# Sky Trillium

Julian May

The supreme fantasy epic of magic, love & treachery – Book 3The three sisters thought they had rid the world of evil, that dark sorcerer Orogastus was banished to the Chasm and set to perish.But after many long years Orogastus is stirring and Kadiya’s trillium talisman is losing its power.Their world is out of balance, trouble is looming. The stage is set for a dramatic confrontation that could decide, once and for all, the fate the sisters and the lands they govern.

Voyager


JULIAN MAY

Sky Trillium


For Pat Brockmeyer

## Contents

Cover

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

About the Author

By the same author

Copyright

About the Publisher

## PROLOGUE

The old madman had fallen unconscious at last, prone on the dining room table amidst the remains of the meal. The prisoner let his glittering glass blade descend until its point touched the dark, wrinkled skin of the Arch image’s neck.

One thrust. A single movement of his arm and it would be ended.

Do it!

But the prisoner held back, cursing himself for a sentimental coward, his mind a storm of conflicting emotion. The cup of poisoned wine lay upset near Denby’s flaccid brown hand. Dregs puddled on the shining gondawood surface, slowly whitening the varnish beneath. The magnificent table, more than twelve thousand years old, was probably ruined; but its insane owner would survive. At the last, standing over the helpless form of the Archimage of the Firmament with the razor-sharp fruit knife in his hand, the prisoner found it impossible to kill his captor.

Why do I hesitate? he asked himself. Is it because of the old man’s crotchety good humour, or his awesome office, that he neglects so scandalously? Do I hold back because Denby Varcour spared my life, even though he sentenced me to share his grotesque exile? Or is magic at work here, protecting this ancient meddler even though he lies vulnerable as a sleeping child before me?

Never mind all that. Do it. Kill him! The poison has only rendered him senseless. Kill him now before it is too late!

But the prisoner could not. Not even the power of his Star sufficed to drive the blade home. Denby lay there snoring gently, a smile on his furrowed lips, quite safe, while his would-be murderer fumed and fretted. The reason for the failure was unfathomable but the impossibility remained.

Shaking his head in self-disgust, the prisoner replaced the glass knife on the platter of juicy ladu that was to have been their dessert. With a last uneasy glance at the unconscious madman, he hurried out of the room.

It took only a moment to snatch up the sack of warm clothing and stolen magical implements he had secreted in a cupboard in the salon anteroom. Then he was off, running down the dim, silent corridors toward the chamber of the dead woman, located nearly two leagues away in another quadrant of the Dark Man’s Moon.

The prisoner knew he had no time to waste. The sindona messengers and bearers were withdrawn into the Garden Moon as usual, but there was no telling when one or another of the terrible living statues might decide to cross over and seek out their lunatic master on some cryptic errand. Should a sindona find Denby drugged, it would know in an instant what had happened and call out the sentinels.

And if those beautiful demons caught up with the prisoner, he would die. The sentinels would discover the new empowerment of his Star, and not even Denby’s senile whimsy would suffice to spare his life.

The fleeing man paused for an instant. Clasping the heavy platinum medallion engraved with a many-pointed image that hung around his neck, he called upon its magic to survey his prison. The Star reported that the aged enchanter was still unconscious and no sindona were abroad. The only things that moved in the Dark Man’s Moon were the tenders, those odd mechanical contrivances that crept about on jointed legs like great metallic lingits, doing domestic chores.

One of these machines confronted the prisoner now, coming suddenly into view around the corridor’s sharp curve. It carried a basket of flameless lamp-globes and moved patiently along, ‘sniffing’ with one of its armlike appendages, seeking burned-out ceiling lights that might require replacement.

‘Out of my way, thing!’ The prisoner barged past the bulky device, nearly upsetting it and causing its collection of glowing globes to spill onto the floor. His foot landed on one of the lights and he lost his balance and fell to his knees.

‘I beg pardon, master,’ the lamp-tender said humbly. ‘Are you injured? Shall I summon one of the consolers to treat you?’

‘No! Don’t! I forbid it!’ Sweat broke out on the prisoner’s brow. He struggled upright and managed to speak in more normal tones. ‘I am not hurt. I command you to go about your normal duties. Do not summon assistance. Do you understand?’

Four inhuman eyes studied him. Denby’s weird creations were the most solicitous of servants, quite capable of forcing him to accept the medical attention of a sindona consoler against his will if he actually needed it.

Dark Powers! he prayed silently. Don’t let it call a sindona. Don’t let all my careful planning come to naught and my life be forfeit because of a witless machine!

‘It is true that you are unhurt,’ the light-tender said at last. ‘I will resume my work. I regret any inconvenience I have caused.’ It blinked its eyes in salute and began to pick up its scattered load.

The prisoner walked off in a semblance of nonchalance; but when the lamp-tender was out of sight he began to run again, feeling fear swell within him. What if the cursed machine summoned the sindona anyway? What if the sentinels were already in pursuit?

He was racing flat out now, his formal dining-robes flapping and his boot-shod feet thudding on the resilient corridor floor. A lump of cramping dread knotted his belly and every breath was now like a sword-cut. Dwelling in this damned place for two years had robbed him of his bodily strength as well as crippling his resolution. But he would mend if he could elude the sindona and finally take advantage of the dead woman’s second gift …

He was in the disused part of the Dark Man’s Moon now, a silent warren of empty galleries and parlours, uninhabited bedroom suites, and abandoned workshops and libraries. It was here that the rearguard of the Vanished Ones had lived twelve times ten hundreds ago while they strove hopelessly to stem the advance of the Conquering Ice.

Denby had willingly given him permission to explore the ghostly rooms, apparently unmindful of what might be found there. Early in his incarceration, the prisoner had come upon the chamber of the dead woman and received her first precious gift. With its help, he had collected his small trove of magical devices; but they were useless, of course, so long as he remained Denby’s captive. The Dark Man was invulnerable to ordinary magic.

A long time later, after the prisoner had discovered the truth about himself and about the world’s imbalance, he had found the dead woman’s second gift: the means to escape this strange prison and its demented jailer. Her third and last gift, without which the other two were useless, he had found just two days earlier. There was no magic in this gift at all, and for that reason Denby had succumbed. The old man had not died, as the prisoner had hoped, but if the profound swoon only lasted a short while longer –

Star Man, where are you going?

Merciful Dark Powers, the sentinels had found him! Their voices rang in his brain like great brazen bells.

What have you done to the Archimage of the Firmament? What stolen goods do you carry in that sack? Answer us. Star Man!

At any moment they might materialize in the corridor with him. They would point their fingers in judgement – and his life would end in a puff of smoke while his naked skull bounced hollow on the floor.

Star Man, this is your final warning. Stop and explain yourself!

But he only continued to flee. Suddenly they appeared out of thin air, four of them, less than ten ells behind him and striding purposefully in pursuit. The sindona that were called Sentinels of the Mortal Dictum resembled living statues of ivory, taller than a man and more beautiful than any human being. They wore only crossed belts of blue and green scales and iridescent crown-helms, and they carried golden death’s-heads that symbolized their lethal duty. The pace of the sentinels was ponderous and deliberate and he kept well ahead of them, but he was nearly spent. His heart seemed about to burst and his legs were faltering and would not bear him much further.

Where was her chamber? He should have reached it long ago! But the eerie corridor seemed endless, and the sentinels were drawing closer moment by moment. His vision reddened, then began to dim.

I am finished, he said to himself, and pitched forward toward blackness, losing his grip upon the sack. As he fell he took hold of his medallion in a last gesture of futile appeal. The Star seemed to lend him fresh strength. Lying there, he was able to lift his head and open his eyes.

He saw the four pale sindona, golden skulls cradled beneath their left arms, marching toward him. And he also saw that a miracle had been vouchsafed. He lay before a door, massively fashioned of solid metal, marked with a huge, tarnished likeness of the same many-rayed silvery Star he wore around his neck. The portal had neither latch nor keyhole. It was only a few paces away.

Like a dying thing, he crawled with agonized slowness, then lifted his medallion on its chain and touched it to the door.

No! cried the sentinels. Their right arms rose in unison to point annihilation toward him.

The door flew open. There within was the dead woman, seeming to turn her head and smile at him, silently offering sanctuary.

Somehow he was drawn swiftly inside and the door clanged shut behind him. He was enveloped in night – a night spangled with unblinking stars. The room was so cold that the breath was torn from his heaving lungs in a frosty cloud and the sweat coursing down his face turned to crackling ice. An involuntary moan escaped his stiffening lips. He had forgotten that one visited the dead woman only on her own terms.

Near paralysed with pain and the intense cold, he pulled a cloak from his sack, flung it about himself, and drew up the hood, muffling his face to the eyes. Then he fumbled to pull on fur-lined gloves. Staggering to his feet, he stood with his back pressed to the locked door, fighting to reclaim control of his mind and body.

Would the sindona be able to break in and capture him?

The dead woman smiled serenely and seemed to say, No. Not without the explicit command of the Dark Man himself and he is still bereft of his senses.

She sat in a thronelike chair, not really looking at him at all. One entire wall of her chamber was a gigantic window, and her glazed eyes, wide open, seemed to stare with rapt fascination at the scene outside. A shining blue-and-white sphere hung in the midst of a million untwinkling stars. The Garden Moon and the Death Moon were out of sight, tracing their course in the heavens somewhere behind the abode of the Dark Man, so there was nothing to detract from the heart-wrenching beauty of the vision. Uncounted leagues distant, the World of the Three Moons hovered like a massive clouded aquamarine.

