“I am Canrell Zotiern, representing Prince Chakkell,” he announced with an imperiousness which would have been better suited to his master. “Lord Glo and members of the Maraquine family — no others — will stand here in line facing the door and will await the arrival of the prince.”

Toller, who was shocked by Zotiern’s arrogance, assisted Glo to the indicated place beside Lain and Gesalla. He glanced at Glo, expecting him to issue the proper reprimand, but the older man seemed too preoccupied with the laboured mechanics of walking to have noticed anything amiss. Several of the household servants watched silently from the door leading to the kitchens. Beyond the archway of the main entrance the mounted soldiers of Chakkell’s personal guard disturbed the flow of light into the hall. Toller became aware that the equerry was looking at him.

“You! The body servant!” Zotiern called out. “Are you deaf? Get back to your quarters.”

“My personal attendant is a Maraquine, and he remains with me,” Glo said steadily.

Toller heard the exchange as across a tumultuous distance. The crimson drumming was something he had not experienced in a long time, and he was dismayed to find that his cultivated immunity to it was proved illusory. I’m a different person, he told himself, while a prickly chill moved across his brow. I AM a different person.

“And I have a warning for you,” Glo went on, speaking in high Kolcorronian and dredging up something of his old authority as he confronted Zotiern. “The unprecedented powers the King has accorded Leddravohr and Chakkell do not, as you appear to think, extend to their lackeys. I will tolerate no further violations of protocol from you.”

“A thousand apologies, my lord,” Zotiern said, insincere and unperturbed, consulting a list he had taken from his pocket. “Ah, yes — Toller Maraquine… and a spouse named Fera.” He swaggered closer to Toller. “While the subject of protocol is in the air, Toller Maraquine, where is this spouse of yours? Don’t you know that all female members of the household should be presented?”

“My wife is at hand,” Toller said coldly. “I will.…” He broke off as Fera, who must have been listening, appeared at the door of the dayroom. Moving with uncharacteristic demureness and timidity, she came towards Toller.

“Yes, I can see why you wanted to keep this one hidden,” Zotiern said. “I must make a closer inspection on behalf of the prince.”

As Fera was passing him he halted her by the expedient of grasping a handful of her hair. The drumming in Toller’s brain crashed into silence. He thrust out his left hand and hit Zotiern on the shoulder, knocking him off-balance. Zotiern went down sideways, landing on his hands and knees, and immediately sprang up again. His right hand was going for his sword and Toller knew that by the time he fully regained his feet the blade would be unsheathed. Propelled by instinct, rage and alarm, Toller went in on his opponent and struck him on the side of the neck with all the power of his right arm. Zotiern spun away, limbs flailing the air like the blades of a ptertha stick, crashed to the floor and slid several yards on the polished surface. He ended up lying on his back, unmoving, his head angled close to one shoulder. Gesalla gave a clear, high scream.

“What happens here?” The angry shout came from Prince Chakkell, who had just come through the entrance closely followed by four of his guard. He strode to Zotiern, bent over him briefly — his sparsely covered scalp glistening — and raised his eyes towards Toller, who was frozen in the attitude of combat.

“You! Again!” Chakkell’s swarthy countenance grew even darker. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“He insulted Lord Glo,” Toller said, meeting the prince’s gaze directly. “He also insulted me and molested my wife.”

“That is correct,” Glo put in. “Your man’s behaviour was quite inexcus—”

“Silence! I’ve had my fill of this doltish upstart!” Chakkell swung his arm, signalling his guards to move in on Toller. “Kill him!”

The soldiers came forward, drawing their black swords. Toller backed away, thinking of his own blade which he had left at home, until his heel touched the wall. The soldiers formed a semicircle and closed in on him, eyes slitted and intent beneath the rims of their brakka helmets. Beyond them Toller could see Gesalla hiding in Lain’s embrace; the grey-robed Glo rooted to the spot, his hand raised in ineffectual protest; and Fera watching him through latticed fingers. Until that moment the guards had remained equally distant from him, but now the one on the right was taking the initiative and the point of his sword was describing eager little circles as he prepared for the first thrust.

Toller braced himself against the wall and made ready to launch himself forward beneath the thrust when it came, determined to inflict some degree of injury on his executioners rather than simply be cut down by them. The hovering sword tip steadied, purposefully, and its message for Toller was that time was at an end. Heightened perception of everything in his surroundings brought him the awareness that another man was entering the hall, and even in the desperate extremity he was able to feel a pang of regret that the newcomer was Prince Leddravohr, arriving just in time to savour his death.…

“Stand away from that man!” Leddravohr commanded. His voice was not unduly loud, but the four guards responded at once by stepping back from Toller.

“What the…!” Chakkell wheeled on Leddravohr. “Those men are in my personal guard and they take orders only from me.”

“Is that so?” Leddravohr said calmly. He aimed a finger at the soldiers and slowly swung it to indicate the opposite side of the hall. The soldiers went with the line of it, as though controlled by invisible rods, and took up new positions.

“But you don’t understand,” Chakkell protested. “The Maraquine lout has killed Zotiern.”

“It shouldn’t have been possible — Zotiern was armed and the Maraquine lout wasn’t. This is part of the price you pay, my dear Chakkell, for surrounding yourself with strutting incompetents.” Leddravohr went closer to Zotiern, looked down at him and gave a low chuckle. “Besides, he isn’t dead. He is damaged beyond repair, mind you, but he isn’t quite dead. Isn’t that so, Zotiern?” Leddravohr augmented the question by nudging the fallen man with his toe.

Zotiern’s mouth emitted a faint bubbling sound and Toller saw that his eyes were still open, frantic and staring, although his body remained inert.

Leddravohr flicked his smile into existence for Chakkell’s benefit. “As you think so highly of Zotiern, we’ll do him the honour of sending him off along the Bright Road. Perhaps he would even have chosen it himself were he still able to speak.” Leddravohr glanced at the four watchful soldiers. “Take him outside and see to it.”

The soldiers, obviously relieved at being able to escape Leddravohr’s presence, saluted hastily before swooping on Zotiern and carrying him outside to the precinct. Chakkell made as if to follow, then turned back. Leddravohr gave him a mock-affectionate slap on the shoulder, dropped a hand to his sword and padded across the hall to stand before Toller.

“You seem obsesse^ with placing your life in danger,” he said. “Why did you do it?”

“Prince, he insulted Lord Glo. He insulted me. And he molested my wife.”

“Your wife?” Leddravohr turned and looked at Fera. “Ah, yes. And how did you overcome Zotiern?”

Toller was puzzled by Leddravohr’s tone. “I punched him.”

“Once?”

“There was no need to do it again.”

“I see.” Leddravohr’s inhumanly smooth face was enigmatic. “Is it true that you have made several attempts to enter military service?”

“It is true, Prince.”

“In that case I have good news for you, Maraquine,” Leddravohr said. “You are now in the army. I promise you that you will have many opportunities to satisfy your troublesome warlike urges in Chamteth. Report to the Mithold Barracks at dawn.”