The process was repeated with each remaining king in turn: Itazais, Meirchion, Hugaderan, Musaeus, Belyn, Avallach, Seithenin, and Nestor. When he had finished, the High Mage raised his voice to them and said, “You have been cleansed and anointed. Go now and enter the god’s presence and seek the god’s favor.”

A door at one end of the court opened, and the kings filed slowly into a round inner chamber where a huge iron crater filled with burning coals stood in the center of a ring of three-legged stools. The kings squatted on the stools facing away from the caldron and each other. Magi, stripped to the waist, entered with jars and the door was closed, leaving the chamber in darkness save for the glowing hot metal of the crater of coals which cast its lurid light over the interior.

There came a tremendous hissing sound, and the chamber filled with sweet-smelling vapor that boiled from the red-hot coals in a thick cloud over the kings crouched on their stools. The kings breathed the vapor deep and let its sense-numbing narcotic steal over them.

The Magi stole around the ring with hyssop branches, lashing at the naked, sweating bodies before them. The chamber remained in darkness and silence, save for the swish-swat of the priests’ branches and the hissing of the coals as, from time to time, another jar was emptied into the crater.

An hour passed, and another; at the end of the third, the door of the chamber was opened and the kings rose from their cramped positions to stagger out into the court once more. As each king emerged, he was met by a Mage bearing an armful of fragrant eucalyptus leaves. The kings took handfuls of the leaves and rubbed the sweat and oil from their bodies, and then each was presented with a spotless mantle of new white linen by the High Mage, who tied each mantle with a golden cord.

Avallach stepped from the chamber and rubbed himself dry with the leaves, and then presented himself to the High Mage, who gave him the mantle. It was as the priest bent to tie the cord that Avallach sensed something wrong-he saw it first in the Mage’s eyes as they slid past him to the chamber door beyond. Avallach followed the look too, but saw nothing amiss.

He turned his head and saw Belyn, frowning, handfuls of leaves idle at his side. “Yes,” he thought, “he feels it, too. Something is wrong… but what?”

The High Mage finished tying the cord and pushed past Avallach toward the chamber door. It was then that Avallach guessed what had happened. His quick glance around the room confirmed what he already knew: nine kings had entered the chamber, only eight had emerged.

Avallach followed the High Mage into the chamber. The aromatic vapor streamed across the floor in twisting snakes; the great iron crater still glowed. And there, dimly outlined on the floor where he had fallen, lay Ceremon, knees to his chest, resting on his side.

In two quick strides Avallach was beside the High King. He knelt down and held a hand over Ceremon’s heart. Belyn rushed into the chamber. “Is he dead?”

“He is,” replied Avallach softly.

The other kings now came rushing into the chamber. Ita-zais knelt beside Avallach and pressed his ear against the High King’s chest. He sat back slowly, shaking his head in disbelief.

Icy silence closed over the group. Avallach looked at the encircling faces; even in the dim illumination of the glowing crater he could see them calculating, weighing and judging what gains might be made.

“How?” asked Musaeus, his voice creaking in the silence.

Itazais stared at the body. “I see no wound.”

“We must move him into the light,” said Avallach, straightening Ceremon’s legs. Itazais lifted the body under the arms and they carried it into the court while the others crowded in behind.

“Look!” said Hugaderan, pointing at Itazais. “Look at his hand!”

Itazais looked down in horror: his left hand was dripping with fresh blood.

Avallach moved to the High King’s torso and rolled the body up. A tiny pool of blood lay beneath the shoulders. “Raise his arm,” he said. No one moved, so Avallach reached out and pulled on the limp arm. The body sagged and the movement opened the wound. A red-black gush cascaded down Ceremon’s ribs and splashed onto the floor.

“Murder!” screamed the Mage, thrusting himself from among them. He ran from the court, crying, “Murder! The High King is dead!”

It was very late when Avallach returned to his rooms. Bris-eis was there to meet him as he lurched through the doorway. She pulled him to a couch and pushed him gently into it.

“Sit,” she told him. “Rest. I have had food prepared.” She pushed a low table up and moved the candletree near.

“I am not hungry,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face.

She brought out a platter of cold meat and bread and placed a bowl of fruit on the table before him. “Is there wine?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but it is not good in an empty stomach. You have not eaten all day.”

“Bring me the wine.”

She poured wine into a cup and brought it to him and offered the platter of bread and meat. He took some bread and she handed him the cup. “Was it very bad?” the queen asked.

“Worse than my deepest fears.” Avallach drained the cup and handed it to his wife to refill. He tore a bit of bread, lifted it to his mouth, and chewed slowly. She passed back the cup and then moved around behind him, placed her hands on his shoulders and began massaging the tight-bunched muscles at the base of his neck. He closed his eyes and let his head fall forward.

After a while he put his hand over hers and drew her down beside him. He kissed her and then sipped his wine. “Has Annubi returned?”

“Not yet,” Briseis answered. “I instructed him to come back here and wait for you. I did not know how long you would be.”

Avallach nodded and tore off some more bread. His color had improved and he began to relax. Briseis picked up a fruit knife, sliced a pear, and offered him a piece. He leaned back and propped his legs on the table, holding his cup against his chest. “There was no weapon found.”

“No one saw or heard anything inside the chamber?” Briseis asked.

“One did.”

“Nestor?”

“I would stake my kingdom on it.”

“But why?”

“My guess is that Ceremon had decided to strip Nestor of his crown. Nestor could not allow it to happen. Perhaps he saw in Ceremon’s death a chance to remove the threat to his kingship and advance his war schemes at the same time.”

“Did no one accuse him openly?” Briseis wondered.

“Belyn challenged him,” replied Avallach wearily, “but there was no weapon discovered-I searched for it myself. And as the murder obviously occurred when all were together and no one heard or saw anything, who is to say it was not the hand of the god himself that struck Ceremon down.”

“You do not Believe that.”

“No, but there are those who might-if it suited them. Itazais suggested it, and Musaeus fastened on the idea like a dog on a meat bone. They preferred that to dealing with Belyn’s accusation outright.”

“And Nestor?”

“Nestor is cold and cunning and knew well enough to keep his mouth shut, to weather the storm of accusation without saying anything that might lay further suspicion at his feet. Even so, I am certain he did it, or if not he knows who did and put them up to it. Either way, the High King’s blood is on his hands.”

“What will happen now?”

“That we will know as soon as Annubi returns.”

“No, I mean who will succeed Ceremon?”

“He has a wife of a royal house.”

Briseis’ eyebrows went up at this. “Danea?”

“Danea. Who else?” Avallach’s lips curved in a bitter smile. “Succession may pass to the wife if there is no heir and the woman is of a royal house.”

“But I thought”

“Apparently so did Nestor,” said Avallach. “It was Meir-chion who reminded us of it. To reign she need only be accepted by the royal council.”