'Gentlemen,' Corfe said then, 'I believe you all know your duties for now, and Lord knows there's enough to be getting on with. You are dismissed. Ensign Baraz - you will stay behind.'

'Corfe,' Formio said in a low voice, 'have you thought any more on our discussion?'

‘I have, Formio,' the King replied evenly, 'and while you make very valid points, I believe that the possible gains outweigh the risks.'

'If you are wrong—'

'There is always that chance.' Corfe smiled, and gripped Formio by the shoulder. 'We are soldiers, not seers.'

'You are a king, not some junior commander who can be spared to hare off on a whim.'

'It's no whim, believe me. If it succeeds, it will bring down the Second Empire. That makes the gamble worthwhile.'

'Then at least let me come with you.'

'No. I need to leave behind someone I trust - someone who could be regent if the worst occurs.' 'A Fimbrian?'

'A Fimbrian who is my closest friend, and most trusted commander. It must be you, Formio.' 'The nobility will never wear it'

'The Torunnan nobility is not the fractious beast it once was. I have seen to that. No, you would have the backing of the army, and that is all that matters. Now let us hear no more of this. Continue the preparations, but discreetly.'

'Will you let him into our little secret?' Formio asked, nod­ding at Golophin, who was conversing with Ensign Baraz on the other side of the hall. Nearly all the other officers had left by now and the fire cracked and spat loudly in the sudden quiet. Felorin stood watchful as always in the shadows.

'I believe I will. He may be able to make some suggestion. There is always that bird of his anyway, a hell of a useful thing to have around.'

Formio nodded. 'There is something though, Corfe - some­thing about Golophin which does not feel right.'

'Explain.'

'Nothing, perhaps. It is just that sometimes I feel he should hate more. He has seen his king slain, his country enslaved, and yet I sense no hatred, hardly any anger in him.'

'What are you now, some kind of mind-reader?' Corfe grinned.

‘I find myself not wholly trusting him, is all.'

Corfe clapped him on the back. 'Formio, you are getting old and cantankerous. I'll see you later down at Menin Field. We'll go over those new formations again. But talk to the Quartermaster-General for me. Let's see how much scrap iron we can come up with.'

Formio saluted, spun on his heel, and left as crisply as a young officer fresh off the drill square.

'A good man, I think,' Golophin said, walking over from the fire. 'You are lucky in your friends, sire.'

'I have been lucky, yes,' Corfe said. Formio's words had unsettled him. He stared at the old wizard closely. 'Golophin, you said you had a reliable source in the Himerian camp. Would it be out of place for me to ask who it might be?'

'I would rather that his identity remained secret for now. He is an ambivalent sort, sire, a man unsure as to where his loyalties lie. They are sorry creatures, these fellows who can­not make up their minds what is black and what is white. Do you not think?' The mage's smile was disconcertingly shrewd.

'Indeed.' There was a brief moment where their eyes locked, and something akin to a struggle of wills took place. Golophin dropped his gaze first. 'Was there anything else, sire?'

'Yes, yes, there was. I was wondering if - that is to say—' Now it was Corfe who looked down. Quietly, he said, ‘I thought you might call in on the Queen. She is very low, and the physicians can do nothing. Old age, they say, but I believe there is more to it than that, something to do with your . . . realm of expertise.'

'I should be glad to, sire.' And here the wizard's eyes met Corfe's unflinchingly. 'I am flattered that you should trust me in such a grave matter.' He bowed deeply. 'I shall call on her at once, if that is convenient. Now, if you will excuse me sire, I have things to attend to.'

'Your suite is adequate?'

'More than adequate, thank you, sire.' The wizard bowed again, and left, his robes whispering about him.

The man had served kings faithfully and unstintingly for longer than Corfe's lifetime. Formio was merely being a cau­tious Fimbrian, that was all. The King of Torunna rubbed his temples wearily. God, to get clear of the palace, the city, to get back on a horse and sleep under the stars for a while. Some­times he thought that there were so many things contained in his head that one day it would bulge and burst like an over­ripe melon. And yet when he was in the field it was as though his mind were as clear as the tip of an icicle.

1 never should have been King, he thought, as he had thought so often down the years. But I am here now and there is no other.

He collected himself, strode across to the fire where Ensign Baraz stood stiff and forgotten.

'You've met the great Golophin, I see. What do you make of him?'

Baraz seemed startled by the question. 'He asked me about my grandfather,' he blurted out. 'But there was not much I could tell him that is not in the history books. He wrote poetry.'

'Golophin?'

'Shahr Ibim Baraz, sire "The Terrible Old Man" he was called by his men.'

'Yes. Sometimes we called him that too, and other things besides,' Corfe said wryly. 'Whatever happened to him?'

'No one knows. He left camp and some say he set out for the steppes of his youth, at the very height of his victories.'

'As well for Torunna he did. Baraz, Princess Mirren speaks very highly of you. She seems to think that you are a very gallant young officer and has asked that you accompany her on her daily rides from now on. What would you say to such a proposal?'

Baraz's face was a picture of pleasure and chagrin. ‘I am honoured by the lady's confidence, sir, and I would esteem it a great privilege to be her morning escort.' 'But.'

'But I had hoped to be attached to the field army. I have not yet commanded anything more than a ceremonial guard, and I was hoping to be assigned to a tercio.'

'You think your time spent with the General Staff is wasted then?'

Baraz's dark face flushed darker. 'Not at all sir, but if an officer has never commanded men in the field, what kind of officer is he?'

Corfe nodded approvingly. 'Quite right. I'll make a bargain with you, Baraz, one that you had best not give me cause to regret.'

'Sir?'

'You will remain Princess Mirren's escort for the time being, and will remain attached to the staff as interpreter. In fact I will have need of you in that capacity this very evening. But when the time comes I promise that you will have a combat command. Satisfied?'

Baraz smiled uncertainly. 1 am at your command, of course, sir - I merely follow orders. But thank you, sir.'

'Good. Dismissed.'

Baraz saluted and left. There was a jauntiness to his stride that made Corfe pause. Before Aekir, there had been some­thing of the young officer's eagerness in himself. That urge to make a name for himself, the desire to do the right thing. But in Aekir his soul had been re-tempered in a white-hot crucible, and had made of him someone else.

The face was like that of a bloodless doll, lost in the wasteland of blinding linen that surrounded it. So slight was the wizened form under the coverlet that it might not have been there at all, a mere trick of the lamplight perhaps, a shadow conjured up by the warm flames leaping in the hearth. But then the eyes opened, and life glistened out of them. Bloodshot with pain and exhaustion, they yet retained some of their old fire, and Golophin could well picture the beauty that had once filled the wasted face.

'You are the Hebrian mage, Golophin.' The voice was slight but clear.

'Yes, lady.'

'Karina, Prio, leave us.' This to the two ladies-in-waiting who sat silent as mice in the shadows. They curtseyed, their skirts scraping on the stone floor, and snicked shut the door behind them.