The imperilled world. The world that was his home, that he alone could save. The world that had certainly been her home as well, twelve thousand years ago.

She had died with her eyes fixed longingly upon that blue orb, with one hand clasping a Star hanging on jewelled links at her breast and the other holding a curiously wrought little glass phial with a few frozen droplets remaining in it. Her body was perfectly preserved in the deep cold, dressed in rich garments of mournful black. Her hair was dark, streaked with silver. She had been middle-aged but of surpassing beauty, a captive like himself. The archives of the Dark Man had told him some of her tragic story:

Her name was Nerenyi Darai, and she had been the founder of the mighty Star Guild. One who loved her beyond all reason and loyalty had ‘saved’ her from the fate that had befallen most of the other members of her group, only to see her voluntarily relinquish life rather than evade the Conquering Ice in his despised company. The loss of Nerenyi had driven Denby Varcour, greatest hero of the Vanished Ones and Archimage of the Firmament, out of his mind.

The prisoner bowed deeply before her body, trying to control his shivering. He would not live long in this rigorous place. If the dead woman’s second gift proved inoperative after aeons of disuse, he would surely freeze to death before Denby awoke and ordered the sentinels to seize him.

‘I could not kill him after all, Star Lady,’ he confessed to her. ‘Perhaps his magic protected him. But I suspect it was my own soul that demurred, unable to take his life in such a craven manner as he lay smilingly unconscious, replete with good food and wine. Should another day come when he and I meet in honourable magical combat, man-to-man, I will not hesitate to destroy him. Will that suffice?’

The voice that might have been hers replied, It will. Have you found the basic instruments of enchantment – those that will enable you to resume your work?

‘I have.’ He lifted the sack. ‘My Star eventually led me to all of them, even though it took some time. I am ready now to return to the world, regain the three pieces of the Sceptre of Power, and perform the world-saving task you have commanded.’

The Three will do their best to prevent you.

‘Lady, no human being will stop me – not even the one I love. I swear it on the Star.’

When he had first found Nerenyi Darai, some instinct bade him touch his own medallion to hers … and the ancient magic of her Guild had done its work, granting him the full potency of the Star at last. It was the dead woman’s first gift.

The second gift was a viaduct, one of those wondrous passageways that the Dark Man and the sindona used in order to travel instantly from place to place about the hollow Moons. But this particular viaduct, invisible now, as its kind always were until an adept commanded their opening, led from the Dark Man’s Moon back to the world below. Its existence had been revealed to the prisoner on one of his later visits.

Nerenyi Daral had warned him that the Archimage of the Firmament would know instantly if anyone attempted to use the viaduct. And then Denby would either lock it or bid it convey the prisoner to some ghastly new place of captivity. Only if the Dark Man were killed or disabled would the passage lead to freedom.

A tiny glass container in Nerenyi’s hand had been her third gift. Sheer happenstance had finally drawn the thing to his attention two days ago and caused him to ask what it contained. When he found out about the poison, he began at once to plan his escape.

‘I am ready to go now,’ he told her. ‘Star Lady, I beseech you to open the world-viaduct for me.’

Do you swear on the Star to recreate my Guild and carry out its great purpose, restoring the balance of the world?

He grasped his medallion with one gloved hand. His fingers were losing sensation and the deadly cold was fast penetrating the cloak as well.

‘I do swear,’ he said.

Then take my own Star, dear adopted son and heir, and give it to one in whom you place your utmost trust. With the help of the reborn Guild, reclaim the Sceptre of Power. It is still capable of banishing the Conquering Ice. Learn to control its perilous faculties and let the Sky Trillium shine again.

Reverently, he detached her dead fingers from the medallion, lifted the jewelled chain and pendant from her neck, and put it into his sack. ‘I will do as you command … But now, Lady, I beg you to let me go forth, else I will surely freeze to death on the brink of freedom.’

Go. Viaduct system activate!

A crystalline musical chime rang out and an upstanding ring of light about two ells in diameter sprang into existence to the left of the dead woman’s chair. Within it was an area of featureless black from which a musty warm wind flowed.

‘Is the viaduct ready to transport me?’

Yes. All you need do is enter. Once it would have led only to the domain of the Conquering Ice, and so it was useless to me. I came here through it, hut I could not use it to escape. But in these latter days, when the Sempiternal Icecap is temporarily diminished, the viaduct will debouch in a safe place.

He hesitated. ‘May I ask where in the world I will emerge?’

The Star-Voice was stern. You will go where you are sent, and there you must begin immediately to carry out your mission. Quickly! Denby is about to awake. He will be at the door in a moment.

‘Then, Lady, goodbye!’

Holding tight to the sack, he stepped into the glowing ring and vanished. There was a second bell-like sound and the circle winked out. The remnants of the prisoner’s last breath, clouds of minute ice crystals, swirled in the frigid air around the enthroned dead body.

The door of the chamber swung open. The four sindona sentinels marched in, their golden skulls held at the ready. Shuffling after them came a very old man with dark skin and frizzled snow-white hair. He was enveloped in a mantle of golden worram fur.

‘Orogastus!’ he called. His voice was strong and resonant and might have belonged to a much younger man. ‘Are you still here?’

He has departed, one of the sentinels said.

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Denby Varcour. ‘Now we can get on with saving the world – if it can be saved! A pity he didn’t finish me off, but I might have known I’d have to see the thing through to the end.’ He flapped one hand at the sindona, ordering them back out into the corridor, then went and stood before the frozen corpse.

‘Forgive me, my beloved Nerenyi. It was too good an opportunity to miss. I could not let it be too easy for him, you see.’

As always, her tranquil features smiled.

## CHAPTER 1

Prince Tolivar lay there in the dark, fully clothed except for his boots, trying desperately not to fall asleep.

He had not dared to leave the silver oil lamps or even a candle lit, for fear someone would see the light shining beneath the door. The only illumination in the chamber came from fitful lightning flashes through the window, and from the clock on the stand beside his bed, an artifact of the Vanished Ones with a face that glowed softly green. It had been a gift on his last nameday from his Aunt Kadiya, the Lady of the Eyes. She was the only one in the world – aside from good old Ralabun – who did not despise him.

Some day he would show them all, especially his hateful elder brother and sister, Crown Prince Nikalon and Princess Janeel. The time would come when they would no longer tease him and call him a useless second prince. They would fear him instead and grant him the respect he deserved!

If he got his treasure back …

Lying there, Tolivar gritted his teeth and willed that the slow-crawling minutes go faster. Ralabun would not come until two hours after midnight – if he came at all. ‘He must come!’ the Prince whispered to himself. But he had not dared to tell Ralabun why he was needed, and the old creature might have dismissed the unusual summons as a boyish whim. He might forget to come, or even fall asleep waiting. Tolivar himself was having great trouble keeping his eyes from closing.

‘Holy Flower, don’t let me nod off,’ he prayed. He was already badly frightened at the prospect of what lay ahead. If he slept – and the awful dream came again – he might be tempted to give it up.

It probably had been foolish of him to hide the treasure out in the Mazy Mire, but the stratagem had seemed necessary. Ruwenda Citadel’s ancient stones were themselves permeated with magic, and sacred Black Trillium blossoms bloomed everywhere now on the knoll, thriving beneath the light of the Three Moons. Worst of all, his other aunt – the formidable Archimage Haramis – had taken to visiting his mother too often here in the Summer Capital, which was their childhood home. Tolivar could not risk the White Lady discovering his secret, so he had found a place away in the swamp to hide the precious things.

No one would take them from him. Not ever.

‘They are mine by right of salvage,’ he reassured himself. ‘Even if I am only twelve years old and still unable to make use of them fully, I will die rather than give them up.’

The unwelcome thought stole again into his mind that he might very well perish tonight, drowned in the surging black river.

‘Then so be it,’ he muttered, ‘for if I leave the treasure behind in Ruwenda during the rains, it might be swept away in a great tempest. Or it could be buried in mud before we return next spring, or even found by some stray Oddling and handed over to the White Lady. Then I would have nothing to live for.’

If only the Wet Time had not come so inconveniently early this year!

But Aunt Haramis had said that the world was badly out of balance, and the strange weather reflected it, as did the restlessness of the volcanoes and the increasing number of earthquakes.

The River Mutar that skirted Citadel Knoll had surged to flood stage almost without warning. King Antar and Queen Anigel had decided that the Court of the Two Thrones dared not wait until the end of the month to adjourn to the Winter Capital of Derorguila in Labornok. Instead, the royal entourage must depart within six days, before the mire waters rose too high.

Prince Tolivar, the youngest of the royal family, had reacted to the announcement with panic. So long as the storms continued, the Mutar’s current would be too strong for him to paddle upstream alone in the skiff he kept hidden for his secret excursions. He had prayed both to the Holy Flower and to the Dark Powers who aided wizards, begging for just a few dry days and a respite in the flood. But the entreaties were in vain. The time of the royal retinue’s departure drew closer and closer until now there were only two days left. Tomorrow the caravan would begin to form. In daylight he would not be able to sneak out of the Citadel without being seen. He had to get the treasure tonight, or leave it behind.

