevenskoi was confused.

"Who?" Miltzin frowned, then his face cleared. "But you imagined I was speaking of little Ibbie liGrozorf?"

"Sire, mindful of your warm friendship with the lady, I naturally a.s.sumed-"

"Hah! But what a notion! Oh, not that the liGrozorf isn't a pretty, sweet little creature, really quite dear. But she is only a young girl, scarcely more than a child, and of mediocre intelligence at that. Perhaps my head was turned briefly, but the recent arrival of the Countess Larishka has opened my eyes to higher possibilities."

"Countess Larishka?"

"Indeed. A woman, my friend. Do you appreciate the significance? No green girl, but a woman woman-mature in judgment, sophisticated, fascinating, a citizen of the world. And intellectual, don't you know, outstandingly brilliant, in fact. You cannot imagine the delight I find in conversing with a female quite on my own level. Her learning, Nevenskoi! The depth and breadth of her knowledge would astound you! The acuity of her perceptions, the delicacy of her sensibilities, the scope of her vision! She has taught me what it is to meet a woman upon a higher plane, a mental and spiritual plane, if you will. It is there alone that meaningful union is possible. It exists solely in the marriage of true minds. Pretty faces and supple bodies are nothing. It's only the mind that matters, my friend-the mind is everything!"

"Quite."

"Her mind is like a great and glorious banquet-" mind is like a great and glorious banquet-"

Nevenskoi's eyes jumped involuntarily to the platter on the desk. One of the pigeons remained untouched, its skin gorgeously golden. He swallowed.

Eateateateateateat- "Its bounty never exhausted or depleted," Miltzin concluded. "Already her wisdom has nourished me, and I hope to see your own understanding similarly enriched."

"Enriched? Sire?" Nevenskoi channeled his attention.

"Here. Look at this." Miltzin's forefinger tapped one of the charts on the desk. "Feast your eyes. You have never beheld the like."

Nevenskoi advanced a couple of paces to examine the designated parchment. He saw interlocking circles, dotted lines describing complex arches, signs, symbols, constellations, projected planetary paths, intersections and vortices, divisions and conjunctions.

"It is an astrological propheticus," he said.

"It is the past, present, and future, set forth in terms clear and comprehensible to the educated eye. This is a scientific fact that has been scientifically proved. It is all here, Nevenskoi! Everything we could ever need to know, all secrets of the universe revealed to those who read the language of the stars! The Countess Larishka has cast this propheticus with her own hand. Magnificent, is it not?"

"Most impressive, Sire."

"Words are inadequate. She has created this, it is the product of that superb mind. She is going to teach me to read the charts. Only imagine!"

"Very fine, Majesty."

"Oh, Nevenskoi, when I think of the years I've squandered, I could weep. When I consider the wasted endeavors, the misguided efforts-and all the time the truth was plain before me, had I but lifted my eyes to the stars! But now I know, thanks to her, and it is not too late to change direction. Nor is it too late for you, my friend, for I mean to share the new treasures, they are meant for all! Come, look here, right here at this stellar vortex-" Miltzin's plump finger jabbed a diagram.

"I see it, Sire." Nevenskoi suppressed a sigh.

"It is only now achieving existence, and its significance is-" The king broke off with a gasp. His hands clenched, and he doubled, then dropped to his knees. A soprano squeal tore from him.

"Majesty, what is it?" cried Nevenskoi.

Miltzin IX toppled to the carpeted floor, where he lay writhing. His knees were drawn up, both arms locked around his middle, face violently contorted.

For a moment Nevenskoi stood staring, then ran to the bellpull and yanked it.

"I've summoned a.s.sistance, Sire." He was not certain that the other heard him. Kneeling at his monarch's side, he promised, "Help is on the way."

A sweating royal hand shot out to grasp the adept's wrist.

"Magic," whispered the agonized king. A spasm shook him. "Help me, man. Your magic."

