"Stubbornness can be a dangerous trait in a general."

Thero sighed. "Or a queen."

So, they are coming, and not by way of your city, Khirnari," said Raghar Ashnazai, turning his wine cup idly on the polished surface of the balcony table.

The gaunt Plenimaran's nails were smooth and clean, Ulan i Sathil noted, watching his guest from his place by the balustrade; this was a Tirfaie whose tools were words. Three centuries of trade with such men had taught Ulan to be wary.

"Yes, Lord Torsin left to meet them yesterday," he replied, turning his attention to the harbor spread out below the balcony. Silently he counted the foreign vessels moored there—more than two dozen today in spite of the war. How empty the harbor would be without them.

"If the Bokthersa and their allies have their way, your great marketplace will not be so full of northern traders," the Plenimaran envoy went on, as if reading his thoughts.

He wasn't, of course; Ulan would have sensed any magic and countered it with his own. No, this man's power lay in astuteness and patience, not magic.

"It's true, Lord Raghar," he replied. His old knees ached badly today, but standing allowed him to look down at the Plenimaran, a position worth the discomfort. "It would be a great blow to my clan and our allies if

the present routes of trade were changed. Just as it might be a serious blow to your country if Aurenen joined forces with the Skalans."

"Then our concerns are similar, if not our interests."

Ulan acknowledged the truth of this, glad that he had not underestimated whom he was dealing with; as khirnari of Viresse, he'd dealt with five Tirfaie generations from the Three Lands and beyond. The Ashnazai were one of the oldest and most influential families in Plenimar.

"And yet I am curious," he countered, keeping his voice neutral. "There are rumors suggesting that Plenimar needs no assistance from anyone in their war against the Skalans—something to do with necromancy, I believe?"

"You surprise me, Khirnari. The practice of necromancy was outlawed centuries ago."

Ulan shrugged graciously. "Here in Viresse we take a more pragmatic view of such things. Magic is magic, no? I'm sure your cousin, Vargul Ashnazai, would say the same. Or would have, had he not already given his life in the service of your Overlord's half-brother, the late Duke Mardus."

This time Raghar's surprise was genuine. "You are well informed, Khirnari."

"I think you will find most of the eastern clans are." Ulan smiled, his silver-grey eyes narrowing like an eagle's. "Your country has very long arms; we know better than to underestimate such a neighbor."

"And the Skalans?"

"As allies, they would pose a different sort of threat."

"Far beyond a threat to Viresse's port monopoly, I think. Bokthersa clan's blood ties to the Skalan throne, for instance?"

Ah, yes, very astute indeed. "You have a better grasp of Aurenfaie politics than most, Raghar Ashnazai. Most outsiders think of us as a single, united land ruled by the Iia'sidra in place of a queen or overlord."

"Overlord Estmar understands that the eastern and western clans have different concerns. And that clans such as Bokthersa and Bry'kha are looked on by many as troublemakers, too ready to mix with foreigners."

"The same has been said of the Viresse. But there is a difference. The Bokthersans are fond of foreigners, while we in Viresse…" He paused and looked directly at the Plenimaran for the first time, letting a hint of his power travel along the thread of their gaze. "We merely consider you—useful."

"Then we are of similar minds, Khirnari." Ashnazai smiled coldly through his beard as he pulled a sealed document tube from his sleeve and laid it on the table. "According to my sources, Queen Idrilain is dying, though few outside the royal circle know of it. I do not think she will live long enough for Klia to complete her mission."

Ulan eyed the tube. "I understand Phoria is a worthy successor."

The envoy tapped the tube meaningfully with a ringed finger and smiled again. "So one might think, Khirnari, and yet there are certain rumors suggesting a rift between her and the queen. Rumors that even now my people in Skala are allowing to seep out into certain well-placed ears. Even without this information, there are some Skalans who do not welcome the idea of a barren queen. There are few enough rightful heirs as it is. Just the second sister, Aralain, and her daughter. And Klia, of course."

"That would seem sufficient," remarked Ulan.

"In time of peace, perhaps, but in war? So much death and uncertainty. Let us hope for Skala's sake that their four gods guard these women lovingly, eh?"

"I pray Aura may watch over their lives," Ulan retorted, turning away to hide his revulsion; how easily these Tir turned to the expediency of assassination and outright murder. The brevity of their lives seemed to engender a brutal impatience abhorrent to the Aurenfaie mind.

"I am grateful as always for your information and support," he went on, still gazing out over the harbor. His harbor.

"You honor me with your trust, Khirnari."

Ulan heard the scrape of the chair and the rustle of a cloak. When he turned at last, Ashnazai was gone, but the sealed tube still lay on the table.

Avoiding the chair the Plenimaran had occupied, Ulan eased painfully into the one opposite and stretched his aching legs. At last he opened the tube and shook out its contents: three parchments. One was a Plenimaran affidavit of sorts signed by someone named Urvay. The other two were Skalan court documents apparently having to do with the treasury. Each bore the signatures of Princess Phoria and the late Skalan Vicegerent, Lord Barien. One of these also carried the Queen's Seal.

Ulan read them all carefully, then again. When he'd finished he set them down with a sigh, wishing not for the first time that it was Skala or Mycena lying so close across the Strait of Bal, rather than Plenimar.

That night Ulan sat again on the balcony, this time entertaining three other members of the Iia'sidra. The meal had been cleared away and the wine poured. As was the custom, they sat in silence for a while, watching the waning moon climb the canopy of stars. Two of Ulan's guests were there at his invitation. The third had surprised them all with her unexpected arrival.

A fragrant breeze fluttered the ends of their sen'gai against their faces and lifted Lhaar a Iriel's thin silver hair, revealing the tracery of Khatme clan marks on her wizened neck behind her heavy jeweled earrings.

Her arrival that afternoon was a mixed blessing. Because of her, Raghar Ashnazai's scrolls remained tucked away out of sight in Ulan's study. The fact that the Khatme khirnari would travel so far to meet with him might be interpreted by some as a sign of support, yet who could guess what any of that strange clan was thinking behind their painted eyes and elaborate tattoos?

The others were a different matter. Elos i Orian, khirnari of nearby Golinil, was husband to Ulan's daughter. Malleable, and transparent as water, Elos understood how intertwined the interests of the Golinil were with those of Viresse.

Old Galmyn i Nemius, who'd come east from Lhapnos bearing messages of support from his own clan and the Haman, was another matter. The interests of those two clans were more complex, and more obscure, yet they had both voted against the impending delegation from Skala. What would have happened, Ulan wondered, if the Skalans had not insisted on bringing the Bokthersan exile, Seregil i Korit, with them? No matter, really. It would work to his favor at Sarikali.

"We meet under a propitious moon," Elos i Orian observed cheerfully.

Lhaar a Iriel spared him a cold glance. "The same moon shines on all. As I recall, it was under Aura's Bow that the vote went against you at the Iia'sidra."