Tolivar tried to banish his desperation as he listened to the rain beating at his bedchamber window. It was a sound that provoked sleep. Several times the Prince found his eyes closing and managed to snap back into wakefulness. But the time passed so slowly, and the raindrops’ drumming was so monotonous, that eventually he could not help drifting off.

Once again, the familiar nightmare began.

It had haunted him for the past two years: the rumbling terror of the great earthquake, smoke from burning buildings, himself a snivelling captive, his small-boy fear coloured with the guilt of betrayal. And then miraculous escape! A sudden surge of courage in his heart that had emboldened him to take the great treasure! In the dream, he vowed to use it and become a hero. He would save the city of Derorguila from the attacking army, save his royal parents and all the embattled people. Even though he was only eight years old, he would do it by commanding magic …

In the dream, he used the magical device, and they all died.

All of them. Loyal defenders and vicious invaders, the King, the Queen, his brother and sister, even the Lady of the Eyes and the Archimage Haramis herself, dead because of the magic he had wrought! A great pile of bodies lay in the bloody snow of the palace courtyard outside Zotopanion Keep, and he himself was the only one left alive.

But how could it have happened? Was it really his fault?

He fled the horrible scene, running through the devastated city. Snow fell thickly from a dark sky, and the gale wind that drove it spoke with the voice of a man:

Tolo! Tolo, listen to me! I know you have my talisman. I saw you take it four years ago. Beware, foolish Prince! The thing’s magic can kill you as easily as it killed the others. You will never learn to use it safely. Give it back! Tolo, do you hear me? Leave it out there in the Mazy Mire. I will come for it. Tolo, listen! Tolo –

‘No! It’s mine! Mine!’

The Prince woke with a start. He was safe in his own bedroom in Ruwenda Citadel. Thunder was faintly audible through the thick stone walls and the echo of his own terrified cry rang in his ears. He checked the clock on the bedside stand, discovered that it was still too early, and fell back onto his pillow uttering childish curses. The nightmare was so stupid! He had killed no one with magic. His family was alive and well and suspected nothing. The sorcerer was dead, but that was his own fault. Everyone knew that.

‘I will retrieve my treasure in spite of the rains,’ he said to himself, falling back onto his pillow. ‘I will take it with me to Derorguila and continue practising its use. And one day, I will be as powerful as he was.’

At last the little clock chimed two. Prince Tolivar sighed, sat up on the edge of the bed and began to tug on his stoutest pair of boots. His frail body was weary after a day spent gathering and packing the things he would take with him to Labornok. The servants had dealt with his clothes, but packing everything else had been his responsibility. Six large brassbound wooden chests now stood ready in his darkened sitting room next door, and four of them were filled, mostly with his precious books. There was also a smaller strongbox of iron with a stout lock that the Prince hoped to fill and tuck in among the other things.

If Ralabun would only hurry!

The clock now showed a quarter past the designated hour. Tolivar put on his raincloak. He wore both a short-sword and a hunting dagger. Opening the casement window and peering out, he saw that the rain had let up, although lightning still flickered in the west. The river was not visible from this side of the Citadel, but he knew it would be high and swift.

At last there came a soft scratching at the door. Tolivar dashed across the room and admitted a sturdy old Nyssomu male, dressed in dark brown rainproof leathers handsomely decorated with silver stitching. Ralabun, the retired Keeper of the Royal Stables, was Tolivar’s crony and confidant. His usual aspect was one of sleepy amiability; but tonight his broad, wrinkled face was ashen with anxiety and his prominent yellow eyes seemed almost ready to pop out of his skull.

‘I am ready, Hiddenheart. But I beg you to tell me why we must go out in such weather.’

‘It is necessary,’ the Prince replied curtly. He had long since given up urging Ralabun to bestow a more auspicious mire-name upon him.

‘It is a foul night to be abroad in the Mazy Mire,’ the old one protested. ‘Surely this mysterious errand of yours can wait until morning.’

‘It cannot,’ the Prince retorted, ‘for we would surely be seen in daylight. And early tomorrow the Lord Steward gathers all of the baggage of the royal family and begins forming up the wagon train. No, we must go tonight. Quickly now!’

The boy and the aborigine hurried down a back stairway, ordinarily used only by chambermaids and other lackeys who tended to the royal apartments. On the floor below, a mezzanine overlooking the great hall, was the chapel, together with the small presence chambers of King Antar and Queen Anigel and the adjacent offices of the royal ministers. Guardsmen of the nightwatch were on patrol here, but Tolivar and Ralabun eluded them easily and slipped into a tiny alcove next to the chancellor’s rooms where boxes of old royal correspondence filled three tall shelves.

‘The secret way is here,’ Tolivar said softly. As Ralabun gaped in astonishment, the Prince took out a single letterbox and reached behind it. He then replaced the box, and the entire middle shelf swung soundlessly outward like a door, revealing a black opening beyond. ‘Do you have your dark-lantern, as I requested?’ Ralabun drew it from beneath his cloak, sliding open the aperture so that light from the glowing swamp-worms within shone out in a wan beam.

The two of them entered the secret passage. Tolivar closed it behind them, took charge of the lantern, and began to walk briskly along the narrow, dusty corridor, bidding the Nyssomu to follow.

‘I have heard tales of these hidden passages in the Citadel from Immu, the Queen’s nurse,’ Ralabun said, ‘but never have I been in one. Immu says that long years ago, when the three Living Petals of the Black Trillium were still young princesses, she and Jagun led the Queen and her sister Lady Kadiya out from the Citadel through such a passage when the evil King Voltrik would have murdered them. Was it your Royal Mother who showed you this secret way?’

Tolivar’s laugh was bitter. ‘Nay. I learned of it from a more obliging teacher. Look sharp! We must go down these steep stairs here and they are damp and slippery.’

‘Who then told you of the passageway? Was it Immu?’

‘Nay.’

‘Did you learn of it then through one of the ancient books you are so fond of perusing?’

‘No! Stop asking questions!’

Ralabun fell into a wounded silence as they descended more cautiously. The walls of the cramped staircase were now very wet. In the crevices grew masses of pale fungi that harboured faintly glowing creatures called slime-dawdlers. These little beasts crept along the steps like luminescent slugs, making the footing treacherous and producing an evil smell when they were trodden upon.

‘It’s not much further,’ Tolivar said. ‘We are already at the level of the river.’

After a few more minutes they came to another secret portal, with wooden machinery that creaked when the Prince operated it. They emerged into a disused shed full of decayed coils of rope, sprung barrels, and broken crates. A couple of startled varts squeaked and ran away as Tolivar and Ralabun went to the shed’s exterior door. The Prince shuttered the lantern and peered cautiously outside. Only a light drizzle fell now and it was very dark. There were no guards, for this quay had been abandoned years ago following the war between Ruwenda and Labornok, and its entrance into the Citadel sealed.

They cautiously made their way over the rotting planks of the dock with Ralabun now leading the way. The Nyssomu’s night-vision was much keener than that of humankind and they dared not show a light that might be detected by patrols on the battlements above.

‘My boat is yonder,’ Tolivar said, ‘hidden below the broken bollard.’

Ralabun inspected the craft dubiously. ‘It is very small, Hiddenheart, and the Mutar flood is strengthening each hour. Will we have to go very far upstream?’

‘Only about three leagues. And the boat is sturdy enough. I will row with the central oars while you scull with the stern sweep, and together we will breast the current and cross the river. Once on the other side, there will be slack water and the going will be much easier.’

Ralabun grinned. ‘I was not aware that you were such an experienced waterman.’

‘I am experienced in more things than you know,’ the boy said shortly. ‘Let us be going.’

They climbed aboard and cast off. Tolivar rowed with all his strength, which truly was not much. But Ralabun, while elderly, had muscular arms after years of heavy work in the stables, and so the boat moved steadily across the broad river. They dodged floating debris, including whole trees uprooted from the Black-mire upstream. Once there was even a log with a huge vicious raffin aboard, that sailed along as nonchalantly as a Trovista tradeboat. The beast roared as it passed less than three arm-lengths away, but it made no move to leave its safe perch and attack them.

Along the opposite shore from Citadel Knoll, which was mucky and uninhabited, the current was much less strong, just as the Prince had predicted. He wearily put up his oars and left the propelling of the boat to Ralabun. They made good headway upstream, and were able to converse above the noise of the rushing water.

Tolivar said, ‘There is a very shallow tributary creek that joins the river on the north shore, in the braided section just above Market Pool. That is where we are going.’

Ralabun nodded. ‘I know what you’re talking about: a nameless waterway clogged with fodderfern and lanceweed. But it is not navigable – ‘

‘It is, if one fares carefully. I have travelled the creek often during the Dry Time, in secret, disguising myself as a common wharfboy.’

Ralabun gave a disapproving grunt. ‘That was most imprudent, Hiddenheart! Even so close to Citadel Knoll, the Mazy Mire is not a safe place for a lone human lad. If you had only asked, I would have been glad to take you swamp-romping – ‘

‘I was in no danger.’ The Prince spoke haughtily. ‘And my business in the mire was both serious and personal. It had nothing to do with the sort of idle funseeking we are accustomed to pursue together.’

‘Hmph. What great mystery does this creek conceal, then?’

‘It’s my business,’ Tolivar snapped.

This time the Nyssomu’s feelings were clearly hurt. ‘Well, I humbly beg Your Worship’s pardon for prying!’

