"Three or four times a day," Koleika replied almost indifferently. "They don't really know what they're doing, so they're wasting a lot of their men."

"A stupid enemy is a gift from God," Khalor said in a sententious voice.

"This particular enemy has more than pure stupidity working against it," Koleika added. "One of their Generals is a woman."

"A big, ugly woman with a loud voice?" Khalor asked.

"That's the one."

"Don't underestimate Gelta, Koleika," Althalus cautioned. "She's no ordinary woman."

"You've come up against her before?"

"In Wekti, yes. The lives of her soldiers don't mean anything at all to Gelta. She'll throw away her entire army to get what she wants."

"That's insane!" Koleika said.

"That's a fairly accurate description of her," Althalus agreed. "Pekhal could control her, but I believe he's not with her anymore."

The Queen of Night was in full voice when Althalus and the others reached the battlements on the eastern side of the city, and her catapults were hurling boulders at the walls of Mawor with a monotonous thudding sound. "I'm starting to get a bellyful of that," Duke Nitral growled. "I spent a fortune on that marble sheathing on the outer wall, and she's breaking it all to pieces with those accursed engines. Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm going to do something about that right now." He went on down the parapet to a cluster of peculiar-looking engines.

"What are those things?" Eliar asked curiously.

"Nitral calls them arbalests," Koleika replied. "They're sort of an oversized bow. They'll throw a spear for half a mile. Nitral and I've come up with a way to make life very interesting for those catapult crews out there."

Duke Nitral barked a sharp command to the men around the arbalests, and a sheet of spears trailing fire shot out in long arcs from the high walls of Mawor.

"Colorful," Khalor noted, "but I don't quite see-"

"Watch," Koleika said gleefully, rubbing his hands together.

The fiery spears began their almost graceful descent, and then they fell amongst the invaders' siege engines. Sheets of fire immediately burst out in all directions from the spears, engulfing the catapults.

"What happened?" Eliar exclaimed in astonishment.

"I saw right off that one spear would only kill one man," Koleika replied modestly, "and only if it happened to hit him. I suggested to Nitral that replacing the steel points with earthenware jugs filled with boiling pitch might be an improvement." Then he made a wry face. "You've got to be careful about making suggestions to Nitral. He takes a good, sound idea and immediately starts to expand it. He went me one-or maybe three-better. He liked the pitch idea so much that he added naphtha, sulphur, and something his brewers boil out of good strong beer. One spark is all it takes to set fire to that mixture, and you probably noticed that each spear had a burning rag tied around the shaft."

Burning men were running from the sudden bonfires that had engulfed the siege engines, and the men were shrieking in agony.

"That's mostly because of the pitch in the mix," Koleika explained. "Boiling pitch sticks to anything it touches, and when the jug breaks, the mix splashes all over everything-and everybody-in the vicinity. Then that burning rag sets fire to the whole mess." He squinted out at the horror on the field below. "They look almost like comets in the night sky. Rather pretty, isn't it?"

"They didn't seem to expect it," Khalor observed.

"I don't imagine they did. This is the first time we've tried it."

"How did you manage that kind of accuracy, then?"

"That was Nitral," Koleika replied shortly. "He's an architect, and computations get involved in that, I guess. He spent two days telling me all about angles of declination, arcs, triangulation, and numbers that he stacked up like cordwood. I couldn't make much sense of it, but he assured me that it'd work."

"It looks to me like he guessed it pretty close, Chief Koleika," Khalor said, gesturing at the bonfires around the siege engines. "As a favor to me, would you see if you can coax the recipe out of him? I've got a sneaking hunch that splashing fire all over people might be a quick way to settle a lot of arguments. Have you worked out the details of how you're going to keep the besiegers from disengaging here and marching on Osthos?"

"They'll lose more than half their army if they try," Koleika told him. "I've got that river at the back door, and Osthos is downriver from here. I can send men down by boat to ambush any columns marching south, and as soon as they weaken the force around Mawor, I'll open the front gate and charge out to engage them. Nitral's fire just added some finishing touches, I think. I'll keep them so busy that they won't have time to disengage, and winter's snapping at their heels."

"That's all it'll take, Chief Koleika," Althalus said. "If they don't reach Osthos before the snow flies, we've won us a war."

