"No. I wanted to come alone. But the lifeguards would have revolted."

"You feel safe? You don't know these people?"

"I'm safe. As long as the man on top of the mountain is still up there."

"The wind's got a bite to it around here."

True. There was snow on the slope where shade lay most of the day. Local guides said snow was new this winter.

The other party resumed moving toward a grassy shelf not far away. Hecht caught the flash of brown he hoped to see. Cloven Februaren was the company he did want.

Hecht halted once his people were all onto the grassy shelf. The falcon team set up, trying not to look threatening as they did.

"Here's a ridiculous mix," Hecht whispered to Brother Jokai.

Ten men came forward. Four were Direcian. One of those was a Chaldarean bishop. Two were heralds or squires. The other looked to be a noble of standing. Hecht did not recognize his colors. Brother Jokai was no help.

Hecht was not interested in the Direcians. He focused on the Pramans behind them. Bone and Az watched from beyond the edge of the grass. Not so big a surprise. He had known they were over here trying to unravel the Rudenes Schneidel puzzle. But he had not expected to see Nassim Alizarin al-Jebal on this side of the Mother Sea. He locked gazes with the Mountain briefly.

The Direcian Bishop urged his mount closer. He scanned Hecht's companions, recognizing the lifeguards as Brotherhood of War but not comprehending Prosek and Rhuk at all. Brother Jokai rated barely a glance. Then he saw something behind Hecht that left him with his mouth open.

"Bishop?"

The man could not talk.

Wait! Everyone had frozen. As though time had stopped. But it had not. Yonder, birds swooped over the Direcian camp. To one side Cloven Februaren perched on a boulder like an anchorite on his pillar. The old man grinned, gave him the thumbs-up, then pointed.

The Mountain, baffled and disturbed, looked around carefully.

"Sorcery," Hecht said, trying his voice.

Nassim's gaze fixed on him. Confused.

Hecht got it. Februaren had frozen everyone but himself, Hecht, and the Mountain. But that would not last. "What are you doing here?"

"They killed Hagid. That word did get through. Thank you."

"You know who?"

"The one up there. Rudenes Schneidel."

"And?"

"Yes. I know that, too. The Rascal. His turn will come."

"They must be missing you in al-Qarn."

"They could be. And they may never understand. Neither Gordimer nor er-Rashal have sons. The Lion knows nothing but feeding his own vices, these days himself. The Rascal has some secret scheme going that only he understands."

"Gordimer is a puppet. And doesn't know it. Er-Rashal's scheme involves Seska and making himself immortal. He has no love for the Faith. There is no other explanation for the last several years."

"No other explanation that makes sense," Nassim agreed. "Why did he want those mummies?"

"I don't know. They must be part of his quest for ascension."

"What?"

"He's trying to turn himself into an Instrumentality. There's no time to explain. This spell won't last. We need to go up there and exterminate Rudenes Schneidel, who is the Rascal's partner."

"Looks likely to be difficult."

"I don't want to just sit here."

"You have somewhere else to be?"

"I do." Inasmuch as Pacificus Sublime meant him to perish on this island.

"Prisoners say they didn't expect a siege."

"We still might starve ourselves out first." Hecht explained his situation.

"There are ships here. Artecipea is an island. Not so?"

"Yes. The men behind you, though, are beholden to King Peter and the syndics of Platadura. And Peter made this Patriarch."

"I understand. The spell is starting to slip."

Hecht saw an eye blink slowly. "Anything more? Fast. We won't have this chance again."

"One thing. Rudenes Schneidel is mine. Whatever else he's done, I stake first claim."

"Done. But manage those others…"

Cloven Februaren made a warning sound.

The air shimmered. Everyone resumed moving. Universally adopting baffled expressions. Several, in lockstep, blurted, "What just happened?"

Brother Jokai said, "We were hit by a spell of some kind. Check yourselves. See how it affected you."

No one found anything unusual. Which only heightened the tension.

Hecht said, "You're our top sorcerer, Jokai. Guard against it happening again." He faced the Direcian party. "Gentlemen. I'm Piper Hecht, Captain-General for the Patriarch. His Holiness wants this fortress overcome and its tenants compelled to pay the penalty for apostasy. I assume King Peter wants the same. None of us gets to go home till we finish it. So why don't we figure out what we ought to do?"

"Hercule Jaume de Sedilla, Count of Arun Tetear," said the Direcian who was in charge. "King Peter's viceroy on Artecipea." The Count seemed to be having trouble with his eyes. Nevertheless, he forged ahead, naming his companions. Nassim he introduced as Shake Malik Nunhor al-Healtiki. Shake Malik was a survivor of the Calziran Crusade. Having no better prospects, al-Healtiki had raised a company of veterans to serve King Peter for pay.

Clever Nassim.

His company included Bone, Az, and the other survivors of Else Tage's special company.

Shake Malik was a minor captain amongst the Pramans. The overall commander was a surprisingly fat man from Shippen who used no name but Iskandar.

The siege of Arn Bedu proceeded traditionally, though the fastness squatted atop one of the tallest and bleakest mountains in the High Athaphile. Iskandar and Count Hercule operated on the eastern slope. The Captain-General and Patriarchal forces operated on the less congenial western face. Each did what besiegers do – at a leisurely pace. They did not mind waiting. The pagan rebellion had fallen apart everywhere else.

Hecht worried about Titus Consent as the days and weeks turned into months. Where was the man?

The great monster sorcerer cornered inside Arn Bedu never deployed his vaunted power.

Hecht had Sedlakova try to undermine. The decomposed, soft stone on the surface gave way to hard, living stone too soon. Work went ahead anyway. The men had to be kept busy doing something.

Mining became an industry.

Hecht left that to his staff. He went down to the coast and hired ships to bring supplies over from Sheavenalle. He put spies aboard those ships. Those men brought back news of the broader world. Big changes were going on. The Church had abandoned the Connecten Crusade completely. Sublime Pacificus kept issuing bulls calling on all Episcopal Chaldareans to join King Peter in a crusade in Direcia. Anne of Menand had pledged the manhood and wealth of Arnhand to help repel the anticipated Praman offensive. Knights from Arnhand, Santerin, and Santerin's continental possessions were on the move. So were Brothen Episcopal knights from the Grail Empire, encouraged by Empress Katrin.

There were hints that Anne of Menand's men might give the Connec special attention returning home from obliterating the Unbeliever.

Other news was less exciting. The new Patriarch had subdued his enemies inside Brothe. Unlike Ornis of Cedelete before him. And managed without bringing home his Patriarchal army. Which said something about Pinkus Ghort's ability to work under pressure.

Hecht seldom got to talk to those he knew in the other camp.

Titus Consent finally returned. With a small fleet. "Thanks for sending me," he said. "I got to see my new son. Noe named him Avran. I wasn't there to remind her that we converted. So Avran he'll be." Consent handed over a case of letters. Some were from Anna and the children. Others were from Principate Delari and several men of standing who wanted to get his ear.