"My own dukedom is the largest, and my army consists of five companies, though normally I have only one on active duty. The rest are reserves, meeting in each season for a week of training. And all are mounted-human as well as ylver-trained to fight both on foot and horseback.

"Some grew up townsmen, some farmers, some woodcutters or fishers or trappers, but most are woodsmen when they can be. In the north, even townsmen grow up to hunt.

"As required by law and tradition, my ylver and my humans are in separate companies, the humans with human officers. But they are all very good. And in the northland, many humans show the talent-lighting fires with a gesture, and some of them even weaving repellent fields against insects. There's been crossbreeding through the centuries, you see. Not abundant, but enough. And it seems to me that some of my humans, perhaps many, will see through the monsters the voitar create. Especially when prepared in advance."

He looked at Macurdy's typically human features. "I'm sure you understand that."

Macurdy looked wryly back at Cyncaidh. "You're not telling me all this to pass the time," he said.

"Of course not. You see, Gavriel has given me dispensation to keep my cohort independent. To train and lead them as raiders in the manner you described. And within the Throne Army, men will be offered an opportunity to volunteer for another such cohort."

Macurdy realized he was frowning, and why: He doubted these people could do it successfully, and the doubt irritated him. Why couldn't they? In the 1930s, the U.S. Army had been painfully conservative. And ignorant. Yet a few years later it had the world's best air force, a number of armored divisions, and five airborne divisions plus ranger battalions. Decision was the beginning, and the decision had been made. There, and now here.

"You'll need advice," he said. "Principles. Some guidelines. I don't have time to train your people, not even a cadre. I'll tell you things, you and any others who want to listen. Then you ask questions and I'll answer them. You can take it from there yourself."

Cyncaidh didn't grin, but his aura, and his slight smile, told Macurdy how confident he was. "As a youth," the ylf said, "my greatest pleasure was to track wildlife. I seldom hunted to kill; at Aaerodh Manor we had no need of wild meat. I tracked simply to learn more of how they lived, and to glimpse them from time to time. To run through the forest in moccasins in summer and autumn, and on skis and snowshoes in winter. My father used to tell me I spent too much time at it."

Macurdy smiled back at him, a smile that took life of its own and became a grin. "How about this evening? Can you get people together by then?"

"This evening after dinner. At my home. Varia hasn't returned from Aaerodh yet, but Talrie will see that we're properly fed and have clean bed linens. You will stay with me, of course."

Of the fifteen who met that evening at Cyncaidh's residence, three had come west with Lord Naerrasil, each of them making a point of shaking Macurdy's hand before they sat down. That raised Macurdy's eyebrows. He'd done more good than he'd realized, that afternoon.

He didn't get to bed that night till after two.

The next morning, Cyncaidh went to the palace at his usual hour, leaving Macurdy still asleep. After a bit, Talrie woke him. "Marshal Macurdy," he said quietly, "there is a gentleman in the foyer, waiting to see you. A Mr. Pellersson. Shall I invite him to breakfast with you?"

Macurdy sat up, gathering his wits. "Tossi Pellersson? Sure. And tell the cook that dwarves like big breakfasts." He swung his legs out of bed, hurried through his morning preliminaries, and pulled his clothes on. When he reached the breakfast room, Tossi was waiting there for him, drinking the usual ylvin sassafras with honey. He and his trade mission, Tossi said, were leaving that morning for the Diamond Flues-a four-week ride on dwarf ponies.

The two ate leisurely, food secondary to talk. Tossi had been up to see the sun rise. It had been as red and murky as the sunset. "It's of the Earth," Tossi said.

"What do you mean?"

"The sky has the smell of rock."

"Rock?"

"Aye. My people know the smell of rock. And not just with the nose. Something like this happens every few decades. Though rarely this strong, I think."

Macurdy let it pass. Mostly they talked of the old days, when Tossi and two younger cousins had mixed into tallfolk affairs to the shocking extent of taking part in the Kullvordi revolt. Then Macurdy told briefly of the evening meeting that had gone on till well after midnight.

Tossi grinned ruefully. "I wish I could help," he said. "But in the Diamond Flues we're far removed from the ylver and their troubles. My people will say the invaders will never come so far west, and they may well be right."

His eyes peered at Macurdy from beneath heavy brow ridges, crowned with thatches of coarse hair. "As for the folk in Silver Mountain-they're far more numerous than we are. The last I heard, they could call seven thousand to the surface, armed and ready. If they felt the need. But in Silver Mountain, their focus is on wealth even more than ours is. Ye'd have to convince them the invader is a threat, and I doubt even yew could do that."

Macurdy had already come to that conclusion. When they'd finished eating, Tossi got to his feet and thrust out a hand. "I hope our paths will cross again, Macurdy," Tossi said. "Yer more than a dwarf friend, ye know. Yer a brother to me."

Then he left for the inn where the others of his party had been staying.

Macurdy gathered his own things, then he and Vulkan took to the highway. Southward, to see what he could accomplish with the kings of the Rude Lands.

27 The Younger Brother

Prince Chithqosz was as tall as his elder brother, and to voitik eyes as handsome. What he did not have was Kurqosz's power and certainty, his ambition and focus.

Nor was he jealous. It was much easier to be the younger, lesser brother, occupied with his concubines and sketch pads, his blocks of marble, granite, and limestone; walnut, cherry, and linden. With his drills, chisels, knives, saws, files, and charcoal. He considered his sculptures superior, both in stone and wood, and in important respects they were. They were not inspired, but his craftsmanship was superb, and his eye for form and nuance excellent.

As a youth he'd wanted to be like Kurqosz, so he'd studied sorcery. Psionically he proved talented-the one indispensable requirement-and advanced with remarkable quickness through the levels. Until the work became demanding and exhausting. Then his interest sagged.

He was certainly not all his imperial father would have liked. But His Supreme Majesty, the Crystal Lord, might have settled for a sculptor in the family, had it not been for Kurqosz's dream-to someday reach Vismearc, conquer it for the Voitusotar, and punish the ylver. And when the exploration ship returned from Vismearc, the project changed from visionary and speculative to firm and dedicated. The Crystal Lord himself contracted research on a remedy for seasickness, while Kurqosz launched serious if somewhat dangerous research into new levels of sorcery.

To Kurqosz, his younger brother seemed the perfect collaborator; he had psionic skills, and was compliant. So he asked Chithqosz to be his assistant. And Chithqosz, who'd have preferred not to be, said yes. The younger genuinely and greatly admired the elder, who in turn was considerate, avoiding needless or arbitrary demands. In fact, Chithqosz's new duties did not greatly reduce his sculpting. Mainly they reduced his loafing.