Dweia was alone in the tower when Althalus, Eliar, and Khalor returned. Her face was pensive, almost melancholy, and her voice was subdued when she spoke. "I think it's time to call in Kreuter and Dreigon, Sergeant Khalor," she said. "You might want to go start them moving. Let's make absolutely sure that Gelta can't scrape together a real army when she goes to Osthos. If Leitha was reading her correctly during that dream, she couldn't have more than two regiments at her back, and we'll want to keep it that way."

"I still don't quite understand how she expects to get into the city with only two regiments," Khalor said.

"Althalus and I are going to investigate that while you and Eliar are visiting with Kreuter and Dreigon, Sergeant. The leaves are starting to turn, so Gelta has to move very soon. I think we'll want to be absolutely certain she doesn't have any surprises for us."

"Good thinking," Khalor agreed. "Let's go talk with Kreuter and Dreigon, Eliar."

"Yes, my Sergeant," Eliar replied.

"You seem sad, Em," Althalus said after Eliar and his Sergeant had left.

She sighed. "Autumn's always a sad time for me, love," she replied. "The world grows old in the autumn, and winter lurks just over the edge of next week." She stretched and yawned. "Then, too, before humans came along, I always used to sleep through the winter."

"The way bears do?" That startled him.

"Bears are more clever than they look, Althalus. There isn't really anything to do in the winter, so it's a good time to catch up on your sleep. After this is all over, we might want to try that now and then." Then her expression became more businesslike. "Come to the window, Althalus. Let's do some snooping, shall we?"

"Anything you say, Em."

There was turmoil in the enemy encampment outside the walls of Mawor, and most of the turmoil was centered around the Queen of Night. Gelta seemed on the verge of homicidal fury, bellowing curses and brandishing her ax. A well-armed Kanthon General was trying to placate her, but she didn't seem to be listening.

Then Argan, accompanied by a figure in the black armor of the Nekweros, came out of one of the tents. "What's wrong with her now, General Ghoru?" Argan demanded of the Kanthon.

"Things haven't been going exactly the way she wants them to go, Argan, and that always seems to set her brains on fire."

"You've noticed," Argan said drily. "Is there any way we can possibly disengage here?"

"Not a chance, Argan. I can't take the city, and if I try to pull my troops clear, the men inside the walls will rush out and destroy my entire army. Tell Ghend that he didn't give me enough men to take this place."

Gelta continued to bellow curses.

"Make her be quiet, Yakhag!" Argan snapped irritably.

Argan's companion raised the visor of his black helmet and approached the raging Queen of Night, ignoring her stone ax.

"I thought the Nekweros were all demons," Althalus said to Dweia. "That one seems to be human."

"Look again, Althalus," she replied in a chill voice. "That's Yakhag, and he's worse than any demon in Nahgharash."

Althalus looked more closely at the man in black armor. Yakhag's face was pallid white, and he had sunken cheeks. There was a chilling deadness in his eyes, and no expression on his face. He spoke very quietly to the Queen of Night, and she shrank away from him, trembling.

"She's afraid of him!" Althalus exclaimed. "I didn't think Gelta knew how to be afraid."

"Everybody in Nahgharash is afraid of Yakhag, Althalus," Dweia replied. "I think he even makes Ghend a bit nervous."

"Why isn't he one of that inner circle, then?"

"Probably because Ghend can't control him. Yakhag only answers to Daeva. He's a monster."

"He seems to be taking orders from Argan, though."

"You don't really want to start looking into the politics of Nahgharash, Althalus. It's the ultimate madhouse."

"Gelta absolutely must be in Osthos in three days, Ghoru," Argan was saying, "and she'll need something in the nature of an army to go with her. How many troops can you spare?"

"Maybe two regiments, but no more, and that's hardly enough to take Osthos."

"We'll see," Argan said shortly. "Two regiments should serve my purposes. I have access to certain illusions that should persuade the defenders of Osthos to come to the negotiating table."

"Illusions?" Ghoru scoffed. "You can't win a war with imaginary soldiers, Argan."

"Don't be too sure about that, Ghoru. Start those two regiments marching toward Osthos. I need to talk with Ghend; then Gelta, Yakhag, and I'll catch up with our forces."

Ghoru spread his hands. "Anything you say, Argan."

"Lord Dhakan!" a richly garbed courtier shouted, bursting into the Chamberlain's office. "The enemy approaches!"

"Calm yourself, man," Dhakan said. "Give me some details. Don't just stand there screaming. How many and how far away?"

"Millions, my Lord!"

"Weiko, you couldn't count up to a million if your life depended on it."

