"He has a point," Leafton said. "We've archers in the light cavalry, but they and the Sefry generally dismount to fire. We could use archers experienced at actually shooting from horseback."

Artwair nodded and sent a probing look at Anne.

"Yes, come along with us, Cape Chavel," she said. "It ought to be fun."

Preparations went quickly, and before midday they were riding. Anne was surrounded by her twelve Mamres-gifted Craftsmen and her Sefry guard in their broad-brimmed hats and scarves. Ahead of her was the vanguard, Kenwulf's heavy horse, fifty knights, each with twenty handpicked riders. The light horse and Sefry rode on the right wing, and the earl's men on her left.

Two bells later they were trotting down the hills. Anne had a brief view of the camp, and her scalp started to tingle. Had they been noticed yet? The ground must be starting to tremble from so many hooves.

They breasted a wide ridge, and there was nothing but a few hundred kingsyards between them and the enemy.

The Hansans were boiling like ants whose hill had just been kicked, trying to make formations, but as of yet she didn't see a single pike hedge, although a rickety-looking shield wall was forming.

"Give the order to charge," she told Leafton.

He nodded, lifted his cornet, and sounded it. The heavy horse in front of her formed a line five deep and two hundred wide, massed together so closely that an apple thrown among them wouldn't find its way to the ground. They began the advance slowly but soon began to gather speed.

The air was already thick with the arrows of her men, and she felt a savage joy as they swept down from the ridge, her guard forming a wall around her.

Joy mingled with the now familiar sick rage of Cer as she reached out toward the Hansans, feeling the wet insides of them. As if with her hands, she softly squeezed.

And as the heavy horse shocked into them, she heard the vast sob of their despair. Some who had lifted their pikes dropped them.

The vanguard tore through the half-formed Hansan lines, and the light horse spread to encircle them. But to her chagrin, the knights around her were drawing to a halt.

"What's this?" she said.

"We're to keep you safe, Majesty," Leafton said. "The duke's orders. No need for you to be down in there where a stray arrow or lance might find you."

"Artwair is my general," she replied. "His orders weigh less than mine. Resume the charge, or by the saints, I'll go down without you."

"Majesty-"

"Your only possible response, Captain Leafton, is 'Yes, Majesty.'"

"Yes, Majesty," he sighed. Then, in a louder voice: "Resume charge."

They struck what remained of the right flank, but there was little resistance to speak of. In moments the army of Hansa broke and ran, with her knights cutting them down from behind. Anne saw that some of their cavalry had managed to form up and were trying to help cover their fleeing comrades, without much success.

And so she found herself in the center of the camp, the dead and dying spread around her. She felt something swelling inside her, a terrible glee, and realized the woman was there, alive in the power that Anne was funneling through her.

You see? You see what real strength is? And this is only the beginning.

"Good," Anne said, exhilarated.

"Something's wrong," Leafton said.

"How so?"

"This doesn't look like five thousand men, not even half of that."

Wait… The arilac sounded suddenly uncertain, something Anne never had sensed from her before.

"What is it?"

The Hellrune! The Hellrune saw this, too! He's a step ahead of you! Anne, flee!

Anne turned to Leafton, but he already had an arrow in his eye, and shafts were falling about them like rain from the north. She knew a sharp rush of pain as one cut along her arm, and then there were shields all around her.

"Someone sound the retreat," she screamed. "We've been tricked. We've got to get back to the infantry."

A moment later the cornet shrilled. Her own guard was already in motion, charging back up the way they had come, but there were horsemen there, charging right down at them. It looked like double their number.

SINISTER BLACK WALLS beneath dark skies surrounded by leagues of desert rubble: That was what Neil expected of Kaithbaurg. That certainly was how it was in the stories his old neiny Eley had told him when he was a little bern. Kaithbaurg, the city of black towers where evil dwelt.

But the road took them through pleasant fields, woodlands, and bustling little market towns. In the nineday it took to reach the heart of Hansa, they camped only once, resting instead in comfortable inns or castles. His Hanzish sharpened until he almost didn't have to concentrate at all to speak or understand it, even though the country dialects were much softer and less clipped than the coastal vernacular he had learned.

Still, until the road crested a ridge and he actually saw Kaithbaurg, the image of brutal black walls with merlons like shark's teeth was still in his mind.

Well, there were walls and towers, but that was about as close as his old neiny had come to the truth.

He realized they had drawn to a stop.

"You can see it best from here," Berimund said. "It's my favorite view."

"I can see why," the queen mother said. "One can really see most of it, it seems."

It was true. Whereas Eslen was built on a rather dramatic hill, the loftiest point of Kaithbaurg wasn't terribly higher than the lowest, which was the Donau River. The watercourse cut the city into two roughly semicircular parts: a smaller one on their side of the river and a much larger one on the northern side. Three great spans connected them.

Both parts of the city were surrounded by double walls of grayish-white stone. The outer wall was low and towerless. Just inside of it was a broad canal and then an embanked inner wall that looked about six or seven kingsyards high. The inner walls were guarded by a number of elegant, efficient-looking drum towers.

Towers bristled everywhere, in fact: delicate clock belfries with steepled roofs of black slate or green copper, massive cylindrical bastions wherever the walls met the river, sky-reaching gatehouse spires on the bridges.

More surprising was that although houses of all sorts were packed within the walls, Neil also could make out a good bit of green, as if there were fields in there.

The northern side of the city sloped gently up to another wall of darker-looking stone that encircled the hilltop, and the roof of some sort of keep or palace built of white stone could be partly seen.

"That's the castle?" Neil asked, pointing to the last feature.

Berimund smiled. "A warrior's question, eh? That's the palace, yes. Everything inside of those older walls is Hauhhaim; that was the first city, here before everything else. Come down toward the river, and that's Nithirhaim. The part nearest us, with all the green, is Gildgards. The west side of town-you can't see it well from here-that's Niujaim. On our side of the river, that's Suthstath."

"You like your city," Alis commented.

Berimund nodded. "It's the most wonderful city in the world. I'm eager to show it to Her Majesty."

"Let's hope your father allows that, then," Muriele responded.

"You'll see a bit on the way to the palace," Berimund said.

Neil thought he was sidestepping the queen's implied question, which wasn't a good sign.

They entered through the Suthstath gate and found themselves in a busy market square with a fountain pool in the center and a statue, which by his winged shoes and staff Neil took to be Saint Turm. Across the square stood a massive temple with double clock towers.