The boy’s voice softened. ‘Do not be offended, Ralabun. Even the dearest companions must have some things private from one another. I was forced to ask your help in travelling to my secret place tonight because of the strength of the river. There was no other soul I could trust.’

‘And gladly will I accompany you! But I confess that I am sad that you will not confide in me. You know I would never tell any secret of yours to a living soul.’

Tolivar hesitated. He had not intended to disclose the nature of the treasure to his friend. But he was strongly tempted now to have at least one other person know about the wondrous things he owned. And who better than Ralabun? Tolivar said: ‘Do you swear that you will not tell the King or the Queen about my secret? Nor even the Archimage Haramis herself, if she should command it?’

‘I swear upon the Three Moons and the Flower!’ said Ralabun stoutly. ‘Whatever privity you entrust to me I will guard faithfully until the Lords of the Air carry me safely beyond.’

The Prince nodded sombrely. ‘Very well then. You shall see my great treasure when I fetch it tonight from its hiding place in the mire. But if you reveal what it is to others, you may forfeit not only your own life, but also my own.’

Ralabun’s big round eyes gleamed in the dimness as he made the sign of the Black Trillium in the air with one hand. ‘What is this marvellous thing that we seek, Hiddenheart?’

‘Something I must show you, rather than speak of,’ said the Prince. And he would say no more, for all the Nyssomu’s coaxing.

After they had travelled on for another hour the drizzle ceased and a brisk wind began to blow, sending dark clouds speeding across a small patch of starry sky. On the opposite bank the torch-lamps of Ruwenda Market at the westernmost end of Citadel Knoll flickered dim, for the Mutar was now over a league wide. Then they entered the braided section of the river, where there were many wooded islands during the Dry Time. Most of these were submerged now, with the lofty gonda and kala trees that grew on them rising out of swirling black water. It would have been easy to lose the way, and several times the Prince had to correct Ralabun’s navigation. Unfortunately, the mirecraft of the old stablemaster was not nearly so expert as he pretended.

‘Here is the creek,’ Tolivar said at last.

‘Arc you sure?’ Ralabun looked doubtful. ‘It seems to me that we must go on further – ‘

‘No. It is here. I am quite certain. Turn in.’

Grumbling, the Nyssomu bent to his oar. ‘The jungle round about here is already flooded and full of drifting debris. There’s no sign at all of a channel. I really think –’

‘Be silent!’ The Prince took up a stance in the bow. The few stars gave barely enough light to see by. The water soon became very shallow, with dense thickets of flag-reeds, lanceweed, and redfern between the towering trees. In the respite from the downpour, the wild creatures of the Mazy Mire gave voice. Insects chirped, clicked, buzzed, and made musical chiming sounds. Pelriks hooted, night-carolers warbled, karuwoks splashed and hissed, and a distant gulbard uttered its throaty hunting cry.

When Ralabun could no longer use the sculling oar because of the shallowing water and clogging driftwood, he cried out, ‘This can’t be right, Hiddenheart!’

The boy controlled his exasperation with some effort. ‘I will guide us while you pole the boat along. Go between those two great wilunda trees. I know the way.’

Ralabun grudgingly obeyed, and even though the channel at times seemed hopelessly blocked with brush and hanging vines, a lead of open water barely as wide as the boat stayed always ahead of them. The going was very slow, but after another hour they reached a small area of high ground. Thorn-ferns, weeping wydels, and towering kalas grew about its rocky perimeter. Tolivar pointed out a landing spot and Ralabun brought the boat in to shore.

‘This is it?’ he murmured in surprise. ‘I could have sworn we were lost.’

The Prince leapt onto a bank covered with rain-beaten sawgrass and tied the bow-line to a snag. Then he took up the lantern, opened its shutter, and beckoned for the Nyssomu to accompany him along a nearly invisible path that twisted through outcropping rocks and dripping vegetation. They came to a clearing, where there was a small hut made of hewn poles and bundled grass, roofed with heavy fodderfern.

‘I built it,’ the Prince said with pride. ‘It’s where I come to study magic’

Ralabun’s wide mouth dropped open in amazement, displaying stubby yellow fangs. ‘Magic? A lad such as you? By the Triune – you are well named Hiddenheart!’

Tolivar unfastened the simple wicker door and gave an ironic bow. ‘Please enter my wizard’s workshop.’

Inside it was completely dry. The Prince lit a three-candle reflector lamp standing on a makeshift table. The hut had few other furnishings aside from a stool, a carboy of drinking water, and a set of hanging shelves that held a few jars and firkins of preserved food. Certainly there were no instruments, books, or any of the other occult appurtenances one might expect in a sorcerer’s lair.

Tolivar dropped to his knees, brushed aside the cut ferns and rushes that covered the dirt floor, and began to pry up a large, thin slab of stone. In the cavity beneath it lay two bags of coarse woollen cloth – one small and the other larger. Tolivar placed both on the table.

‘These are the precious things we have come for,’ he told Ralabun. ‘I did not think it wise to conceal them in the Citadel.’

The old aborigine eyed the bags with growing misgiving. ‘And what happens to these things when you reside in Derorguila during winter?’

‘I have a safe hiding-place in the ruins just outside Zotopanion Palace where nobody goes. I found it four years ago, during the Battle of Derorguila, when I had the good fortune to acquire this great treasure.’ The boy opened the larger bag and slid out a slender, shallow box about the length of a man’s arm and three handspans wide. It was made of a dark glassy material, and upon its lid was embossed a silver many-rayed Star.

Ralabun cried out: ‘Lords of the Air! It cannot be!’

Saying nothing, Tolivar opened the smaller bag. Something flashed brilliantly silver in the lamplight – a curiously wrought coronet having six small cusps and three larger. It was ornamented with carved scrollwork, shells, and flowers, and beneath each of the three larger points was a grotesque face: one was a hideous Skritek, the second was a grimacing human, and the third was a fierce being with stylized starry locks of hair who seemed to howl in silent pain. Beneath the central visage was a tiny replica of Prince Tolivar’s royal coat-of-arms.

‘The Three-Headed Monster,’ Ralabun croaked, nearly beside himself with awe. ‘Queen Anigel’s magical talisman that she surrendered as ransom to the vile sorcerer Orogastus!’

‘It belongs neither to my mother nor to him now,’ Tolivar declared. He placed the coronet upon his own head and suddenly his slender body and plain small face seemed transfigured. ‘The talisman is bonded to me by the star-box, and anyone who touches it without my leave will be burnt to ashes. I have not yet fully mastered the Three-Headed Monster’s powers, but some day I shall. And when that time comes I will become a greater wizard than Orogastus ever was.’

‘Oh, Hiddenheart!’ Ralabun wailed.

But before he could continue, the boy said, ‘Remember your oath, old friend.’ Then he removed the coronet from his head and replaced it and the star-box in their bags. ‘Now come along. Perhaps we can get home before it begins to rain again.’

## CHAPTER 2

‘Now!’ Kadiya cried out. ‘Take them!’

The huge web woven of tanglefoot fell, the scores of ropes that had supported it cut at the same moment by the crew of Nyssomu high in the kala trees. It was deep night, but a searing bolt of lightning lit the moment of the net’s landing on the floor of the swamp forest and dimmed the orange-glowing eyes of the startled Skritek war-party.

The ambush had been successful. More than forty of the monstrous Drowners, suddenly trapped in tough, gluey meshes, roared and shrieked amidst the rolling thunder. They tore ineffectually at the web with their tusks and claws, lashing their tails and wallowing on the muddy ground as they became hopelessly entangled. Musk from their scaled hides arose in a noxious cloud. It did not deter their captors from driving long barbed stakes into the soggy soil, securing the net’s edges. Those Nyssomu who were not engaged in the task capered about, popping their eyes out on stalks in mockery of their ancient foe, cheering and brandishing blow-pipes and spears.

‘Yield to me, Roragath!’ Kadiya demanded. ‘Your scheme of invasion and brigandage is finished. Now you must pay the penalty for violating the Truce of the Mazy Mire.’

Never! the Skritek leader retorted in the speech without words. He was a gigantic creature, nearly twice her height, and still stood upright with the sticky meshes clinging to his body. The Truce no longer hinds us. And even if it did, we would never surrender to a puny human female. We will fight to the death rather than yield!

‘So you do not recognize me, treacherous Drowner,’ Kadiya murmured. She turned to a sturdy little man of the Folk who stood just behind her. ‘Jagun. It seems that the night-sight of these addlepate truce-breakers is as weak as their wits. Let torches be brought to enlighten them.’

It had begun to rain heavily again. But at Jagun’s command several members of the Nyssomu force struck fire-shells and ignited pitch-dipped bundles of reeds, which they took from their knapsacks and stuck onto long sticks. The captured Skritek warriors hissed and bellowed defiance as flame after flame sprang to life, illuminating the turbulent scene in the clearing. Then, as torchbearers converged upon Kadiya and she slipped off her hoodcape, ignoring the downpour, the monsters fell silent.

She was a woman of medium stature but seemed tall among her cohort of diminutive Nyssomu. Her hair was russet, bound into a tight crown of braids. She wore a cuirass of golden scale-mail over leathern forester garb much like that of her companions, and on her breast was the sacred Black Trillium emblem. Each petal of the Flower bore a gleaming eye – one golden like that of the Folk, one deep brown like Kadiya’s own, and one pale silvery-blue with odd glints in its dark pupil, and this last eye belonged to the Vanished Ones.

