Meanwhile their research was productive. First the time-honored use of "circles" was rationalized and systematized. Then they expanded their reach. New and more powerful effects became possible, admittedly with greater demands and stress, but now with less danger for the sorcerers. Chithqosz was proud of his role in it, and in his performance, which his elder brother praised.

It was the invasion itself that drastically changed Chithqosz's life. For the father ordered him to go along. Kurqosz himself would command the circle of masters, tapping energies and elementals too powerful to control with adepts. Meanwhile the two circles of higher adepts would manipulate lesser energies, to produce monsters and panics-the basic weapons of the new sorcery.

It could be necessary, from time to time, that one of the circles of adepts link with the circle of masters, to anchor it and stabilize its power. Which required a master to lead it, one who harmonized well with Kurqosz. The Crystal Lord assigned Chithqosz to the job.

For the first time in his life, Chithqosz seriously resisted. He was sure, he said, that at sea he would die. (The truth was, he had a low tolerance for contemplated discomfort.) His father pointed out that the years of herbal testing had provided a palliative which worked for almost all voitar, and insisted Chithqosz try it on a 130-mile, round-trip test voyage across the Ilroin Strait. To Chithqosz's dismay, though he felt queasy, he never once threw up. His father declared him perfectly suited, and ordered him to complain no further.

Actually Kurqosz had suggested to their father two other masters of suitable age who might be substituted. But the Crystal Lord had decided. Chithqosz, he said, needed to get out of the palace, take responsibility, and act like a prince. And of course Kurqosz gave way, as Chithqosz did.

As it developed, Chithqosz survived the sixty-four-day crossing of the Ocean Sea better than most of the voitar on the voyage. In fact, he was one of the handful who outlasted most of the symptoms. All but the medication's principal side effect, an enervating chronic diarrhea for which no useful medication had been found. Thus he ended the voyage proud of himself on the one hand, and on the other, determined that once back in Hithmearc, he would never, ever, set foot on a ship again.

After ordering seventy ships back to the Scrub Coast, Kurqosz assumed he'd taken care of matters there, and marched off to Colroi unworried. While ravaging the capital, he learned that the ships, those which hadn't been destroyed, had returned with their mission aborted.

He had instantaneous communication with the force left at Balralligh. Every headquarters, from battalion on up, had a voitu communication specialist, whose skills enabled him to quickly locate specific information in the hive mind. Thus Kurqosz was quickly informed when the fleet returned. Twelve ships had been lost, and others newly damaged by storm or fire.

There'd been no voitu with the mission, so the events were not recorded in the hive mind. Neither the communications specialist nor Kurqosz had any way to view the events directly. Therefore the crown prince's first response was to order the vice admiral flogged. His second was a query to the high admiral, asking how seaworthy were the ships that had returned.

The answer was, not very, particularly given the continuing bad weather. If a new expedition was sent, he'd recommend that it comprise not more than the best thirty ships.

So Kurqosz contacted Chithqosz directly through their personal subchannel of the hive mind. The younger prince was in excellent spirits. How had the fighting gone? he asked. Chithqosz was delighted with the answer. Briefly they exchanged thoughts and images, including the matter of the aborted rescue.

Chithqosz insisted things were going well on the Scrub Coast, and that the problem of provisions had been handled for the near future. He'd learned that to the people of the Scrub Lands, their cattle were their wealth, their pride, and their reputation. And when word came of the invaders, they'd driven most of their livestock deep into the back country. Now his cavalry had a swarm of platoons out hunting them. Already they'd begun bringing in cattle in quantities. The men might tire of eating mainly beef, especially tough stringy beef, but they would not go seriously hungry.

It had been a reassuring exchange, Kurqosz told himself. Chithqosz was handling his command adequately, and was in good spirits. Nor had it hurt that his younger brother had found an attractive woman for his bed, a woman stupid but passionate.

Next he contacted the chief communicator at Balralligh again, and gave him a message for the high admiral. Push hard on refitting ships. As soon as eighty were in thoroughly sound condition, send them south to pick up the remainder of the army.

Meanwhile he'd send patrols west to the Merrawin River. When he had adequate information, he'd march his army there, and with that he'd control a third of the Eastern Empire. The rich and fertile third. Autumn, it seemed, came early there, winter would follow, and provisions were necessary in fertile lands as well as poor. He needed to collect, store, and safeguard food for his troops. And fodder for his cavalry, and for the thousands of draft horses he'd appropriated.

"I am told you claim to have been over the road that goes through the mountains," Chithqosz said. He spoke Yuultal-"Vismearcisc"-as well as any of the voitar, and for the most part understood what was said to him in the Scrub Lands dialect.

"Yes, your lordship. Twicet each way."

"For what purpose?"

"Trade, your lordship."

Chithqosz frowned. "Trade?" he asked. Surely these people had nothing to trade.

"Of salt fish, your lordship."

"I've seen no salt fish here. And why would anyone trade for salt fish?"

"There's some prosperous kingdoms acrosst the mountains, your lordship. A market for delicacies."

"Salt fish is a delicacy?"

"A partic'lar land is. Calls 'em smelt. Mighty tasty. They runs up the cricks in the spring of the year, to spawn. Some years folks takes 'em in great muchness, and salts 'em down in barls. And if they's enought, I hauls 'em crosst the mountains soon's they's salted down. They's best if they don't lay in the salt too long. It renches outen 'em better."

Chithqosz didn't ask many more questions. His attention was stuck on two pieces of information. Prosperous kingdoms across the mountains, and twelve or fifteen days by wagon. He had the human given a gold morat for his information.

Fortunately for the trader, the Voitusotar do not see auras.

Chithqosz might not have decided as he had, were it not for the weather and the living conditions. During the nearly two weeks since he'd painted a rosy word-picture for Kurqosz, the wind had blown almost constantly. Cold wind. And rained enough-cold drizzles, mainly-that things had gotten wet and not really dried out. Especially in the shelter tents occupied by his troops.

However, after he'd talked to the "fish merchant," the day before, the sun had come out. A good omen. He'd run for an hour on the beach, in the sunshine, and thought about prosperous kingdoms across the mountains.

The next night he dreamed of them. And woke up chilled despite his down quilt and the fire his orderly kept in the fireplace. A newly risen sun shone through the membrane-the lining of a cow's abdomen-that covered his window. But when Chithqosz went outside, he found the surface of the ground frozen. It was then he made his mind up. As soon as he'd eaten, he contacted Kurqosz and made his proposal. The crown prince asked some questions, then exchanged thoughts with General Klugnak, Chithqosz's chief of staff.