"The advancing army stretches from horizon to horizon, my Lord!" the flustered courtier declared. "We are lost!"

"You may go, Weiko," Dhakan told him coldly.

"But-"

"Now, Weiko, and don't slam the door behind you."

The courtier looked almost as if he wanted to argue, but then he changed his mind and left the room.

"He's another one," Leitha told Andine.

"Really?" Andine seemed surprised. "Ghend's scraping the bottom of the barrel, then. Nobody in the entire court takes Weiko very seriously."

"He's just a bit more clever than he lets on," Leitha told her friend.

"He's a member of one of those cults Argan's been establishing here in the low country. He's been promised a high position in the new government of Osthos, and Argan's ordered him to encourage panic. The whole plan is to persuade you to surrender without a fight."

"That word 'cult' keeps cropping up," Bheid noted. "Just exactly what's involved in those little secret religions, Leitha?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" she asked him.

"I think I should, don't you? Sooner or later, I'm the one who'll have to counter them."

"Just take everything you've ever been taught and turn it upside down, Brother Bheid," she replied. "You'll be fairly close. Argan's very good at promising rewards to his followers. Everyone has certain unwholesome desires-money, power, sex-all the usual nastiness. Argan preaches the fulfillment of those desires. Just about everything you look upon as sin is a virtue in Argan's new religion. I can go into greater detail, if you'd like," she offered archly.

"Ah . . . no, Leitha," he declined, blushing slightly. "I think that's sufficient."

"You're no fun," she accused.

'Let it lie, Leitha,' Althalus chided silently.

Andine rose and went to the window. "The leaves are just about the right color," she observed "and the nights are getting chillier. How long should we drag out the negotiations, Althalus?"

"I'd try to hold out for the rest of today," he advised her. "Tomorrow's the day when it's all supposed to happen, and I think we want our timetable and Gelta's to match. If you surrender today-or the day after tomorrow-Emmy's very likely to tie her tail in a knot."

"You'd better send an emissary out to meet the scar-faced hag, Dhakan," Andine suggested.

"We've never surrendered before, my Arya," Dhakan said. "Do you happen to know where I might be able to put my hands on a white flag?"

"You could lend him one of your petticoats, dear," Leitha suggested slyly. "That might add a personal touch to the whole affair."

"Very funny, Leitha," Andine said sarcastically. Then she turned to look at her Chamberlain "I forbid you to go out there, Dhakan," she told the elderly man quite firmly "That's not what we've got in mind, Andine," Althalus told her.

"Who's going to be our emissary then? It's got to be somebody who knows what's going on."

"I know," Althalus replied. "That's why I'm going to take care of it."

The Queen of Night was riding at the head of the column, and she reined in when Althalus and Eliar, accompanied by a platoon of Andine's soldiers, came out through the main gate under a white flag. Gelta barked a few orders, and her soldiers hastily erected a garishly colored pavilion for the incipient parlay. Althalus gave the illusory army at her back a rather cursory glance. From the walls of Osthos that vast army had looked quite substantial, but now that he was closer, Althalus noticed that it didn't move so much as an inch. It was as static as a picture. 'Ghend needs more practice,' he muttered silently to Eliar.

'I didn't quite follow that, Althalus,' the boy confessed.

'When you get a little closer to his illusion, it starts to fall apart. Some of those horses out there have all four feet off the ground, and the flags stick out from the lances they're attached to as if they were made of wood. It's a picture of an army, Eliar, and that's all. These two regiments around that striped tent are the entire extent of Gelta's army. Keep your hand close to the hilt of your Knife when we go into that tent, boy. Gelta's not entirely sane, so you might have to show her the Knife to bring her back to her senses.'

'I'll watch her,' Eliar replied.

They dismounted in front of the pavilion, and Althalus drew the white toga he'd borrowed from Lord Dhakan up over one shoulder and assumed a supercilious expression. "You, there-fellow," he said to one of Gelta's Generals in an arrogant voice, "take me to your leader, and be quick about it."

The General's eyes bulged indignantly, but he held his tongue. He stepped to the front of the striped tent and held the flap open. Althalus tossed a copper penny on the ground at the General's feet with a negligent gesture as he and Eliar entered the pavilion. "For your trouble, my man," he said in his best "down the nose" tone of voice.

"Aren't you pushing it just a little?" Eliar whispered in a choked voice.

"Just getting into character," Althalus murmured.