Once they reached their tent, Rogala produced pen and ink. "Let's review. We've walked into a complicated setup. Let's see who's who here." He scribbled quickly, producing a list with four columns. "The four major factions I detected," he explained. "One revolves around Kimach Faulstich, our gracious host." His voice dripped sarcasm. He did not think much of the hospitality extended them.

"Yeah," Gathrid agreed. "This is his council, really. Half the assembly were his relatives. Bathon of Bochan-tin. Forsten of Tornatore. Doslak of Fiefenbruch. Danzer of Arana. All cadets of the House of Faulstich. Forsten and Danzer have Scanga wives, though, and they say Danzer is ruled by his."

"Scanga heads my second faction. Him and the guy who shot off his mouth about the witch."

"Tetrault. Arnd Tetrault. He has a reputation as a hothead and troublemaker. Kargus has only been King for a couple of years. He's been trying to break the old cycle of constant skirmishing over rich cities and counties. Tetrault has been more harm than help."

Rogala silenced him. "I don't need to know all that. Two more. The Empire and the Brotherhood. The Blue faction of the Brotherhood sides with the Emperor. Part sides with Mulenex. Part looked like it didn't want anything to do with anybody."

"The spokesman for the Blues was Bogdan Elle-bracht. He's related to Emperor Elgar, and he's tight with Misplaer and Eldracher. I can't tell you much about the Yellow, Green or White Orders, except that they claim to be what the Brotherhood was really all about when it was founded."

"Son, you're proving a favorite point of mine."

"What's that?"

"That everybody knows more about everything than they think they know. I have a pretty good picture of the lineups now. Motives... . They're still a little shadowy. The trouble with trying to map them is, most people don't really know what they want themselves."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. Even when you think you know why you're doing something, is that always the real reason? Is that the reason you admit? No. Not very often. Here. What about the old man? The Imperial soldier. I have a feeling the Empire is going to become very important before we're done."

"I didn't hear anybody say who he is. He's not the Emperor, though. Elgar is supposed to be so fat he can't get out of the palace."

"Make a guess."

Gathrid drew a blank. He could not recall Plauen having talked much about the modern Empire, except to label it a weakling, lost in fantasies of its past, battling for life in a hostile age, constantly stalked by hostile intrigues.

"The ones to watch are him and Mulenex," the dwarf mused. "Mulenex is ambitious, but only in a small-minded, predictable way. Dangerous only if you don't keep one eye on your back. The other, though ... I couldn't read him at all."

Rogala's head jerked up. "What's that?" His ears almost wriggled. He whispered, "Get the Sword."

"What is it?"

Rogala tapped his ear.

Then Gathrid heard the stealthy feet, too. The tent was surrounded. Men were closing in.

Someone cut a rope. The tent began to topple. Gathrid swept Daubendiek round in wild strokes that ripped fabric away, negating the trap. He attacked out of the ruin. Two lives fed the Great Sword.

Other attackers fled.

"Short and sweet," Rogala said. "That's the way I like it. You're learning, boy. Got any idea who sent them?"

"In broad daylight." The sun stood directly overhead. "No. They didn't know. What should I do?

Where are you?" Rogala had disappeared. The youth saw flickers of hairiness between tents as the dwarf dogged the fleeing assassins.

Ignoring bystanders, Gathrid dragged the bodies together, then attacked the apparently vain task of restoring the tent. He kept a wary eye out for would-be plunderers. He wanted to examine those corpses before anyone else touched them.

I'm starting to think like Theis, he thought. Always suspicious.

The jangle of panoplies approached. He turned toward the sound. And smiled puzzledly. The Emperor's man had come visiting.

He would have expected Mulenex first.

The crowd evaporated. Gathrid turned to the bodies. He doubted they would tell him anything, but a search had to be made.

His doubts were well-founded. Each man carried gold minted in Bilgoraj, but that told him only that they had been paid exceedingly well, not who their paymaster was. Only a fool would have paid them in self-damning coin.

"Trouble, son?" the Imperial officer asked.

Gathrid glanced up, looked around. Imperial soldiers surrounded him, facing outward. Protecting him? Or? ... "Only for these two." He was becoming accustomed to his role. "Rogues from Torun, disguised as soldiers."

"What happened?"

Gathrid sketched the story.

"So. It's begun. They're after the blade already. Rather sudden, eh?"

"They were here on retainer," Gathrid said, retrieving snatches of their memories. "They expected to be used in an assassination attempt, but not this one. As to what they expected to accomplish with me ... I don't know." They had not known that themselves. Their leader may have, but he was one of those who had gotten away. "Could it be they were sent to get Rogala out of the way so somebody could talk to me alone?" He locked gazes with the old soldier, could not tell if he had hit the mark. The man had a face of stone.

He did not believe his suggestion. His had been a random bolt loosed to see what might flush from the brush.

"I know whom you represent," Gathrid said. "But your identity has escaped me so far."

"Yedon Hildreth. Count Cuneo. Commander of the Guards Oldani and Chief of the Imperial General Staff."

"Ah. I should have guessed, shouldn't I? The former mercenary. Battle of Avenevoli, and so forth.

You're a Count now? You've done well for yourself. Yes, I should have guessed." Yedon Hildreth was the most widely known Imperial soldier, and a man with a hard reputation. Gathrid was astonished by his own temerity. The Sword was making him bold. "Yes. Who else would the Emperor have sent?"

"The Imperium rewards those who serve it with trust." Hildreth showed the same humor as during Mulenex's discomfiture. Gathrid had an unpleasant suspicion the man was divining his thoughts.

Hildreth's reputation made him appear capable of the maneuver Gathrid had suggested. But he would not fling assassins into the breeze, the way Gerdes Mulenex might. He would be careful and cunning. He would do nothing that could be laid at the Emperor's door. He was said to be Elgar's, heart and soul, and a devout advocate of Imperial resurrection. He was believed by many to be Elgar's chosen successor.

The Imperial crown did not pass down patrilineally. Since time immemorial Emperors had chosen their successors from among their most able subjects, usually with the consensus of the people of Sartain. When the latter did not accept the choice, the Imperial capital would rock with civil strife till some strongman elected himself and squelched the rioting.

"Now we know who I am," Hildreth said. He chuckled as if at a weak joke. "So tell me, who are you?

What are you?"

"Sir?"

"Look at the situation from another viewpoint, son. You came out of a land under Ventimiglian dominion. You bear a blade that should have stayed buried. We don't have the slightest guarantee that you're not an agent of Ahlert. That little show at the border could have been staged."

"But... ." On second reflection, Gathrid saw Hildreth's point. They did have nothing but his word. His and Rogala's, and for ages Rogala's had been worth nothing.

Hildreth continued, "I accept you at face value, proof or no. But does that make any difference?

Not really. Your show in council only betrayed your essential ignorance of what's really going on west of Gudermuth. Obviously, you see politics only at its most primitive level. You dared chastize Kings and mock princes of the Brotherhood without knowing what you were talking about.