“Certain?” Glo’s large head turned from side to side. “Certain? Certain?”

“Yes, Lord Glo,” the King said gravely. “I had to be certain that our world was coming to an end.”

On hearing the bland statement Toller felt a unique emotional pang. Any fear which might have been part of it fled at once before curiosity and an overwhelming, selfish and gloating sense of privilege. The most momentous events in history were being staged for his personal benefit. For the first time in his life, he was in love with the future. “…as though the ptertha were encouraged by the events of the past two years, in the manner of a warrior who sees that his foe is weakening,” the King was saying. “Their numbers are increasing — and who is to say that their foul emissions will not become even more deadly? It has happened once, and it can happen again.

“We in Ro-Atabri have been comparatively fortunate thus far, but throughout the empire the people are dying from the insidious new form of pterthacosis in spite of all our efforts to fend the globes off. And the newborn, upon whom our future depends, are the most vulnerable. We might be facing the prospect of slowly dwindling into a pitiful, doomed handful of sterile old men and women — were it not for the looming spectre of famine. The agricultural regions are becoming incapable of producing food in the quantities which are necessary for the upkeep of our cities, even allowing for our vastly reduced urban populations.”

The King paused to give his audience a thin sad smile. “There are some among us who maintain that there is still room for hope, that fate may yet relent and wheel against the ptertha — but Kolcorron did not become great by supinely trusting to chance. That attitude is foreign to our national character. When forced to yield ground in a battle, we withdraw to a secure redoubt where we can gather our strength and determination to surge forth again and overwhelm our enemies.

“In the present case, as befits the ultimate conflict, there is the ultimate redoubt — and its name is Overland.

“It is my royal decree that we shall prepare to withdraw to Overland — not in order to cower away from our enemy, but to grow numerous and powerful again, to gain time in which to devise means of destroying the ptertha in their loathsome entirety, and finally — regardless of how long it may take — to return to our home world of Land as a glorious and invincible army which will triumphantly lay claim to all that is naturally and rightfully ours.”

The King’s oratory, enhanced by the formalism of the high tongue, had carried Toller along with it, opening up new perspectives in his mind, and it was with some surprise that he realised no response was forthcoming from either his brother or Glo. The latter was so immobile that he might have been dead, and Lain continued to stare down at his hands as he twisted the brakka ring on his sixth finger. Toller wondered, with a twinge of guilt, if Lain was thinking of Gesalla and the baby which would be born into turbulent times.

Prad ended the silence by choosing, oddly in Toller’s view, to address himself to Lain. “Well, wrangler? Have you another demonstration of mind reading for us?”

Lain raised his head and eyed the King steadily. “Majesty, even when our armies were at their most powerful, we avoided going against Chamteth.”

“I resent the implications of that remark,” Prince Leddravohr snapped. “I demand that.…”

“Your promise, Leddravohr!” The King rounded angrily on his son. “I would remind you of your promise to me. Be patient! Your time is at hand.”

Leddravohr raised both hands in a gesture of resignation as he settled back in his chair, and now his brooding gaze was fixed on Lain. The spasm of alarm Toller felt over his brother’s welfare was almost lost in the silent clamour of his reaction to the mention of Chamteth. Why had he been so slow to appreciate that an interplanetary migration fleet, if it were ever constructed, would require power crystals on such a vast scale that its needs could be met from only one scource? If the King’s awesome plans also included going to war against the enigmatic and insular Chamtethans, then the near future was going to be even more turbulent than Toller could readily visualise.

Chamteth was a country so huge that it could be reached just as readily by travelling east or west into the Land of the Long Days, that hemisphere of the world which was not swept by Overland’s shadow and where there was no littlenight to punctuate the sun’s progress across the sky. In the distant past several ambitious rulers had tried probing into Chamteth and the outcome had been so convincing, so disastrous that Chamteth had virtually been erased from the national consciousness. It existed, but — as with Overland — its existence had no relevance to the quotidian affairs of the empire.

Until now, Toller thought, striving to rebuild his picture of the universe. Chamteth and Overland are linked…bonded… to take one is to take the other…

“War against Chamteth has become inevitable,” the King said. “Some are of the opinion that it always has been inevitable. What do you say, Lord Glo?”

“Majesty,!.…” Glo cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “Majesty, I have always regarded myself as a creative thinker, but I freely admit that the grandeur and scope of your vision have taken my… hmm… breath away. When I originally proposed flying to Overland I envisaged despatching a small number of pathfinders, followed by the gradual establishment of a small colony. I had not dreamed of migration on the scale you are contemplating, but I can assure you that I am equal to the responsibilities involved. The designing of a suitable ship and the planning of all the necessary.…” Glo stopped speaking as he saw that Prad was shaking his head.

“My dear Lord Glo, you are not a well man,” the King said, “and I would be less than fair to you if I permitted you to expend what remains of your strength on a task of such magnitude.”

“But, Majesty.…”

The King’s face hardened. “Do not interrupt! The extremity of our situation demands equally extreme measures. The entire resources of Kolcorron must be reorganised and mobilised, and therefore I am dissolving all the old dynastic family structures. In their place — as of this moment — is a single pyramid of authority. Its executive head is my son, Prince Leddravohr, who will control and coordinate every aspect — military and civil — of our national affairs. He is seconded by Prince Chakkell, who will be responsible to him for the construction of the migration fleet.”

The King paused, and when he spoke again his voice had none of the attributes of humanity. “Be it understood that Prince Leddravohr’s authority is absolute, that his power is unlimited, and that to go counter to his wishes in any respect is a crime equivalent to high treason.”

Toller closed his eyes, knowing that when he opened them again the world of his childhood and youth would have passed into history, and that in its place would be a dangerous new cosmos in which his tenure might be all too brief.