The palace was dark yet, with only a few lamps lit in the wall sconces. Felorin bore a candle-lantern and as the two men strode along the echoing passageways it threw their shadows into mocking capers along the walls.

'It is Golophin, sir,' Felorin told Corfe. 'He is in the Blade­hall and refuses to speak to anyone save you. Ensign Baraz brought me word of his return. He has been to Aurungabar, by some magic or other, and something has happened there. I took the liberty of rousing out General Formio also, sir.'

'You did well. Lead on.'

The Bladehall was a vast cavernous darkness save at one end where a fire had been lit in the massive hearth and a table pulled across upon which a single lamp burned. Golophin stood with his back to the fire, his face a scarred mask impossible to read. At the table sat Formio with parchment, quills and ink, and standing in the shadows was Ensign Baraz.

'Golophin!' Corfe barked. Formio stood up at his approach. 'What's this news?'

The wizard looked at Baraz and Felorin questioningly.

'It's all right. Go on.'

Golophin's face did not change; still that terrible mask empty of expression. 'I have been to Aurungabar, never mind how. It would seem that both the Sultan and his Queen were assassinated this morning.'

No one spoke, though even Formio looked stunned. Corfe groped for a chair and sank into it like an old man.

'You're sure?' Baraz blurted.

'Quite sure,' the old mage snapped. 'The city is in an uproar, panicked crowds milling in the streets. They managed to keep it quiet for a couple of hours, but then someone blab­bed and now it is common knowledge.' He faltered, and there was something like disgust in his voice as he added: 'It is all wearily familiar.'

They looked at Corfe, but the King was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his eyes blank and sightless.

'Aruan?' Formio asked at last.

'That would be my guess. He must have wormed an agent into the household.'

She was dead. His Heria was dead. Finally Corfe spoke. 'This morning, you say?'

'Yes, sire. Or yesterday as it is now. Around the third hour before noon.'

Corfe rubbed his chest. The ache had gone, but something worse was settling inexorably in its place. He cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind.

'Nasir,' he said. 'How far along the road is he?'

'My familiar is with him now. He is ten leagues east of Khedi Anwar at the head of fifteen thousand men - the army he was to bring here.'

'He knows?'

'I told him sire, yes. He has already broken camp and is marching back the way he came.'

'We need those men,' Formio said in a low voice. 'Ostrabar needs a sultan,' Golophin replied. 'He's a boy, not yet seventeen.'

'The army is behind him. And he is Aurungzeb's publicly acknowledged heir. There is no other.'

Corfe raised his head. 'Golophin is right. Nasir will need those men to restore order in the capital. We must do without them.' Heria was dead, truly dead.

He fought the overwhelming wave of hopelessness which was trying to master him.

'Nasir will be five, maybe six days on the road before he re­enters Aurungabar. Golophin, are there any other claimants who could make trouble before he arrives?'

The wizard pondered a moment. 'Not that I know of.

Aurungzeb has sired other children by concubines, but Nasir is the only son, and he is well-known. I cannot foresee any difficulties with the succession.'

'Well and good. Who is in authority in Aurungabar at the moment?'

Golophin nodded at Ensign Baraz who stood forgotten in the shadows. 'That young man's kinsman, Shahr Baraz the Younger. He was a bodyguard of the Queen at one time, and remained a confidant. It was he who took charge when the maids discovered the bodies.'

'You have spoken to him?'

'Briefly.' Golophin did not relay his own suspicions about Shahr Baraz. The most upright and honourable of men, while he had told the wizard frankly of the assassinations he had nevertheless been holding something back. But, Golophin was convinced, not for his own aggrandisement. Shahr Baraz the Younger was of the old Hraib, who held that to tell a lie was to suffer a form of death.

Corfe stood up. 'Formio, have fast couriers sent to Aurun­gabar expressing our support for the new Sultan. Our whole­hearted and if necessary material support. Get one of the scribes to couch it in the necessary language, but get three copies of it on the road by dawn.'

Formio nodded, and made a note on his parchment. The scrape of his quill and the crack and spit of the logs in the hearth were the only sounds in the looming emptiness of the Bladehall.

'We will be short of troops now,' Corfe continued steadily. ‘I will have to weaken Melf's southern expedition in order to make up the numbers for the main operations here.' He strode to the fire and, leaning his fists on the stone mantel, he stared at the burning logs below.

'The enemy will move now, while our ally is temporarily incapacitated. Formio, another dispatch to Aras at Gaderion. He should expect a major assault very soon. And get the courier to repeat the message to Heyd on the road north. Henceforth he will move by forced marches.

'As for Torunn itself, I want the field army here put on notice to move at once. We have wasted enough time. I will lead them out within the week.'

Formio's scratching quill went silent at that. 'The snows are still lying deep in the foothills,' he said.

'It can't be helped. In my absence you will remain here, as regent.'

'Corfe, I—'

'You will obey orders.' The King turned from the fire and smiled at Formio to soften his words. 'You are the only person I would trust with it.'

The Fimbrian subsided. From the tip of his quill the ink dripped to blot a black circle on the pale parchment. Corfe turned to Golophin.

'It would ease my mind were you to remain here with him.'

'I cannot do that, sire.'

Corfe frowned, then turned away. 'I understand. It is not your responsibility.'

'You misunderstand me, sire. I am going with you.' 'What? Why in the world—?'

'I promised a dying woman, my lord, that I would remain by your side in this coming trial.' Golophin smiled. 'Perhaps I have just got the habit of serving kings. In any case, I go with you on campaign - if you'll have me.'

Corfe bowed, and some life came back into his eyes. 'I would be honoured, master mage.' As he straightened he turned to Ensign Baraz, who had not moved.

'I would very much like to have you accompany me also, Ensign.'

The young man stepped forward, then came stiffly to attention once again. 'Yes, sir.' His eyes shone.

'There is one more thing.' Here Corfe paused, and as they watched him they saw something flicker in his eyes, some instantly hidden agony.

'Mirren must go to Aurungabar at once, to be married.'

Formio nodded, but Baraz looked utterly wretched. It was Golophin who spoke up. 'Could that not wait a while?' he asked gently. 'I have barely begun her tuition.'

'No. Were we to delay, it would be seen as uncertainty about Nasir. No. They sent us Aria, we must send them Mirren. When she marries Nasir the whole world will see that the alliance is as strong as ever despite the death of Aurungzeb, the turning back of the Merduk reinforcements.'

'It is the clearest signal we can send,' Formio agreed.

And it was only right, Corfe thought, for himself to suffer something of what Heria suffered. There was an ironic sym­metry about it all, as though this were laid on for the amuse­ment of some scheming god. So be it. He would shoulder this grief along with the others.

'Ensign Baraz,' he said, 'fetch me the palace steward, if you please. Formio, get those notes off to the scribes and then rouse out the senior staff. We will all meet here in one hour. Felorin, secure the door.'