Now we know you, the chief of the Drowners admitted with reluctance. You are the Lady of the Eyes.

‘And I am also Great Advocate of all Folk, including you foolish Skritek of the Southern Morass. How dare you invade and pillage these lands of the Nyssomu Folk in violation of my edict? Answer me, Roragath!’

We do not accept your authority! Besides, one greater than you has revealed the truth to us about your spurious Truce. He has told us that soon the Vanished Ones will return and the Sky Trillium shine again in the heavens. Then you humans and all of your cringing Oddling slaves will be destroyed. The World of the Three Moons will be as it was in the beginning: the domain of Skritek alone.

Yes! Yes! roared the other monsters. They began to thrash about and struggle in the net even more violently than before.

‘Who has told you this shocking lie?’ Kadiya demanded. When the Skritek leader did not reply, she drew from her scabbard a strange dark sword with a tripartite pommel, having a dull-edged blade that lacked a point. Reversing it, she held it high, and at the sight of it all the captive swamp-fiends began to moan in fear.

‘You recognize the Three-Lobed Burning Eye that I hold.’ Kadiya spoke with an awful calmness. Raindrops streamed unheeded down her face and sparkled like gems on her armour. ‘I am the custodian of this true talisman of the Vanished Ones. It can decide in an instant whether or not you have the right to flout me. But understand this, you Drowners of the Southern Morass: If you are judged and found guilty of sedition, the Eye will engulf you in magic fire and you will perish miserably.’

The monsters were muttering among themselves now. Roragath said at last:

We believed what the Star Man said, even though he offered no proof beyond the wonders he worked to demonstrate his command of magic. Perhaps … we were mistaken.

‘A Star Man –? ‘ Jagun cried in dismay. But Kadiya hushed him with a wave of her hand.

‘Falsehoods pour easily from a glib and mischievous mouth,’ she said to Roragath, ‘and fools who are reluctant to give up their old, violent ways may be all too eager to believe liars and charlatans. I know how your people have resisted the Truce. You thought that because you dwelt in a remote corner of the mire you were beyond the White Lady’s governance – and beyond my enforcement of her will. You were wrong.’

The huge Skritek gave a groan of furious despair. Kadiya of the Eyes, leave off chiding us like stupid children! Let your talisman judge us and slay us. At least that will put an end to our shame.

But Kadiya lowered the peculiar sword instead and slipped it again into its sheath. ‘Perhaps that will not be necessary. Thus far, Roragath, you and your band have only been guilty of scattered acts of terror and the destruction of Asamun’s village. Nyssomu Folk have been injured, but none have died – no thanks to you. Restitution can be made. If you atone for your hostile actions and pledge to return to your own territory and keep the Truce, then I will spare your lives.’

The great muzzled head of the Skritek leader remained defiantly level for many heartbeats, but at last it sagged in submission and the creature fell to his knees. I promise on behalf of myself and my fellows to obey your commands, Lady of the Eyes, and this I avow by the Three Moons.

Kadiya nodded. ‘Cut them free,’ she said to the Nyssomu band. ‘Then let Asamun and his counsellors negotiate the reparations.’ She addressed the Skritek leader once again, laying one hand upon the eyed emblem on her breast. ‘Do not let your heart contemplate further treachery, Roragath of the Drowners. Remember that my sister Haramis, the White Lady, Archimage of the Land, can see you wherever you go. She will tell me if you dare to break the Truce of the Mazy Mire again. If you do I will come for you, and this time requite you without mercy.’

We understand, said Roragath. Is it allowed for us to take vengeance upon the wicked one who misled us? He came to us only once and then went away westward into the mountains, out of Ruwenda and towards Zinora. But we could track him down –

‘No,’ said Kadiya. ‘It is my command that you do not pursue the troublemaker. The White Lady and I will deal with him in good time. Only warn other Skritek to give no credence to his lies.’

Picking up her discarded cape and donning it once more against the unrelenting rain, she beckoned for Jagun to bring a torch and come with her. Side by side, the Lady of the Eyes and her chief deputy set off along the broad trail leading to the Vispar River.

After Haramis, the White Lady, had learned of the rampaging monsters in the remote South and bespoke her triplet sister Kadiya, it had taken ten days to mobilize the small army of Nyssomu and set up the ambush of the Skritek war-party. Now that the expedition had ended successfully, Kadiya was exceedingly tired. The Skritek leader’s words had been puzzling and disquieting, but she was in no humour to discuss them now with the Archimage.

Nor was she minded to hear a lecture from her sister, when the White Lady learned of how she had used the talisman.

Plodding through deep mud, sopping wet from head to heel and every muscle aching, the Lady of the Eyes took hold of a thin lanyard about her neck and drew forth an amulet that had been concealed in her clothing. It glowed faintly golden and was warm and comforting to the touch, a droplet of honey-amber with a fossil Black Trillium blossom in its heart.

Thank you, she prayed. Thank you, Triune God of the Flower, for letting the bluff work one more time, for giving me strength. And forgive me the implied deceit … If I knew another way, I would follow it.

With the stormwinds inaugurating the premature Wet Time roaring through the tree branches overhead, Kadiya and Jagun spoke hardly a word until they reached the backwater of the swollen river where their boats had been left. The Nyssomu Folk customarily travelled in hollowed-log punts and cumbersome flatboats that were laboriously poled or sculled along. But Kadiya’s craft was fashioned in the Wyvilo style, of thin-scraped hide stretched over a lightweight wooden frame. It was drawn up between the buttress-roots of a mighty kala tree, and as she and Jagun climbed into it and loosed it from its mooring two big sleek heads rose from the rain-pocked waters nearby and stared in expectation.

They were rimoriks, formidable water-animals who shared a special relationship – one could hardly call it domestication – with the Uisgu Folk, those shy cousins of the Nyssomu who dwelt in the Goldenmire north of the River Vispar. Since Kadiya was the Advocate of all Folk, including the Uisgu, she also enjoyed the rimoriks’ favour. Numbers of the animals, eager to serve her, had left their accustomed territory to live near Kadiya’s Manor of the Eyes on the River Golobar, which lay nearly seventy leagues to the east.

The eyes of the aquatic beasts shone like jet in the light of Jagun’s guttering torch. The rimoriks had dapple-green fur, bristling whiskers, and enormous teeth that they bared in what was, for them, an amiable expression.

Share miton with us, Lady. We have waited overlong for your return.

‘Certainly, dear friends.’ From her belt-pouch Kadiya took a small scarlet bottle-gourd. Unstoppering it, she took a sip, let Jagun have his share, and then poured a quantity of the sacred liquid into the palm of her left hand. The animals swam close and drank, lapping gently with their horrifying tongues – whiplike appendages with sharp points that they used to spear their prey.

As the miton worked its benign magic, the four unlikely friends felt a great contentment that sharpened their senses and banished fatigue. When the communion was over, Kadiya uttered a sigh. Jagun slipped pulling harnesses onto the rimoriks. Soundlessly, the great animals submerged and the boat sped away down the wide, dark river, heading for the secret shortcut that would take them all home in less than six hours.

When they were well on their way, with Kadiya and Jagun huddled beneath the shelter of a waxwort tarpaulin and munching an austere supper of dried adop roots and journey bread, she said, ‘It went well, I think. Your idea of making a drop-net from tanglefoot was brilliant, Jagun, sparing us a pitched battle with the swamp-fiends.’

The old aborigine’s wide, sallow face was masklike and his glowing yellow eyes darted askance at her. It was clear that he was deeply troubled. Kadiya groaned inwardly, knowing full well why. She was able to postpone her sister Hara’s reproaches, but not those of her old friend.

For a long time Jagun did not speak. Kadiya waited, eating although she had lost her taste for food, while the rain beat about their ears and the boat hissed and vibrated with the great speed of their passage.

Finally Jagun said, ‘Farseer, for four years now you have carried on your chosen work successfully, even though your talisman is no longer bonded to you and no longer capable of magic. No one save I and your two sisters knows that the Three-Lobed Burning Eye has lost its power.’

‘Thus far the secret has remained safe,’ she said evenly.

‘But I fear what might happen if you continue to wield the talisman in your office of Advocate, as you did tonight. If the truth is discovered, the Folk will be deeply scandalized. Your honour will be stained and your authority compromised. Would it not be the greater part of wisdom to do as the White Lady has so often requested, and consign the Burning Eye to her care until it can be made potent once again?’

‘The talisman is mine,’ Kadiya declared. ‘I shall never relinquish it – not even to Haramis.’

‘If you simply cease wearing it, no one would dare to question you.’

She sighed. ‘Perhaps you are right. I have thought and prayed hard over the matter, but the decision is not easy to make. You saw how the Skritek were terror-smitten by the Eye tonight.’

Her hand slipped to the pommel of the dark sword and she grasped the three conjoined balls at the end. Those orbs were cold now, that once had been warm. The Three-Lobed Burning Eye, created ages ago by the Vanished Ones for their own mysterious purposes, had been capable of dread magic, for it was one of three parts making up the great Sceptre of Power.

Once that talisman had been bonded to Kadiya’s very soul, and the three lobes had opened at her command to reveal living counterparts of the eyes emblazoned upon her armour. She had commanded its power, and anyone who dared touch the sword without her permission died on the spot.

