"They could be to keep us from rescuing you, if she takes you prisoner," Melody said.

"True. But it doesn't feel like anything to worry about."

"You're going to go regardless of what we think," Melody said. "Are you going to take a bodyguard? Besides the escort who'll ride down there with you? Someone who'll be beside you during the meeting?"

Macurdy grinned at her. "Who have you got in mind?"

She grinned back ruefully. "Me."

"If I was going to take someone, it would be you." And let them think maybe I have a new love. Let them feel they have to offer more. But if something does go wrong…

"But you're not taking anyone."

"Right."

"What about Wollerda?" Jeremid asked.

"That's the next big question." Macurdy plucked a sheet of paper from a small stack, then reached for his inkwell. "I want you to write a message to him, for me to sign."

Blue Wing carried the message and brought back Wollerda's answer: Macurdy could meet with Sarkia but make no final commitment. If he failed to return, Wollerda would accept Jeremid as Macurdy's successor. If Macurdy's Force elected someone other than Jeremid as their new commander, Wollerda was not committed to work with him, although he'd consider it.

Usually Macurdy slept well, and the night before leaving was no exception. The officer of the guard wakened him at the first light of dawn, and he got up feeling exhilarated. He and his escort of ten men were in the saddle and on their way before sunup. Despite the unknowns, Macurdy's sense of strength and confidence grew as he rode. He wasn't euphoric or ecstatic, just alert and confident, sure of himself. This would work out.

The state persisted through the morning.

Near midday, in the distance, he could see the inn at the crossroads. He'd assumed that Sarkia intended to sit down with him there, but almost as soon as he made out the inn, he saw what looked to be a tent, a large pavilion erected on the other side of the North Fork Road. Shortly a dozen men were riding northward toward him at a brisk trot, and after closing the distance somewhat, he halted his escort to wait. The reception party stopped a hundred feet away, sitting its horses in precise ranks. Two of its members rode the rest of the way at a sedate walk. Macurdy had no doubt that they were Sarkia's rather than Gurtho's. Mounted on beautifully matched black horses, they wore black uniforms with polished cuirasses and helmets that, from where he sat, looked to be silver. The two who came to meet him wore clusters of long scarlet ribbons from their helmet peaks.

"You are Commander Macurdy?" one of them asked. He showed no hauteur, despite the rebels' rough clothes and casual ranks, nor did his aura show anything like scorn.

"That's right."

"If you are prepared to meet now with the Dynast, I am instructed to conduct you to her. A meal is being prepared for her and yourself. Your men will eat with us if you wish, or they can eat apart."

"Where do I meet her? In the tent?"

"In the pavilion. Correct."

"My men will eat at the inn. I'm ready to meet the Dynast, the sooner the better."

The guard officer nodded. "Follow me, please." Macurdy turned, called an order, and his men fell in behind the guardsmen while their commander rode beside his guide.

The pavilion, as he neared it, impressed him. Its vivid red, white, and gold roof and wall panels were brighter than he'd have thought possible. (He'd heard that among other things, the Sisterhood made expensive dyes.) Segments of the walls had been rolled up for ventilation. As he drew even with the inn, Macurdy gave another order and his men turned off, riding to the stable beside it. His air of confidence was so strong, so clean, that none of them faltered in leaving their shaman/commander unguarded. He turned the other way and followed his guide to the pavilion, where he dismounted, handing over his horse to a guardsman-orderly.

At the entrance, the leader of his escort reported to a Sister that this was Commander Macurdy. The woman disappeared inside, and two minutes later another came to meet him. For just a moment he thought she was Idri, whom he'd seen but once. But neither aura nor eyes fitted what he knew of her. An Idri look-alike, he realized, as Liiset looked like Varia.

"Commander Macurdy," she said, "the Dynast will see you now."

"Will she? I'm here at her invitation, and I've had a long ride. I need something to drink first, and take a crap."

The woman's aura hardly reacted to his deliberate crudity. "Drink and lunch are both served in the Dynast's room," she answered. "Oran will show you to the guards' latrine."

Macurdy didn't really need to go. He'd been establishing his independence. Following Oran into the latrine, he released the little water he'd accumulated. There were washbasins on a trestle table, bars of white soap, and pitchers of water. On a fresh bar, the name "IVORY" was stamped. From Farside then, probably brought from Ferny Cove.

When Oran returned him to the entrance, the woman still waited. "I don't know your name," he said.

"I am Lariin," she answered.

"Lariin. Right. I'm ready."

He went inside with her, feeling primed but at ease, and found himself in a corridor walled with golden yellow cloth. Its ceiling was much lower than the roof, to help keep the pavilion from overheating in the sun, he supposed. At the corridor's end he found the Dynast in what he decided was a reception room, rather than her living quarters. Its furnishings seemed too fine for even such a tent as this: a handsome table, waxed and burnished, with inlaid squares of some pale wood, paler than white oak, alternating with what he recognized as black walnut: a mosaic of old ivory and rich dark brown. There were matched, upholstered chairs as well, and a small buffet. The room was open to the west, the direction of the breeze.

Three women got to their feet as he entered. Liiset. And Idri; that was a surprise. And what could only be the Dynast herself, looking physically no older than the others, though there could be no doubt she was. And somehow it seemed to him he had little to fear from her.

Her gaze was inscrutable, her aura calm. "So you are Curtis Macurdy," she said.

"I am. And you're Sarkia. And that ugly bitch on your right is Idri." He turned his eyes to Varia's kidnapper. "If I'd known back in Evansville what kind of vicious sow you are, I'd have wrung your humping neck and stuffed you down a privy."

His gaze shifted to Sarkia. "Just so we understand each other."

Idri flushed, her aura flaring dark with anger. Sarkia was coolly amused. "It seems I needn't worry that you won't speak your mind; Varia did an outstanding job of selecting her second husband. Had I been consulted, I'd have left her on Farside, with the understanding that she provide us with litters by you. There'd have been no difficulty in leaving one of each to gladden your personal lives there.

"But I can hardly condemn Idri, for if she hadn't stolen Varia from you, I'd never have had this opportunity. You are even more-far more attractive to me as a leader and general than as the sire of children. Although my Sisters would be more than happy to provide you with company, if you'd like. I'm sure you'd find any of them quite accomplished in bed. And Liiset is much like Varia; she could warm your nights nicely until you get your wife back." The Dynast eyed him appraisingly. "No? Perhaps Idri then. You could consider it revenge of a sort, and she's notoriously good in bed."

Sarkia's face and voice were pleasant and matter-of-fact. Even her aura showed no particular emotion. But beneath it all she was cold. She could pet a kitten, he told himself, then throw it in with the hounds to see if they'd kill it.

"That's not the kind of vengeance I had in mind," he answered, then turned the conversation to business. "Liiset told me you want an alliance. Between you and Gurtho and the rebels, with me as your general. The fact that I'm here now tells you I'm interested. But I owe my rebels more than just fighting. What they want is their independence, and I won't accept less for them."