„I know." The wizard's lips were tight. He was control­ ling himself visibly. „This isn't the time to worry about it. We've got a baby to get born."

„I think you're hiding from something. You, of all people, ought to know how much good that does. Are you even going to bother to look? Or just stall and hope she forgets about it?"

„Ragnarson!..."

„You don't add up. You're making your own trouble. Forget it. I'll check back later and see if you've gotten an attack of the reasonables and bothered to see if you can find something."

„There's nothing to find."

Ragnarson walked away convinced there was something, and it must not be good. It might pay to try twisting Mist's arm a little. She'd at least have to suspect why Varthlokkur was so spooky.

That evening Ragnarson received a note written in his son Gundar's crabbed hand. It asked him to come to his brother Ainjar's birthday party, day after tomorrow.

Sherilee flashed through his mind. She would find a reason to be there. He returned the note saying he would try.

Next day one of Trebilcock's lieutenants burst into anoth­ er appropriations session. „Sire," he gasped. „Word from Captain Trebilcock."

Ragnarson sprang away from the table. The delegates watched with wide eyes. Wild rumors surrounded Trebil­ cock's disappearance. One suggested that the King him­ self had done away with his chief spy. „What? What is it?"

„A pigeon, Sire." The man still clutched a ragged bird. Michael's message dangled from his other hand.

„Pigeon? I didn't know we used them." He grabbed the message tissue.

„We don't have very many. Just for our farthest stations. They can fly farther in an hour than a rider can cover in a day."

„I doubt that." Ragnarson knew a little about carrier pigeons. „But only witchcraft is faster." He fumbled Mi­ chael's message twice before he read it.

„By damn! The wizard was right. Guard! Find Varthlokkur. Tell him to get the Unborn. Say it's an emer­ gency." He waited impatiently.

When Varthlokkur arrived he showed him Michael's message.

„What now?" Bragi asked.

„Now we wait. If you know any reliable deities, call them in."

Ragnarson chuckled. He was an uncommonly irreligious man. „If I knew any reliable gods," he said, „they'd be running Ravelin. I'd have them whipping thunderbolts on anyone who interfered around here. I'd keep one of them squatting in Hsung's bedchamber."

A nervous orderly tapped at the door. „Sire?"

„Come in."

„Message from Mr. Dantice, Sire. He said it's impor­ tant."

„Let me see it. Come on! The man don't bite."

The orderly sidled across the room, eying Varthlokkur carefully. A gesture would set him running. The wizard donned a pained expression. Thus it had been for centuries.

Bragi read the note, passed it to Varthlokkur. The wizard chuckled humorlessly. „Lord Hsung must have been might­ ily impressed by the Invincibles."

Dantice had heard from his smuggler friends. Military debacle had rattled Hsung and his puppets. Throyen officers had been stripped of their commands. Soldiers had been executed for cowardice. Hsung had postponed southward expansion. The appearance of Invincibles had been unanti­ cipated. Their gathering had gone unnoted by Hsung's intelligence people, people who had the skills of the Tervola to supplement their more prosaic resources. Rumor said there would be a shakeup in Western Army's staff. Hsung suspected the existence of a traitor.

„Think that means trouble?" Ragnarson asked. „One of his people belongs to Mist."

„They've covered themselves."

„What about Norath?"

„Uhm?"

„We don't know why, but we know who, and we know where the son of a bitch is."

„One thing at a time. We have too many irons in the fire. We don't need a war with Megelin."

„Who said Megelin? I'm talking about Norath."

„And suppose he's got control of Megelin? Suppose we failed first try? He's a first-rate wizard. He wouldn't have survived the destruction of the Pracchia if he weren't."

„Megelin wouldn't declare war. We're supposed to be friends."

„Supposed to be. They say he's gone crazy. And now we know why."

„He can't. El Murid would climb his back."

„Let Norath ride. We're committed on this thing with Mist. And I've got a baby coming. You don't want to get embroiled with Norath if I can't be there. When it comes to choosing between helping you or being with my wife, you lose."

„Should've known better than to argue with you. I hope your critter gets this over with. If I don't watch them, the Thing will slip me an appropriation I'll cry about for years."

„Let Prataxis handle it."

„Crap. He don't bully as good as me. Hell, this whole business is his damned fault. He designed this stupid government."

„It works pretty good."

„Works great, long as I don't need something done before next month. I want to give one lousy damned medal to somebody, every son of a bitch in the Thing has to have his say."

„I haven't noticed you not getting your way."

„Yeah. But Derel's experiment with democracy is a damned nuisance."

„Strictly a matter of viewpoint. How about something to eat? Maybe tip a beer or two? It might be a long wait."

That night, in Throyes, Commander Western Army re­ ceived an informational brief from a friend in Ravelin's capital. Lord Hsung was unmasked at the time. His subordi­ nates thought him a humorless man, but he smiled and laughed a great deal while he read. His good humor lasted till he learned that he could not contact Lord Kuo Wen-chin.

Year 1016 AFE; Homecomings and Birthdays

Michael watched the latest band of hunters fade into the distance. They were searching hard. He gave them that. They were covering ground not logically within a fugitive's reach. He had amazed himself with the distance he had covered.

The stolen horse had been a good one. He had run her till she collapsed. He guessed he had made fifty miles. He had crossed the truly bad desert immediately north of Al Rhemish. Now he was in the arid southern foothills of the Kapenrungs. He had a slim chance of making it on his own, whether or not his pigeon got through.

He glanced westward. Still two hours till dark. Eight miles for a man on foot. And the savan dalage could not start after him before nightfall.

How long for them to catch up? He wished he knew more about them. Did he dare keep going through the night?

No. Too risky. Better fortify a position instead, before it got too dark to find firewood.

Scraggly plants covered the uninhabited hills. There was plenty of wood. The problem would be to find a place where the savan dalage could come at him from but one direction. Where a fire could bar that approach.

He spent an hour locating a marginally acceptable hole in the side of a stony wadi, or dry wash. It had been used as a shelter before. There were stick figures etched in the soft stone walls. They had a runic look. He supposed they were graffiti left by Jan Iron-Hand's proto-Trolledyngjans at the time of the Fall.

He gathered brush and wood till he could barely crowd himself in behind his fire line. He built a small fire from which to light his larger protector when the hunters came.

„The trick, friend Michael, will be to stay awake."

He amused himself with games he had not played since his Rebsamen days. He made up dirty limericks. He tried to remember each of the women he had loved. The list was shorter than his friends suspected. As that wore thin, the moon rose. He imagined characters in its blotchy face. Then he tried cataloging the constellations... .

He wakened suddenly, totally alert. Without thinking he tossed brush onto the embers of his fire. He puffed frantical­ ly. The sounds of claws on stone came ever closer.