But four years ago the sorcerer Orogastus, last heir to the Star Men, stole Kadiya’s talisman and acquired through extortion a second one belonging to Queen Anigel. He bonded both devices to himself and dared hope that the Archimage Haramis would give up the third talisman for love of him. Instead, Orogastus lost Anigel’s talisman by misadventure; and later, in a climactic battle, he was destroyed by the magic of the three sisters.

The ownerless sword was then restored to Kadiya. But the talisman would no longer unite with her magical amulet of trillium-amber as it had done before, binding itself to her will. The Three-Lobed Burning Eye was apparently as dead as Orogastus.

Nevertheless, Kadiya had continued to wear it.

‘I have never deliberately lied to the Folk about my talisman’s function,’ she said now to Jagun. ‘Its symbolic value remains, even if it is now magically useless. You saw the good it did tonight. Without its threat, the Skritek would surely have fought us to the death. With it, I was able to spare them and prevent a great loss of Nyssomu life.’

‘That is true,’ Jagun admitted.

‘The Drowners will return to the Southern Morass and tell others of their tribe how they were conquered and granted mercy by the Lady of the Eyes and her talisman.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Thus the Truce of the Mire will hold until the next crisis comes along … And there is always a chance that Haramis will eventually discover how to rebond the talisman to me, restoring its potency.’

The little man shook his head, still uneasy. Like others of his race he was superficially human in appearance, having tiny slitted nostrils, a broad mouth with small sharp teeth at the fore, and narrow upstanding ears rising on either side of his hunter’s cap. Many years ago he had been Royal Huntsman to King Krain of Ruwenda, Kadiya’s late father. When she was but a tiny girl, Jagun had taken her into the Mazy Mire that comprised so much of the little plateau kingdom, teaching her many of its secrets and giving her the mire-name Farseer because of her keen vision. The nickname had proved prophetic when Kadiya became the custodian of the Three-Lobed Burning Eye and the protector of the aboriginal Folk who shared the World of the Three Moons with humankind.

Over the years, Jagun had remained Kadiya’s closest friend and deputy. Sometimes, to her chagrin, he seemed to forget that she was no longer a child, upbraiding her for her hot temper and occasional woth-headed stubbornness. The most annoying thing about this habit of his was that he was often in the right.

‘You must realize, Farseer,’ Jagun now said gravely, ‘that this particular conflict with the Skritek was far from ordinary. Roragath’s tale of a lying Star Man must have been as great a shock to you as it was to me.’

‘The notion of the Vanished Ones returning is nonsense,’ she scoffed. ‘And only the Lords of the Air know what manner of prodigy a “Sky Trillium” might be. As for the so-called Star Man –’

‘What if the worst has happened,’ Jagun ventured, ‘and the accursed sorcerer himself has come back once again from the dead?’

‘Impossible! Haramis’ own talisman told her that Orogastus had died.’ Kadiya’s lip curled in disgust. ‘And my silly sister has wept secretly for his damned soul ever since.’

‘Do not mock the White Lady’s honest emotion,’ Jagun said sternly, ‘especially when you have never known love’s passion yourself. One does not pick and choose whom to love – as I myself know to my sorrow.’

Kadiya looked at him in surprise. For as long as she had known Jagun, he had had no mate. But this was not the time to question him on such a delicate subject. ‘Do you think, then,’ she asked him, ‘that Orogastus might have left others to carry on his impious work? The six acolytes that we know of – the ones he deemed his Voices – most certainly perished. And no more apprentice wizards were found when my brother-in-law searched the haunts of Orogastus in the land of Tuzamen.’

‘Such persons might have fled from King Antar’s justice when news of their master’s doom reached them,’ Jagun said. ‘And if they were clever and avoided the overt use of magic, then they might also have escaped the White Lady’s scrutiny. Not even her Three-Winged Circle can oversee every part of the world, every moment of the day and night.’

Kadiya finished her bread and adop and began to pry open blok-nuts with her small dagger and prick out the meats for the two of them. ‘It is more likely that this so-called Star Man is nothing but an imposter, an agent of some enemy of Laboruwenda intent on stirring up trouble for political reasons. It was very clever to arouse the Skritek now, at the beginning of the rains. The court of Anigel and Antar is about to withdraw to the Labornoki flatlands for the winter, leaving behind only a reduced garrison in Ruwenda. That young scoundrel, King Yondrimel of Zinora, would love to see the Two Thrones pulled into a series of ruinous conflicts with the swamp-fiends during the Wet Time. Then his nation might take over Laboruwenda’s western trade routes.’

‘That is plausible,’ Jagun conceded. ‘Roragath did say that the Star Man went off in that direction.’

‘If Yondrimel is up to mischief, King Antar and Queen Anigel will put a stop to his games in short order. He cannot afford to be caught blatantly undermining the stability of the Two Thrones. Other civilized nations will ostracize him, and he will have no one to peddle his pearls to except the Feathered Barbarians.’

Jagun had been rummaging in their bag of supplies, searching for a corkscrew. Finding one at last, he opened a flask of halaberry wine and filled two wooden cups.

‘The Lords of the Air grant that this matter be swiftly resolved,’ he said, in a pious toast. Kadiya lifted her own cup and they both drank. When Jagun spoke again, his tone held dire warning. ‘But if the Star Guild has truly revived, then not only our own land of Laboruwenda but also the rest of the world may be at the brink of catastrophe. With your talisman useless and that of Queen Anigel lost, there is no possibility of putting together the Threefold Sceptre of Power. And that is the only certain weapon against the ancient magic of the Star Guild.’

Eyeing him over the cup’s rim, Kadiya smiled. ‘Be of good cheer, old friend. My sisters and I will find out the truth of the situation. Tomorrow, after I have slept in my own bed and refreshed my frazzled brain, we will bespeak Haramis. For now, let us drink our wine and say no more.’

But the next day, when Kadiya had Jagun send the Call to the Archimage of the Land, using the speech without words, there was no reply.

## CHAPTER 3

‘Iriane!’ Haramis called softly into her talisman. ‘Iriane, do you hear me? I have very serious tidings to impart to you and I need your advice badly. Please answer.’

But the area within the Three-Winged Circle that she held, looking into it as one would study a hand mirror, remained a formless swirl of pearly luminescence. The plump, cheerful, azure-tinted features of the Archimage of the Sea did not appear.

Haramis frowned in perplexity. ‘Talisman, can you tell me why Iriane fails to respond?’

She is shielded by magic.

‘Is she in her own dwelling?’

No. She is in the Hollow Isles, among the Mere Folk of the far west.

‘Why does she refuse to bespeak me?’ Haramis asked the Circle impatiently.

The question is impertinent.

‘Bother! Now I suppose I shall have to go and find her.’ She took up her harp, which had rested on the carpet beside her, and struck a few slow chords to calm herself and assist fruitful thought. In a large ceramic pot beside the curtained window was a huge plant covered with three-petalled flowers as dark as night, and she gazed upon it and was comforted.

All evening long Haramis, Archimage of the Land, had remained in her study using the Three-Winged Circle to view the conflict between her sister Kadiya and the Skritek. Haramis had been both startled and deeply concerned at the words spoken by the leader of the monsters. No sooner was Kadiya victorious than Haramis cut away from the scene of the ambush hoping to consult with her colleague and mentor, the Blue Lady of the Sea.

Not for a moment did the young Archimage of the Land think of dealing with this present situation all by herself. If another Star Man was at large, bent on carrying out the schemes of his dead master, then the world was once again in terrible danger. As for the idea that the Vanished Ones might return, it was so incredible that Haramis hardly dared to consider it …

‘Oh, Iriane!’ she exclaimed aloud. ‘Of all the inconvenient times for you to go off and hide!’

With some effort, Haramis again stilled her agitation by strumming the harp and contemplating the Flowers. She must not let her unruly imagination run away with her. Before undertaking the task of hunting down the flighty Archimage of the Sea, she should first find out just who had fomented the uprising of the swamp-fiends. The Skritek aborigines were notoriously gullible, and the one who had incited them to hostility might be only some common human rogue.

She put down the harp and lifted her talisman once again. ‘Show me the person who told the Skritek that he was a member of the Star Guild.’

Obediently, the Three-Winged Circle produced a murky scene of deep night in some rocky fastness, lit by the crimson embers of a dying campfire. Someone lay asleep on the ground.

The vision expanded at the Archimage’s command, until it seemed that she stood within it and was able to walk about and examine everything closely, seeing as well as in broad daylight. Lofty mountains reared up on every side, many of them capped by glaciers. There was no snow on the ground in the camp, but a chill wind blew gustily, causing the fire to flare up and then almost expire.

‘Where is this place?’ she asked the talisman.

In the Ohogan Mountains above Zinora, some nine hundred leagues west of your Tower.

With the darkness abated by the Circle’s magic, Haramis could see a large fronial, well cared for and having its antlers bedizened with silver, hobbled near a brawling stream. It was sluggishly cropping leaves from shrubs growing among the boulders. The saddle and other tack, piled neatly at one side of the fire, were of high quality and styled in the Zinoran manner, with pearl-studded silver accoutrements. On the other side of the fire lay the sleeper, wrapped so tightly in zuch-wool blankets that only his nose was visible. Close by him rested a stout pair of what looked like saddlebags – except that they were fashioned not from leather but from exotic birdskin with the red-and-black feathers still in place. Only Sobranians could have made them, those wealthy but rather uncivilized humans who dwelt on the western frontiers of the known world, beyond the nation of Galanar.