His particular species of magic had nothing whatever to do with healing. He was utterly unqualified to deal with the king's dyspepsia, or indeed with bodily ills of any sort but one. He had a recipe for a poultice handed down from Grandmother Neeper, known to relieve the itch of certain genital rashes, and that was the full extent of his medical expertise, but there was no point in disillusioning his patron.

"Tut, Sire." Nevenskoi attempted an easy smile. "A touch of indigestion-"

"Poison," gasped the king.

"Impossible." But was it really? A glance down into the stricken man's greenish countenance failed to rea.s.sure him. Miltzin IX's lips were lightly coated with bile-colored froth. His facial muscles were twitching, and his limbs were jerking. He did look as if he might have been poisoned; in fact, he looked moribund. And if he should actually die? The dire prospect flashed across Nevenskoi's imagination. His royal patron, protector, and supporter gone. An unsympathetic successor to the throne; expulsion from the Waterwitch Palace, loss of position, prestige, stipend, loss of his incomparable workroom...disaster.

"Majesty!" exclaimed Nevenskoi. "You must live!"

Miltzin IX turned his head away and vomited. His ejecta were streaked with blood.

Where were the servants?

"Help!" The former Nitz Neeper screamed at the top of his lungs.

What? What? asked Masterfire. asked Masterfire.

Trouble, Nevenskoi responded in his thoughts.

I will eat all trouble, eat.

You cannot.

I can eat anything. Let me show you. Badmeat gone, trouble gone. Let me.

Let him. Nevenskoi wavered, tempted. Trouble gone. Eateateat. A good solution. Nevenskoi wavered, tempted. Trouble gone. Eateateat. A good solution.

A discreet tap intruded upon his inner debate.

"Come!" he shouted.

The study door opened. A deferential head poked in.

"Fetch a physician! Quickly!" Nevenskoi commanded, and the head withdrew.

Alone again with the suffering king, and now Mad Miltzin was convulsing, blood-flecked foam spraying from his mouth and nose.

Nitz Neeper, alias Nevenskoi, hadn't the slightest idea what to do. All his years of arcane research had never prepared him for this. Patting the king's icy hand, he murmured soothing homilies.

The door opened again. The king's personal physician, the omniscient Dr. Arnheltz, entered in haste, attended by a trio of lackeys. Waving Nevenskoi aside, Arnheltz knelt beside his master, performed a lightning examination that included a scrutiny of the sick man's vomit, then snapped his fingers. One of the lackeys instantly proffered a leather medical bag, from which the doctor extracted a gla.s.s-stoppered bottle, whose contents he poured down Miltzin's throat.

The king gagged and vomited extravagantly; rested a moment, vomited again, and lay panting.

Withdrawing two new bottles from his bag, Arnheltz frowningly measured their contents into a small graduate cylinder, stirred the mixture, and lifted his patient's head. Miltzin whimpered and grimaced. Not troubling to argue, the doctor firmly pinched the other's nostrils, and the royal mouth opened. Arnheltz administered his potion, and Miltzin groaned deeply. His muscles relaxed, his eyes closed, and he lay still.

Rising to his feet, Dr. Arnheltz gestured in regal silence. Miltzin IX was placed upon a stretcher and borne from the study by two lackeys. The physician scanned the chamber, and his eye lighted upon the remnants of the king's most recent meal. He snapped his fingers, and the remaining servant appropriated the platter. Physician and servant made for the exit.

"Wait." Nevenskoi intercepted the retreating pair. "How would you describe His Majesty's condition?"

"No time now." Arnheltz's pace did not slacken.

"Will he recover?"

"If properly treated."

"Was he poisoned?"

"Quite thoroughly."

"Was it-"

"A report will be issued."

Physician and lackey departed, and the door closed behind them. Nevenskoi stood bewildered.

What? What? What? A tongue of Masterfire's substance snaked inquiringly from the adept's breast pocket. A tongue of Masterfire's substance snaked inquiringly from the adept's breast pocket.

