Suldun lifted an eyebrow-and then took a pace away from the guards, back down the steps. Spears swung around to menace him, so he descended below the guards' reach, and took a horn from his belt.

Its call brought a dozen warriors racing down the steps, swords drawn. The shieldsar who led them glared at the guardcaptain. "What're you doing with a royal horn?" he snapped.

The grim officer waved at the bedraggled and helmless figure down the steps. "Nothing, for I have none. He sounded it."

The shieldsar's head swung around. "And who are you, brig-oh. My pardon, Greatsarn. Come up! Our orders are to take you straight to the King at any hour!"

Suldun bowed his head and mounted the steps past the guardcaptain's frozen face, gently pushing aside spearpoints to do so.

He was very weary, but the shieldsar's guards practically swept him up in their enthusiasm and haste, rushing him through guarded doors, along back passages, and through more guarded doors, until they arrived quite suddenly at an unmarked door guarded by warriors in glittering plate armor, and stopped.

The shieldsar and the officer commanding this doorguard bowed solemnly to each other, and the shieldsar and his men withdrew. The gleaming officer regarded Suldun expressionlessly for a moment, then opened the latch of the door and waved the bedraggled knight through.

The small, narrow room inside had no other doors and rather sparse furnishings, but was afire with the first rays of sunset spilling their gold through two tall, narrow windows onto a manyshields board on the table between King Castlecloaks and the bard Flaeros Delcamper.

As the door closed behind Greatsarn, both looked up, and Raulin smiled, hooked a third chair out from under the table with his boot, and said heartily, "Sit down, Suldun. Your look at the Vale appears to have been less than leisurely. Tell us!"

Greatsarn waved warningly at the bard and the five glittering-armored guards ranged around the walls of the room, but the king just grinned, propped his elbows among the miniature forest of carved, spired manyshields pieces, and commanded, "Speak freely."

Suldun sighed, and said, "Your Majesty, I know of no soft way to say this: Widespread violence, death, and unrest now rule the kingdom."

There was a sudden stillness in the room, but King Castlecloaks merely nodded and gestured for more, so Greatsarn unhappily added, "The Blood Plague seems everywhere, even in Sirlptar-and so are the Serpent-priests, preaching that they can end the plague if the people support them… support them, that is, in slaying you and all your nobles and courtiers. They gather armies, promising immunity from the Malady to all who fight under their banner, and prepare to march on Flowfoam."

"Again," Flaeros sighed. "And who've we left to defend it this time?"

A guard coughed. The bard and the king looked up at the sound, in time to see that guard give them a menacing smile-and drive the point of his sword through the throat of another guard.

That startled victim toppled to the floor, gurgling, and all of the other glittering-armored guards grew smiles, drew steel, and advanced on the three aghast men around the manyshields table.

The guard commander looked at his king over the glittering point of his drawn sword and said almost gently, "Not us, kingless-and soon to be lifeless-fools. We serve the Serpent."

The dawn mists were racing across the fields like hurrying ghosts when the Overdukes of Aglirta rode into Glarondar.

Folk gave them fearful or sidelong glances as their exhausted horses plodded between outlying inns and cottages along what had become a good wagon road some hours back. A stone gate announced the formal edge of the town, and a confused, sleepy crowd of armed men were milling about in its arch.

"Smiles of the Three," Embra murmured, "someone's armed the farmers and shopkeepers. Craer, guard your tongue!"

Hayforks and scythes waved in hands obviously unused to wielding them. Men in smocks and homespun crowded fearfully together with hireswords in motley armor whom most barons would have termed "brigands" at a glance-and all of them shrank before the curt orders of officious men wearing… Serpent-robes!

"Embra," Craer muttered, "I don't think riding right into this waiting wall of Glarondans is a wise-"

A priest shouted an order and pointed at the overdukes. There was a general roar-and a thrum of bowstrings. Blackgult flung out his shield in front of Embra's horse, which promptly reared-as a handful of shafts banged against armor and shields and glanced away.

"Good," Craer said, wheeling his mount, "they're terrible archers. Let's get out of here before-"

Blackgult erupted in a roar and spurred his mount forward, flinging away his shield to stand tall in his stirrups and swing his sword with both hands in great wild slashes of the air.

"Gods, he's gone witless!" the procurer yelped-in the instant before he fell silent in horror and gaped at Tshamarra.

The Lady Talasorn was also upright in her saddle. Unlike Blackgult, she was arched over backwards, and an arrow stood out of her breast-or rather, a serpent as rigid as an arrow. As Embra and Hawkril both snapped curses, she reeled and fell back over the high cantel at the rear of her saddle. Craer screamed and spurred toward her.

Embra got there first. Hooking an arm around Tshamarra to keep her from falling off her horse, she lifted her Dwaer and blasted the serpent-arrow to smoke. The frantic procurer saw its head vanish down to tumbling fangs, which fell from Tshamarra's breast as he reached for her.

"Hawk! Get my father!" the Lady Silvertree shouted, eyes like flames-and something roared out of the Stone that swept the town gate clear of men, Serpent-robed or otherwise. They were flung against nearby buildings moments before the raving Golden Griffon would have ridden straight into their leveled forks and spears, and the brief, wet chorus of their thudding landings was thunderous and sickening.

Ezendor Blackgult crowed in triumph and flourished his blade, while Hawkril rode hard at him from behind. There was a wet gash on the Golden Griffon's face, purple-edged around his welling blood… Graul, a serpent-arrow must have sliced into him!

Embra mastered her anger long enough to spray lightnings at bows and faces she could see behind them, on balconies of the tall houses of Glarondar just inside the gate, and then turned her attention to Tshamarra and the gabbling Craer.

The Lady Talasorn's face was purple, and there was froth in her mouth. Craer screamed something wild and wordless at Embra, and she snapped, "Keep her in her saddle and keep her breathing-don't let her choke on that, but don't let her bite you! Get going back the way we came!"

Embra almost tossed Tshamarra to the procurer, who made a startled, strangled sound as his stricken lady ended up draped over his head, and turned her attention back to Hawkril and her father.

The armaragor had just clapped a hand onto Blackgult's elbow and spun him around, which brought his sword slicing over Hawkril's head. Hawkril caught hold of it and punched Blackgult hard in his armored gut, forcing the older man to let go his blade and try to be sick, all down the armorplates he was beginning to shed.

The Griffon snarled, or tried to, as Hawkril wresded their mounts around in a wide turn and got them headed back toward Embra. Blackgult went on roaring and ineffectually beating Hawkril's arm with his fists, but the armaragor caught hold of the baldric-strap that crossed Blackgult's breast under now-missing armorplates, and hauled him onward by main strength.

Embra frowned, reached out with the Dwaer, and put her father to sleep.

He slumped onto Hawkril's arm, and as the two armored men galloped on, the armaragor looked up at Embra to reassure himself that she was the cause of Blackgult's collapse. "What now, Em?"