Leaning against the bags was an intricate contrivance made of dark metal, and at the sight of it Haramis felt a pang of unbelieving horror and could not help but cry out. Her Sending was imperceptible to the sleeper, however, and he did not stir as she knelt beside the device and studied it.

It was about half an ell in length, flattened and triangular at one end, almost like the stock of an arbalest. From this protruded three slender cylinders or rods, bound tightly together by rings and terminating in a much-perforated metal sphere. Where the upper stock joined the rods was a kind of flared cuff, and behind it numbers of knobs, studs, and appendages of mysterious function.

This particular device was unfamiliar. But the Archimage had seen others like it – in her own Cavern of Black Ice behind her Tower on Mount Brom, and also four years earlier during the siege of Derorguila by the sorcerer Orogastus. The thing in the possession of the alleged Star Man was an antique weapon, one of those artifacts of the Vanished Ones that used to turn up from time to time in the ruins of their crumbling cities. Both Folk and humankind had long been forbidden to possess these fearsome armaments. But Orogastus had acquired numbers of them by looting the cache of an earlier Archimage of the Land, and his Tuzameni and Raktumian warriors had used the weapons to deadly effect waging war on King Antar and Queen Anigel of Laboruwenda.

When the sorcerer’s force was defeated, Haramis had caused all of the archaic arms used by the enemy to be collected and destroyed. She had also rendered useless the weapons and other dubious apparatus of the Vanished Ones stored at her own Tower, as well as those remaining in the ancient Kimilon cache partially plundered by the sorcerer. Methodically, over many months, she had used her talisman’s magic to visit every ruin and other forgotten spot on the world-continent where operable ancient weapons were hidden away. She had finally destroyed every one of them. The talisman had confirmed it.

Where then, had the specimen at her feet come from?

From beneath the sea, her talisman said, and the Archimage groaned at her own stupidity. Of course! The talisman ever took her words literally, and she had bade it search the land.

The weapon was slightly battered, but quite clean and obviously in working order. Used in some lethal demonstration, it would command respect and fear for its owner among both Folk and humankind in any part of the world, whether or not the wielder was truly a member of the Star Guild. By now, other weapons like it might also have been gathered from submarine hiding places and put to nefarious use.

Haramis arose and stood over the sleeper’s shrouded form. ‘Talisman, let him turn about so that I may see him clearly.’

A muffled grunt came from the blankets. The man rolled over, and in doing so exposed his face and upper body. He was young and well-built, perhaps two-and-twenty, with nut-brown hair and a meagre beard that he had perhaps grown to lend his rather soft features an appearance of greater maturity. His overtunic was heavy grey silk, tattered and soiled but richly lined with fur. Around his neck, hanging from a beautifully wrought platinum chain, was a disk with a many-pointed Star.

Magnifying her view of it, Haramis saw that the medallion was no counterfeit. It was identical to the one Orogastus had worn, but in her Sending, she could not tell whether or not it invested its wearer with a magical aura.

‘Who is this man?’ Haramis asked the Circle. ‘Where does he come from?’

The questions are impertinent.

‘Is he the only one of his kind?’

The question is impertinent.

‘What are his plans?’

The question is impertinent.

‘Where did he obtain this weapon? Does he have access to more of them?’

The questions are impertinent.

‘Why have you given me Sight of him, even though he wears the Star?’

Because he is a novice, as yet without the full powers of his Guild.

Haramis uttered a grim laugh. Well, that was useful knowledge indeed! She now knew for certain that the sleeping man was no imposter but a genuine initiate of the dread body of ancient enchanters – too lacking in training to have shielded himself completely from her scrutiny as his late master had done, but adept enough to conceal his identity and intentions. The talisman’s refusals also confirmed the Archimage in her suspicion that the young Star Man had fellows more powerful and dangerous than himself.

Haramis had no desire to take him prisoner, nor would she destroy his weapon. Instead, she intended to oversee his actions with her talisman and hope that he would provide valuable information about the Guild. Dealing with him – and any companions or allies he might have – would have to wait.

‘I have seen enough of this vision,’ she said.

Instantly, she was back in her study, seated in her chair by the cosy fire with the Black Trillium flowers blooming in the shadowed window-niche. She let the Three-Winged Circle swing free at her breast and sat back, thinking.

So the weapons came from under the sea! She had never suspected that the Vanished Ones might have lived there as well as on the land, nor had the Blue Lady ever mentioned the fact. Easygoing and unsuspicious, Iriane ruled her naive aboriginal subjects with a light hand. Most probably she would not even have noticed the Star Guild quietly seeking out forbidden weapons. Unfortunately, the sweet-natured Archimage of the Sea knew little of the perfidy of humankind.

Iriane’s secretive Mere Folk, able to dwell for long periods underwater, would have to assist Haramis in retrieving and destroying those dangerous artifacts that were still hidden beneath the sea. Even more urgent would be Iriane’s cooperation in hunting for the home base of the Star Men. It was more than likely that the villains had made their lair in the remote and uncharted western regions of the world-continent, or even on an island.

A chilling idea struck Haramis at that moment. She lifted her talisman. ‘Show me a voor’s-eye view of the Hollow Isles in the realm of the Blue Lady.’

Again the room vanished. It seemed as though Haramis soared at a great height on the pinions of a mighty lammergeier, those toothed birds of high intelligence who were her friends and helpers. She saw below another peninsula, thrusting seaward from the southwestern margin of the world. Offshore lay a sizeable cluster of islands, some barren and some clothed with unfamiliar vegetation. A few had active volcanoes that steamed gently. In her Sending she flew among the sea-girt specks of land, noting the entrances to many caves. To a human, this was a cheerless and desolate place, pounded by huge waves rolling in from the trackless Western Ocean and blasted by winds that raced for thousands of leagues, unimpeded by land. There were widely scattered settlements of Mere Folk, but she saw no trace of humanity.

‘Does the Star Guild abide here?’ she asked.

No, the Three-Winged Circle said. Well, that was a relief.

She studied the scene more carefully. This was a region she did not know, for no human beings had settled here – nor, so far as she knew, had any even visited the Hollow Isles. Those of her own race who had chosen not to Vanish, who had remained on the World of the Three Moons and defied the Conquering Ice, inhabited more hospitable parts of the land to the south and east. If any brave souls had ever ventured into the alien purlieus ruled by the Archimage of the Sea, they had not returned to civilized lands to tell the tale. Haramis herself had been too busy with the affairs of her own domain to explore that of Iriane.

‘How far are these islands from my Tower?’ Haramis asked the talisman.

Over seven thousand leagues, as the voor flies. By sea, as humans would make the journey, it is nearly eight thousand leagues.

‘Sacred Flower!’ the Archimage murmured. ‘What a blessing it is that I do not have to rely upon a ship or a bird to carry me there.’ She abolished the vision and returned to familiar surroundings.

Her talisman would transport her bodily to the place in a trice, as easily as a Sending. And for this exceedingly useful mode of transport she could thank dear Iriane. By teaching Haramis how to use personal magic expertly, the Blue Lady had enabled her young colleague to command the wider powers of the Three-Winged Circle in ways that Kadiya and Anigel had never been able to achieve with their talismans. Haramis knew that she owed Iriane more than she could ever repay.

‘I only hope I can find her quickly.’ She stared into the now empty Circle.

Haramis’ talisman was not a large thing. The silvery wand had a ring at one end for the chain that suspended it about her neck, and at the other end a hoop slightly more than a handspan wide, topped by a trio of tiny wings. These enfolded a drop of glowing amber with a fossil Black Trillium in its heart, identical to the amber amulets of her two sisters. At their birth, the triplet Princesses of Ruwenda had been gifted with the magical amulets by the late Archimage Binah, who had named them Petals of the Living Trillium and prophesied for them a fearsome destiny and terrible tasks.

Living that destiny, Haramis, Kadiya, and Anigel had faced and overcome many of their own personal weaknesses. All three sisters had taken on responsibilities both awful and magnificent. Were the events now taking place leading them to a challenge greater than any they had yet faced? Like the Holy Flower, they were Three and also one. The futures of Archimage, Lady of the Eyes, and Queen were entwined inexorably whether they willed it or not …

Countering the Star Guild threat must then involve Kadiya and Anigel as well as herself – of that Haramis was more than certain. She decided that she would transport herself to Kadi’s home immediately after speaking to the Blue Lady. The Three-Winged Circle would then carry her and her sister to Queen Anigel, who was in residence at Ruwenda Citadel. The Queen was four months pregnant, but that would not stop her from working with her husband Antar and the heads of other nations to counter the Star Guild’s armed threat to the already faltering balance of the world. Kadiya would have to rally the Folk. With their ability to speak without words to each other across great distances and their intimate knowledge of the land and sea, the aborigines would be invaluable in any quest against the Star Guild.

I will also insist, Haramis decided, that Kadi now give up her impotent talisman to me for safekeeping, as she should have done long ago. Unbonded, it could be stolen by any sneakthief – or even by the Star Men!

It was bad enough that Queen Anigel’s talisman, the coronet called the Three-Headed Monster, should have gone missing during the late war with Orogastus. Losing a second piece of the Sceptre of Power would be insupportable.