"Someone has tried to murder the king, my lovely," Nevenskoi explained. "Kill him with poison."

What is poison?

"A substance that is harmful. Think of somebody feeding you large quant.i.ties of water."

Badbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbadbad!

"Exactly. Well, that's more or less what somebody has tried to do to His Majesty. The king has been saved, though. Because of me," Nevenskoi realized. "Because I I was present, and I had presence of mind to summon help, he received the prompt treatment that preserved his life. I have saved him, sweet one. I am not quite a hero, perhaps, but surely deserving of grat.i.tude. Although," he recalled, "that physician person seemed hardly to think so. He was brusque to the point of discourtesy, was he not?" was present, and I had presence of mind to summon help, he received the prompt treatment that preserved his life. I have saved him, sweet one. I am not quite a hero, perhaps, but surely deserving of grat.i.tude. Although," he recalled, "that physician person seemed hardly to think so. He was brusque to the point of discourtesy, was he not?"

Physician person badness?

"He was probably preoccupied. He meant no offense, it was nothing personal, unless"-a terrible thought surfaced-"unless he had some idea that I might be responsible for the attempt upon King Miltzin's life. Unless that curtness I took for impatience in fact revealed hostile suspicion. But no. Impossible. His Majesty Miltzin has honored me with every mark of favor. Who could think that I would plot against so generous a patron? Who could doubt the loyalty of Nevenskoi?"

Nitz. Nitz. NitzNeeperNitzNeeperNitzNeeperNitzNeeper- "Please stop that. But I do see what you mean," the adept confessed. "In respect of my ident.i.ty, I have misrepresented myself. I have been less than truthful about my name, and thus my honesty in general is compromised, or so they will claim. But it isn't true, it isn't fair! The question of my name is a separate issue, unrelated to any other, it is absolutely immaterial- absolutely immaterial-!"

Badness? Masterfire inquired. Masterfire inquired.

"n.o.body could know, anyway," Nevenskoi insisted. "There's no way that anybody could possibly know, or even begin to guess."

The thunderbolt of pain transfixing his belly shattered his precarious equanimity. Nevenskoi clutched himself, and the sweat started out on his brow.

Whatwhatwhat? Masterfire demanded. Masterfire demanded.

"I'm poisoned!" The reply burst from him, but even as he spoke, he recognized the improbability. He had touched none of the king's meal, he had no enemies, there was nothing amiss with him beyond the usual nervous inner turmoil, and there was no reason to fear- "No reason at all," he muttered. He forced himself to take a deep breath. And another. His insides gradually calmed themselves. His thoughts did likewise. The king would recover. The real culprit would be discovered. And no unjust suspicion would fall upon Nitz Neeper.

ALL THREE PREDICTIONS proved accurate. King Miltzin remained bedridden for the next seven days, during which time reports of his progress were issued at regular intervals. At the end of the week the king was p.r.o.nounced well, and that evening saw him at the gaming tables, pale and visibly thinner, but jovial, neatly curled, and plentifully pomaded. proved accurate. King Miltzin remained bedridden for the next seven days, during which time reports of his progress were issued at regular intervals. At the end of the week the king was p.r.o.nounced well, and that evening saw him at the gaming tables, pale and visibly thinner, but jovial, neatly curled, and plentifully pomaded.

Throughout the term of the king's convalescence the appointed investigators labored, and their efforts yielded qualified success. Experimentation with the remains of Miltzin's lunch proved fatal to a couple of luckless dogs, both of which died foamingly following ingestion of the pate-stuffed plums that filled the untouched pigeon. Identification of the poisonous source led detectives to the Waterwitch kitchens, whose staff endured prolonged interrogation. The king's personal chef, entrusted with the planning and preparation of His Majesty's daily meals, had not personally overseen the preparation of the plums. That task had fallen to a recently hired sous-chef possessed of awesome credentials.

