It was late at night and Blade was returning to his suite from a banquet. His host had been an Admiral Mayarshet, one of Kloret's most reliable supporters. When he climbed into his chariot and drove off to the admiral's villa, Blade was ready to guard not only his tongue but his back.

Now he was coming home, ready to go to bed and digest what he had to admit was a memorable meal. It started off with three or four kinds of shellfish, raw, baked, or fried with bacon. It went on to a soup thick with plump grains of rice and bits of dark strong meat, then roast lamb, chicken baked in clay, an immense stew of goat meat and vegetables and another of a dozen kinds of fish. In the end he'd eaten enough to make the thought of any more food positively repulsive. Fine meals were part of even the poorest Goharans' hospitality, and Blade was moving among the richest and most generous in the Empire.

He pulled off his cloak, made of the water-repellent feathers of a sea bird, and gave it to a servant. He moved on down the hall toward his bedroom. By now he was sufficiently used to the servants kneeling as he passed to ignore them.

The last servants knelt as Blade passed into his bedroom and locked the door behind him. Fortunately the Goharans had good locks, and were willing to install one on his bedroom door when he asked for it. He said he needed to ensure privacy for his meditations. Upper-class Goharans weren't particularly religious. They'd have laughed out loud at Blade's calling himself a messenger from the gods. However, they knew that some people took the gods more seriously. If the English were such a people, Blade's request was reasonable.

The lock didn't completely guarantee Blade's safety, since there was a balcony outside the bedroom, and beside it a stout vine rising up the palace wall from the ground. Only a very light and agile person could climb the vine, however, and the palace guards would almost certainly spot anyone trying it.

A thunderstorm was moving in as Blade got ready for sleep. He'd washed and was turning toward the low bed when a sudden blaze of lightning flooded the room with its glare. Against the light, he saw the silhouette of a human figure climbing over the balcony railing.

Blade covered the rest of the distance to the bed in a single leap. He snatched his sword off the night table by the bed and with the other hand picked up one of the pillows. In another leap he was across the bed, and in a third he was at the balcony door.

As he stepped out onto the balcony, a clap of thunder exploded overhead. It sounded as if the sky itself was splitting apart and falling down on Gohar to crush it to powder. Whoever was on the balcony apparently felt the storm's power as well. In the rumbles and crashes after the first clap Blade heard someone moaning in fear but desperately trying to hide it.

Blade scanned the balcony, but in the darkness even his superb night vision couldn't find anything at first. Then he saw that one of the huge marble urns at the far end of the balcony was a little wider than it should have been. There was no time to lose and no room for maneuvering, so Blade simply charged, sword in hand. As he reached the urn, a vaguely human shape sprang up from beside it. Blade struck with the back of the sword and with the other hand clutched at where the head ought to be. A gasp of pain turned into a stifled scream as his fingers closed in long hair and pulled the intruder toward him. Then he was lifting the slim form, light enough to tuck under one arm while he held the other hand over its mouth. He kicked the door open, plunged through, and tossed the visitor face down on the bed.

Then another flash of lightning showed that his visitor was Kloret's daughter Fierssa.

She was wearing a man's trousers and tunic, and seemed to have no weapons on her anywhere. Blade felt safe in leaving her to retrieve his sword and close the balcony doors. As he came back he saw her shoulders begin to shake in silent weeping.

He sat down on the bed beside her and stroked her hair with one hand. «Fierssa, I don't think you've done anything wrong. But I'm going to have to ask why you're here. Did your father send you?»

Fierssa started and looked up at Blade. In spite of the tears still running down her cheeks, she giggled, then began to laugh. A moment later she was laughing so hard that Blade was afraid the servants would hear. He pulled her across his lap, held her tightly with one arm, and clamped the other hand over her mouth again.

Slowly Fierssa giggled and gasped herself into silence. Then she sat up, wiped her face on a corner of the sheet, and said, «Blade, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so weak. But I'm frightened of thunderstorms. That's why I came tonight. Then when you asked me about my father…» She clenched her fists and bit her lips, and after a moment could speak again.

«My father would kill me if he knew why I was here,» she said. «And not quickly, either.»

«For having an affair with me?»

«No, for treason. I've come to ask your help for the rebels of Mythor.»

Blade's voice was low and quite expressionless. «Fierssa, I think you'd better tell me more. Much more. Otherwise I may tell your father that you came here, if not why.»

This started Fierssa crying again, and Blade held her until she calmed down as much as she could under the circumstances. Blade had the distinct feeling that Fierssa might be rather high-strung to be a successful conspirator.

She also felt very comfortable in his arms. Her warmth was pleasant, since it was an unusually cool night for this time of year in Gohar, Instead of perfume, she exhaled the agreeable smell of a clean, healthy young woman.

When she was able to talk, she needed only a little prompting from Blade to tell the story of the Friends of Mythor and what they wanted from Blade.

There was indeed a rebel movement in Mythor. It was not hostile to Goharans in general, only to Gohar's rule over its daughter city. They felt Mythor paid too much in taxes and didn't receive enough protection. The merchants of Mythor received fewer privileges, and the Emperor's judges almost always decided in favor of Goharans. And so on and so forth. Gohar simply hadn't recognized that its daughter city was developing pride, self-confidence, and the ability to stand on its own.

«The rebels don't want a war against Gohar unless it's forced upon them. They'd much rather have Mythor declare its independence, then make a treaty of alliance with Gohar as a friend and equal.»

Fierssa couldn't say how this miracle was going to happen. She also couldn't say exactly what the Friends of Mythor in Gohar were planning on doing to help matters along. After a while Blade realized she couldn't say because she didn't know, and neither apparently did most of the other Friends of Mythor. Many of them were the children of court nobles, officers of the army and fleet, or wealthy merchants. They might very well be sincere in their friendship for Mythor and their belief that the rebellion could be peaceful. They also seemed hopelessly naive about everything else, including the dangers they were facing.

Blade realized that the Friends of Mythor weren't the sort of people he'd care to join in organizing a picnic, let alone a revolution. That thought also reminded him that Fierssa hadn't said exactly what the Friends wanted from him. He doubted it was simply that he take back word of their good intentions to his fellow Historians in England.

He asked her bluntly, and she was quiet so long he thought perhaps she didn't have an answer ready. Then she said slowly: «It depends on how much danger you're willing to run to make Mythor free.»

«In case you haven't noticed, I'm rather a well-known man in Gohar. Sneaking off to Mythor is out of the question. Also, I can't really help the rebels. I don't know whether Mythor succeeds in its rebellion or not.»