"It seems," said Elana, standing on the quay with Turran and Nepanthe, "that somewhere in the house of the gods, probably in the Jakes, there's a little pervert who gets his pleasure making me miserable."

Turran chuckled. "Know what? I'll bet the head man over there's been thinking the same thing." He indicated tents crowning a hill overlooking the estate.

Later, a messenger brought the news that Bragi had crossed the Porthune.

"The renegades," said Turran, "might try their luck when they find out. I'd better get something ready."

That night he and the men laid an ambush at the edge of the estate. Elana, with Dahl Haas under her wing, went to observe.

Sure enough, near midnight, men came sneaking through the brush. Turran sprang his trap. The surprise was complete. In minutes a dozen had been slaughtered and the rest sent whooping up the hillside.

Dahl, half-wild, used his dagger to finish a casualty who came staggering toward Elana, then, realizing what he had done, heaved his supper and began crying. Elana was trying to calm him when his father appeared. "What happened?" Uthe asked. Elana explained.

Uthe put his arm around his son. "You did well," he said. "It's always hardest the first time. Lot of men do their conscience-racking first, get themselves killed hesitating."

Dahl nodded, but reassurances did little good. The experience was too intensely personal.

Captain Norwine got his rigging repaired and a patch on his hull. He was willing to risk the trip. Elana put it to a vote. It went in favor.

Dingolfing put out and beat round Cape Blood, sailed south past the Silverbind Estuary, Portsmouth, and the Octylyan Protectorate without mishap. Norwine hugged the coast like a babe his mother. He was prepared to go aground if trouble developed. They weathered a minor storm off the Porthune, spending two nervous days at the pumps and buckets, but came through with no damage other than to landlubbers' stomachs.

"Sail ho!" a lookout cried just north of Sacuescu. Norwine put his helm over and ran for shallow water. Turran and the shipboard Marines prepared for a fight. But the vessel proved to be the Rifkin, out of Portsmouth. The fat caravel dipped her merchant's colors to Dingolfing's naval ensign.

Norwine kept everyone at stations once they passed Sacuescu. They were near the Red Isles where, despite regular patrols by the Itaskian Navy, pirates lurked. But their luck held. They made the fishing port of Tineo, midway between Sacuescu and Dunno Scuttari, without incident.

From Tineo it was a twelve-mile walk to the Minister's villa, which occupied a headland with a spectacular view of the sea. The staff expected them. They seemed accustomed to hiding friends of the Minister.

The Auszura Littoral was all Turran had promised, and utterly peaceful. So peaceful that, after a few months, it began to grate. There was nothing to do but wait for rumors from Kavelin, which were unreliable by the time they filtered through to Tineo.

Rolf began wandering, sometimes accompanied by Uthe, to Sacuescu and Dunno Scuttari. Elana didn't weather his absences well. He was her last touchstone, almost her conscience. His absences grew more frequent and extended. She found herself thrown more and more into the company of Nepanthe, Turran, and Valther.

Nepanthe, after Rolf, had been her best friend for years, but her constant company was wearing. Nepanthe was a worrier.

Turran remained a perfect gentleman, ever attentive and willing to entertain. She began to fear what might happen. She tried to stay near Gerda, whose basilisk eye could still the passion of a cat in heat.

Then Rolf and Uthe disappeared. She thought it another of their jaunts till she discovered their weapons missing.

"Gerda, where've they gone?" she demanded. Like certain gods, the woman saw the sparrows fall.

"Where do you think? Kavelin, of course. With help for himself. Who'll be coming home someday, I'll remind you, and be expecting everything as he left it."

Why couldn't Rolf stay put? Was he sublimating his love? Or just searching for the spear with his name?

Autumn leaves were falling on the Littoral. Would it be getting on winter in Kavelin?

The night Rolf left she sat up late with the Tear of Mimizan. Troubled, she used the thing more as a focus for her attention than as a means of checking Bragi's well-being.

The jewel suddenly seized her attention. The light within was strong and growing stronger. Bragi was in trouble.

The light flashed suddenly, so brightly she was momentarily blinded. At the same instant there was a scream from another room.

"The children!" she gasped. She rushed toward the sound. It went on and on. Behind her, the ruby painted her bedroom shades of blood.

The screamer was Valther.

"She's here!" the man kept saying. "She's here. She's loosed her magic..."

"Who?" Nepanthe asked repeatedly.

"Must be Mist," Turran guessed. "Nothing else could've done this."

"But why?"

"Who knows the ways of Shinsan?"

"The jewel," Elana interjected. "Before he screamed, it flashed so bright it almost blinded me."

Nepanthe's eyes met hers. Neither woman voiced her fear.

"She's in Kavelin, then," said Turran. He remained thoughtful while. Nepanthe and Elana calmed Valther, who began asking, "What happened?" and "Where am I?"

"It grows too complex," Turran mused aloud. "A three-sided war... Nepanthe, get a couple of horses ready. And weapons. I'll look after Valther."

"But..."

"Looks like we're getting a second chance. Elana, the

Tear is the most valuable thing in the west right now. Guard it well. If Kavelin goes, get it to Varthlokkur."

Things went so fast Elana had no time to protest. Before she exploded in frustration, the brothers had gone. Valther remained puzzled, but seemed determined to rectify his treason.

She and Nepanthe stood on a balcony and watched them ride toward the coast road. Turran hoped to overtake Rolf and Uthe.

A stir in the gardens caught her eye. She said nothing to Nepanthe, merely peered intently till she could make out a small old man nodding to himself. He had spoken to Bragi at the landgrant. Quick as a bolting rabbit, he scooted out a small side gate.

A moment later she gasped. The old man, astride a winged horse, rose toward the moon and sped eastward.

i) From the jaws of despair

Ragnarson collapsed onto a rock. He could scarcely remain awake. The Nordmen gave up their weapons meekly, though puzzledly. They couldn't believe that they had been beaten by lesser men.

For Bragi, too, it seemed a dream. It had taken two man-breaking weeks, but he had slipped out of the destroying vise.

He had fled Maisak certain he would never escape the Gap. Enemies had lain before and behind him, and there had been no way to turn aside.

He had outrun the Captal, almost flying into the arms of the eastern barons, who were pursuing Sir Andvbur Kimberlin, then had made a way to the side, out of the inescapable trap of a box canyon. At least, his enemies had thought it inescapable.

While they had taken the measure of one another and he had goaded them into fighting, his men had cut stairs up the canyon wall. Abandoning everything but weapons, they had climbed out one by one. Meanwhile, with a few Trolledyngjans and Itaskians, Ragnarson had harassed the Captal's surviving Shinsaners so they wouldn't get the best of the barons.

The desultory, constricted, unimaginative combat between pretenders had taken four days to resolve itself. The barons had had numbers, the Captal sorcery and men fanatically devoted to his child-pretender.