Forged, as it happened. The dispatch of two lightning messengers quickly confirmed the falsity of the sous-chef's references, but already it was too late to act upon the new information. A descent upon the closet shared by the suspect and two other sous-chefs discovered the bird already flown. He had departed under cover of darkness and the chance to wring the truth from him was gone, but a questioning of the roommates limned the portrait of a solitary young man, filled with angry sympathy for the inoffensive folk of Rhazaulle threatened by the Grewzian invasion, and resolved to aid the innocent at any cost.

The ulor's agents knew how to use such a tool. Those aware of Masterfire's existence recognized the potential consequence of Miltzin IX's removal in favor of a successor less inflexibly neutral, and perhaps more willing to sell the secret of Sentient Fire to beleaguered Rhazaulle.

The erring sous-chef was promptly replaced by a staid Hetzian bourgeois of sterling character, a peerless artist in appetizers, and life resumed its accustomed course in the Waterwitch kitchens.

King Miltzin IX seemed remarkably undismayed by his brush with death, for he had now learned how to protect himself. The astrological propheticus cast by the Countess Larishka contained clear warning of every future danger destined to a.s.sail him. It was all there, embedded in the signs and symbols. Forewarned was forearmed, and disaster easily avoided by the astrologically literate.

12.

"LOOK. LOOK OVER THERE." Luzelle pointed. Far to the south the glint of sun on seawater was discernible.

"The Bay of Zif," Girays informed her unnecessarily.

"I know that," she snapped. His brows rose at her tone, but she hardly cared, for irritability helped to mask sickening apprehension. Better that he take her for a shrew than a miserable little coward, scared to death of flying. "I'm not exactly unfamiliar with the local geography, you know. I have have visited the Bhomiri Islands." visited the Bhomiri Islands."

"Cannibalistic natives, I've heard." He smiled annoyingly. "Anyone try to stick you in a pot?"

"They were more inclined to stick me in a hut. Their chief offered to accept me on a trial basis as junior wife number thirteen."

"Really. I suppose you told him that he'd have to allow you freedom to fly the hut for six-month excursions, from time to time."

"He probably wouldn't have objected. He was a lot more liberal minded and tolerant than certain supposedly civilized westerners I could name."

"Ah, the perfect man for you."

The incursion of another voice spared her the necessity of caustic reply.

"We are losing alt.i.tude," observed Karsler Stornzof.

Luzelle's eyes shifted to Karsler's face for a surprised instant, then dropped to the ground below, not very far below, not far enough, and drawing closer by the second. The jagged, snowcapped peaks of the Ohnyi Heznyi, the Ramparts of Forever-or, as western cartographers had it, the Lesser Crescent Range-were wheeling toward her at terrible speed. But even now there was no sense of movement; even now, the balloon and its pa.s.sengers seemed suspended, weightless and motionless, above a revolving array of ice-clad granite fangs.

We're going to crash; we're going to die. Fear choked her, and her hands clamped on the edge of the basket. Her gaze anch.o.r.ed on the spinning rocks, and she did not want to look, but seemed somehow powerless to turn away or to shut her eyes. She was cold, dreadfully cold despite the layers of clothing and the extra blanket in which she had wrapped herself to ward off the bitter chill of the upper air; despite even the proximity of the fire that heated the atmosphere filling the great, gaily colored envelope of waterproofed linen. Curious that she could think of nothing more important at such a moment, but she was cold to the core. Fear choked her, and her hands clamped on the edge of the basket. Her gaze anch.o.r.ed on the spinning rocks, and she did not want to look, but seemed somehow powerless to turn away or to shut her eyes. She was cold, dreadfully cold despite the layers of clothing and the extra blanket in which she had wrapped herself to ward off the bitter chill of the upper air; despite even the proximity of the fire that heated the atmosphere filling the great, gaily colored envelope of waterproofed linen. Curious that she could think of nothing more important at such a moment, but she was cold to the core.

"There is no cause for alarm, I think," said Karsler.