"But to be forced?"

"Can any of us be truly free?" His hand lifted before she could answer, a finger pointing towards the swaying branches. "Was that poor fool free? Did he have a choice? Or was he nothing more than the victim of circumstance? We shall never know. But some things we have learned and among them is the realization that not always can we dictate the path we must follow. Can your mount decide? Does it tug, at times, at the rein? Is it a coward because it obeys?"

"Then you advise me to marry Gydapen?" He smiled and made no answer and, irritated, she looked away towards the loom of the Iron Mountains. Charles would have given her an answer. He would have laughed and joked and made light of the whole thing and she would have been eased and free of the necessity of making a choice.

Was that why he hadn't come?

The animal snorted and pawed the dirt and, after she had soothed it, the old man had gone.

Glancing at the sky she decided against continuing the ride. The day was against it, better to stay at home and settle outstanding details or, better still, to go into town. There could be fresh news of the ship if nothing else. It was overdue -surely now it must arrive soon?

Roland came towards her as she dismounted. His face was anxious.

"Lavinia! Is anything wrong?"

"No. I decided against riding."

"I'm glad." His relief was obvious. "You ride too much alone."

"There is nothing to fear."

"Perhaps." He knew better than to remind her of past escapes. "But the day is against it."

As it was against everything. Shadowy figures stood in secluded corners, vanishing as if made of smoke when approached; old retainers of little interest to any other than their kindred. The place was full of them, men and women who had worked and served and died and were now nothing but vague memories.

Irritably Lavinia shook her head. A hot bath would help and it would follow her usual custom to wash away the grime of riding, but now it was a duty and not a pleasure. But, as she dried herself, welcome news came. "The ship? At last?"

"It landed a short while ago, my lady." The maid was pleased to deliver the information. "The agent reported your cargo among its load." Her reserve broke a little, familiarity verging on contempt for ancient traditions. "Will there be new gowns? New gems? French perfumes? My lady, if-"

"Enough!"

"My lady!" The girl's eyes lowered in respect, but she could not be blamed. New garments meant the old ones discarded and, for her, a chance to wear expensive finery. "My lady?"

It would be cruel to keep her in suspense. "I didn't order new gowns," said Lavinia mildly. "Instead there will be a variety of fabrics together with a host of patterns. We shall make our own gowns in the future, and in time, develop our own fashions."

A new industry, perhaps, and certainly a new interest, but if she had expected the girl to display pleasure at the news she was disappointed. Later Roland explained why.

"She hoped for gifts and you offered her work instead. Why should she be pleased?"

"Why not? I'm giving her the opportunity to create."

"To work," he insisted. "That is the way she regards it. She has no interest in sewing endless stitches or sealing endless seams. It may be a creative enterprise to you but to her, and those who will have to produce the finished product, it is work. You disappointed her. She wanted the result without the effort."

"Laziness!"

"No, Lavinia, a natural desire to obtain the greatest reward for the smallest effort. Some call it the basis of all invention."

"Perhaps." The subject was of no importance and less interest. "When did you think to collect our delivery?"

"Tomorrow." He glanced at the sky. "We could make it before dark but then would have to stay the night. Or we could visit Khaya Taiyuah and move on at dawn." He smiled at the quick, negative jerk of her head. "No?"

"I've no desire to be bored to death. Either Khaya talks about worms or he doesn't talk at all."

"He could have news."

"Of Gydapen? I doubt it. Suspicions, yes, but we have gone into that. The Council made its position clear."

And, at the same time, had shown her her own. A night she remembered as she did the helpless feeling of frustrated rage during which she had bitten her pillow until her teeth had ripped the fabric to shreds.

But Gydapen had since been strangely quiet. He hadn't called as she'd expected and as a persistent suitor would have done. There had been little news as to his activities. For a while she and the other members of the Council had remained tense and poised as if to ward off an expected blow. None had come and the tension had eased a little.

Alcorus, she knew, thought they had called Gydapen's bluff. Navolok that they had met and defeated his challenge. But neither could really conceive of the Pact ever being broken.

And, she thought, neither really could she.

It had been a fact too long. An integral part of the way of life on Zakym. As concrete as the twin suns which hung in the sky. As real as her flesh and blood and bone. They too were a part of this world.

Yet, they too could be broken.

As she, too, could die.

As that man she had seen swinging in the tree at Ellman's Rest. As Charles had died and Keturlan and so many others she had known. All passing on to wait on the far side of the barrier. To return during the periods of delusia. To talk. To warn. To advise.

But, in the end, it was the living who had to make the decisions.

"Tomorrow," she said. "We'll pick up the delivery tomorrow."

But Howich Suchong arrived as they were about to leave with news of odd rumors coming from Gydapen's estate.

Like Taiyuah he was old, like him suspicious, but he had no all-consuming interest in the breeding of new strains cultivating, instead, a wide circle of friendly informants.

"It's odd," he said when, seated in a cool chamber, wine and small cakes set before him, he finally mentioned what had worried him. "You know Gydapen's lands? The arid region to the west?"

"Scrub and sand and little else. Some beasts graze there and there are predators."

Suchong nodded, "But no villages, no arable land, no real reason why a hundred men should have been set to work building hutments."

"No," admitted Roland. "Hutments, you say?"

"Yes."

"A work camp, perhaps?" Lavinia glanced from one to the other. "Something to do with his proposed mining operations?"

"That is what worried me." Suchong took a cake, ate it, wiped crumbs from his lips and delicately sipped at his wine. "The area is beyond that granted by the Sungari. I'd hoped that Gydapen had thought better of his madness but the facts seem to be against it."

"Facts?" She shook her head. "What facts, Howich? Some men building a few shelters-what of it? They could be preparing for a hunt or for herdsmen to take up residence to guard the beasts. I think you worry too much."

"Perhaps." He sipped again at his wine. "But what of the other men who drill at the edge of the desert? And what of the cargo the ship brought here consigned to him?"

"I too have a delivery of goods."

"Most of us had something," he admitted. "But what use could Gydapen have for so much? Large crates and heavy-I saw them when I collected my goods yesterday."

Roland said, "Mining machinery?"

"It could be."

"But you have no proof," said Lavinia. "Only suspicions."

"That is so." Suchong set down his goblet. "But it occurred to me that Gydapen might have said something to you. Confided in you, perhaps?"

"And if he had?"

Suchong sat, his face impassive, an idol carved from weathered stone.

"He has said nothing." Her voice rose a little as he made no comment. "I haven't seen him since the meeting."

He didn't believe her, she knew it, and the knowledge warmed the anger she already felt at his assumption that she would act the spy.