“Shut up. I assure you, Deortheorn, he was too old for me, even then. But I owed him a favor, and what he wanted in repayment was an extended lifespan. He felt he had no heir worthy of the crown, which was true enough, and he wanted to conquer an empire in the wide world beyond the Vale of Vraid. I managed to arrange it. But the effects left him—well, they left him rather single-minded. That was eighty-seven years ago, almost to the day.”

“Ah.”

“Things were going well enough, though. He might have seen a capable son carry his dream closer to its conclusion. Until the world began to die, and we had to turn our energies to survival.”

“How are you and the Vraids doing?” Deor asked. “Our journey through the Lacklands was grim indeed.”

“Morlock told me some of it. Other parts I can guess. Yes, those lands are pretty well empty. The farmers there would not change their ways. Some crops respond better to the shorter growing year—there are greenhouses and other resources. And it has been a pretty good year for mushrooms, if you can tell the good from the bad. The sea is not much harmed yet, though some waters have been over-fished.”

“So your Vraids are more adaptable?”

“Not really, but they follow orders, you see, which is close enough, where I’m concerned.”

Kelat grumbled, but nobody took his bait.

“Here’s Prince Uthar-Null,” Ambrosia remarked. “Greetings, Vice-Regent!”

Walking toward them up the unpaved street was Prince Uthar-Null, a man about a half-century old with a long, clever face and a long, thin beard and a fringe of silver hair around a shining pink scalp. Next to him walked young Uthar Glennit, whose shining eyes were fixed on Lady Ambrosia.

“Vice-Regent am I now?” asked long-suffering Uthar-Null. “Well, it sounds better than Mayor of Uthar-Town. What are my duties?”

“Every one of mine until I return. I have to go on a trip west and south, and then, it may be, to the far north. Keep a lid on things here for me, eh?”

“I’ll try.” Uthar-Null pointed with a disdainful thumb towards the sun. “Something about that?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. Good. If anyone can do anything about it, you can.”

“We’ll try. This is my brother, Morlock Ambrosius, by the way: Prince Uthar-Null, Morlock.”

They clasped hands.

“And me,” Deor said, coming around Morlock’s side. “Deor syr Theorn, at your service.”

He grabbed Uthar-Null’s proffered hand, although that wasn’t really a dwarvish custom.

“Theorn, eh?” said Uthar-Null shrewdly. “You’ve come a long way from the Deep Halls under Thrymhaiam.”

“Well worth it, sir. I never thought to see so many Uthars in my life.”

“Nightmarish, isn’t it? What the next king will do with them all is beyond my telling.”

“What’s traditional?”

“A quiet execution of rival heirs was apparently not unheard of. I don’t think any one of us will stoop to that. But they say that kingship does strange things to the mind.”

“And—pardon me for asking—why are you Null?”

“Many of us are Null,” Uthar-Null said without apparent offense. “It means we are no longer in the succession. Therefore we can wield certain types of power and also marry and have children of our own, which is a great comfort I sometimes think.”

“Only sometimes? Never mind: we do things differently under Thrymhaiam.”

“And in the Endless Empire under the Blackthorns also, I believe,” Uthar-Null said politely.

“Listen, Prince Uthar-Null,” Ambrosia began.

“Madam.”

“I’m going to bring an Uthar along with me. Morlock suggests young Kelat, here. I thought you might tell him your thoughts on the subject.”

“Ah.” Uthar-Null’s clever brown eyes looked with concern at Kelat, glowering in Ambrosia’s shadow. “Perhaps Prince Uthar would care to step aside.”

“I would not,” said Kelat. “And don’t call me Prince Uthar.”

“Sir,” said the Vice-Regent, addressing himself to Morlock, “the Prince Uthar under discussion—”

“Arrrrrrrgh!”

“—the Prince Uthar under discussion is ill-tempered and unpredictable. He is intelligent but disobedient. He is brave but undisciplined. His every virtue has a vice. I would not trust him to carry a message to my mother, and I do not care very much about sending messages to that horrible old woman.”

“He drew a blade on me just now,” Ambrosia remarked.

“He did?” Uthar-Null looked sharply at his half-brother. “Why?”

“To defend Uthar Olthon.”

“Olthon? But they hate each other!”

“Yes.”

Uthar-Null threw up his hands and said to Morlock, “You see it, sir? He is not reliable, even in his hatred. Can you trust a man like that on a long road? I ask you.”

Morlock shrugged his crooked shoulders, and Uthar-Null glanced aside, his features twisting with distaste.

“If it is up to me,” Morlock said to Ambrosia, “I still prefer Kelat.”

“It is not up to you, brother. This is my domain and my word is law, under the King’s. However, in this instance, I think you’re right.” She turned and spoke to the prince standing behind her. “Uthar Kelat, go to your booth and pack up some things for the trip. Bring some warm clothes.”

He stood there blinking at her, and she said kindly, “Hurry, now. This is your adventure. You don’t want to miss part of it.”

Kelat’s look of adoration almost matched Glennit’s. He turned quickly away and ran up the narrow dirty street, dense with Uthars.

“Uthar Glennit, my prince,” said Ambrosia.

“Yes, my lady,” said Glennit like it was a prayer.

“You are now the censor of Uthartown. Take up Olthon’s old post, or do the job however you see fit.”

“Thank you, my lady!”

“Don’t do that. It’s a horrible job. Soon we’ll find you one more worthy of your talents. Or the world will end, and it won’t matter.”

Glennit went down on one knee in the filth of the street and made a fist with his right hand over his heart. Then he jumped to his feet and ran away without speaking, tears running down his face.

Ambrosia and Uthar-Null watched him go, both smiling.

“You see him as the new king, don’t you?” Uthar-Null said confidentially.

“Little Glennit? Not in ten thousand years of seasoning. Oh, he will be a great man in the new empire, but not the greatest. A king needs a little orneriness in him. Morlock here might be a good one—”

Morlock grunted irritably at this blasphemy.

“—if he could bring himself to talk in words like a person. My friend, I made your half-brother Olthon the King’s keeper. The old man really can’t be allowed to wander around embarrassing everybody anymore.”

“True, true. A good choice. Olthon is always minding someone else’s business. Might as well put his one talent to good use.”

“That’s a good deal of the art of kingship, my friend. You’d’ve been a good one, if you hadn’t chickened out and gone null.”

“Never would have lived long enough, lady. Besides, I love my wife. Have you ever been in love?”

“Only with power, Prince Uthar-Null. Morlock, Deor, let’s see what we can do to outfit you for the journey ahead. Our wealth is slender these days, but we have some dwarf-made goods from the Endless Empire that may meet your finicky standards.”

“We aren’t going to be riding the Hippogriff, are we?” Deor said with some concern.

“That rattletrap quadricycle beast you three rode in on? Fate and Chaos! No. Never, never.”

“Horses, I suppose? Very small, very gentle horses?”

“What? No. From what Morlock tells me, I think we’ll travel by galley. Have one ready for us, won’t you, Vice-Regent?”

The implications of this slowly sunk into Deor’s imagination.

“A galley is a boat? To go across the water?”

“Yes.”

Deor groaned. “Maybe I should go home and see how Aloê is doing? I promise to write.”

“Nonsense,” said Ambrosia. “We need your sage advice and high spirits.”

“I wish I was dead. Or the both of you were. I hate this trip. Each leg is worse than the last. Well, at least it can’t get any worse than this.”