Orogastus … She had hardly dared speak his name since his death four years ago. What was the connection between the Star Master she had loved so helplessly and this resurgence of the Guild?

Haramis rose from her seat and began to pace before the window. It was a wild night in the high mountains where her Tower stood. Snow fell thickly and a bitter wind from the icecap to the northwest howled round the casements like a chorus of demons from the ten hells. She toyed with her talisman as she brooded over events of the past.

When Orogastus began his last assault on Derorguila, the northern capital of the Two Thrones, he had in his possession not only the Three-Headed Monster and the Three-Lobed Burning Eye, but also a certain glassy container with the Star Guild emblem on its lid that could bind or unbind the talismans. He had used this crucially important star-box to transfer ownership of the Monster and the Eye from Anigel and Kadiya to himself.

The box, like the Queen’s magical coronet, had disappeared in the tumult of battle.

For some time, Haramis had been certain that an unknown person had found both of these missing magical items and was now the true-bonded owner of the Three-Headed Monster. Her own empowered talisman, which would readily pinpoint the location of Kadiya’s dead Eye (and which had led her without demur to the young Star Man), had steadfastly refused to reveal anything whatsoever about the missing coronet or the box that controlled its bonding.

Iriane had agreed with Haramis that this could only mean that the Three-Headed Monster’s magic was fully potentiated. It had cleaved to a new owner.

And yet no great upstart sorcerer had appeared in the World of the Three Moons. The coronet’s master was keeping it hidden and unused. Haramis could not imagine why – unless this person was waiting until he could also get his hands upon Kadiya’s talisman and bond to it also with the star-box. Owning two parts of the Sceptre of Power, the unknown sorcerer would command magic almost surpassing that of Haramis. If this person should ally with a reborn Star Guild, equipped with the marvellous devices of the Vanished Ones, the world would certainly be lost.

‘Lords of the Air,’ Haramis prayed, ‘we have had peace for these four years, and yet it is clear that the world never truly regained the balance that Orogastus upset. Is this my own fault? Is it my love for that dead sorcerer – which I confess has endured undiminished – that has left us vulnerable?’

Or might the unthinkable have happened, as it had once before?

No, thanks be to the Triune! That was impossible.

Haramis would remember forever the day she and her valiant sisters had turned back upon the sorcerer the destruction he would have wreaked upon them. The Flower had overcome the Star. There had been unexpected victory for the Living Trillium – and annihilation for Orogastus, even though Haramis had hoped to spare him.

The moment she had inquired of her lover’s fate, and the talisman’s pitiless reply, were still branded upon her heart. Standing at the embrasured window beside the Black Trillium plant she began to weep. There was a small clear area in the frosted pane. Windborne snowflakes rushed at her, seeming to be fatally drawn to the light within the room, smashing themselves into oblivion as they struck the thick leaded glass casement.

He had also been fatally drawn.

Haramis had wanted to spare Orogastus the ultimate punishment. Before their final encounter, she had placed the black hexagon called the Cynosure of the Star Guild within an ancient prison of the Vanished Ones. This place, a chasm hewn from living rock and lying deep underground, would have held the sorcerer securely no matter what magic he called upon. The Cynosure was to have drawn Orogastus to it like a magnet at the moment he exerted his ultimate powers on behalf of evil. Once in captivity, perhaps reformed by gentle persuasion and their mutual love, she hoped he might undergo a change of heart that would eventually allow her to free him.

But a tremendous earthquake had shaken that part of the world, collapsing the chasm where the Cynosure lay. The device still performed its intended magic, however, drawing Orogastus into airless, rocky chaos at the instant of his defeat.

She had asked her talisman what had become of him, and it had said: He has gone the way of the Vanished Ones. He is no longer in this world.

‘Dead.’ Haramis drew back from the window and wiped a cold hand across her streaming eyes. ‘You are dead, my poor flawed sweetheart. And I am left with nothing but my sombre duty, which obliged me to destroy the only man I ever loved.’

And now the duties of that office must no longer be postponed. It was time for her to go in search of Iriane, then meet with her sisters. But first …

She lifted her talisman and looked into it. ‘Three-Winged Circle, show me that which I have been afraid to conjure heretofore: a true vision of my dead love’s face. I am sorely in need of comfort, and the refreshment of my memory of him is the only boon that will suffice.’

The talisman came alive, its Circle filled with pale-glowing colours. It said: The request is impertinent.

‘What?’ she cried in shock. ‘You deny me this simple thing, you cruel, capricious talisman?’

The request is impertinent.

‘Will you drive me mad as well as break my heart? Show him to me!’

No, the talisman replied, calmly. I cannot show you the dead face of Orogastus because it does not exist.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked sharply. ‘I know he is ashes, scattered amongst red-hot subterranean rocks. I ask only to renew my memory of his features. If the world is indeed out of balance, then I must embark upon new and parlous adventures. I – I would fashion for myself a portrait of him as a consolation. And perhaps as a warning to myself as well. Surely there can be no harm in that. I command that you depict for me his face as it was during his last days in this world.’

Now your request is one I can fulfil.

The restless eddies of pearly light brightened, became solid. For a moment she saw a head encased within a dramatic silvery headdress, haloed by pointed rays, with two fearsome white stars for eyes.

‘No! That is not the way I wish to remember him. Reproduce the face of the one I loved.’

The vision faded, then reformed. The countenance of a white-haired man, haggard and lined and yet strangely beautiful, seemed to gaze directly at her from within the Circle. His jaw was strong, his mouth wryly smiling. His eyes were the colour of her own – the lightest possible shade of blue, with great black pupils holding secret glints of gold.

As she drank in his image, Haramis called upon her personal powers. In her right hand she held the talisman. In her left, something ghostly and crystalline suddenly appeared, flat and slightly smaller than the Circle, glittering like an insubstantial gem.

‘A portrait,’ she commanded.

The lens of crystal fog darkened and became a likeness identical to that produced by the talisman, delicately painted on horik-ivory and framed in gold. The vision within the Three-Winged Circle vanished, but the sorcerer’s picture was real. Haramis put it into one of the pockets of her gown, then left the study to make preparations for her magical journeying.

## CHAPTER 4

After giving instructions to her Vispi chatelaine, Magira, and her steward, Shiki the Dorok, the Archimage changed into warmer clothing and put on the long cloak of her office. Its fabric was white, seeming to change with movement into that delicate blue seen in shadowed snow. The cloak was bordered with platinum bands and had on the back the emblem of the Black Trillium. She pulled its hood over her long black hair, then donned gloves.

In the silence of her private apartment she prayed for strength and success. Then, standing on the fur rug at the foot of her bed, she took up her talisman again.

‘Transport me bodily to that place in the Hollow Isles where the Archimage of the Sea is.’

Her bedroom dissolved and she seemed to be within some fantastic theatrical set – a cave made of insubstantial diamonds, glittering in a hundred rainbow hues.

An eyeblink later the illusion vanished. She stood inside a genuine cavern, dank and extremely cold. Dripping stalactites hung from the ceiling like the tusks of a gigantic, slavering beast. Beneath them were inky pools into which falling water tinkled and plopped. Rock pillars, water-sculptured shapes like half-dissolved statues, and other strange formations loomed up on every side. Blobs of glowing matter that might have been fungus or even slime-dawdler colonies were scattered about the irregular surface of the cave ceiling, shedding light on the eerie scene.

‘Iriane!’ she cried. But no one answered and she demanded of her talisman, ‘Where is the Archimage of the Sea?’

As if in answer, there came a sudden splashing from one of the larger pools. Three aborigines of a form unfamiliar to Haramis climbed out, shook themselves, and stood in a row, regarding her with luminous golden eyes.

They were of small stature, like the Nyssomu and Uisgu, but had the scaled skin of the taller forest races. Their faces were slightly muzzled like the Wyvilo and Glismak, but were otherwise human in aspect. They had webbed hands and feet with stout talons upon the three digits, and about their upper arms were rows of golden bracelets inset with coloured disks made from fish-scale. Instead of having hair, their round heads were adorned with many parallel crests tending from the brow to the nape. These and their large ears were ribbed, like the fins of fishes, with a translucent membrane connection. They wore no clothing, but the scales of their bodies seemed almost like flexible armour of green and dark blue, giving them a neat and attractive appearance.

‘I offer you greetings,’ Haramis said. ‘I am the Archimage of the Land, and I seek my friend the Blue Lady of the Sea.’

‘We will take you to her,’ the Mere Folk replied in unison. Their language was unfamiliar; but, as always, her talisman let her understand the sense of it.

‘May I ask your names, and to what race of Folk you belong?’

The central aborigine, who wore a necklace of the coloured disks, pointed to his heart and said, ‘This one is Ansebado, First of the Lercomi, and these are the Second and Third, Milimi and Terano, also faithful subjects of the Blue Lady. If you would look upon her, follow us.’

Look upon her?

Haramis felt a tingle of apprehension. Could Iriane be ill – or had something even worse happened?

The three Lercomi set off at a rapid pace in single file, the talons of their toes clicking on the wet stone. The cave air became colder the farther they progressed, and as the temperature fell, the numbers of luminescent creatures decreased drastically. After stumbling several times in the growing darkness, Haramis held her talisman high, bidding the trillium-amber within its wings to shine more brightly and light her way.

What a dreadful place, she thought. Except for the glowing lumps, this particular Hollow Isle seemed sterile and lifeless, with no sign that thinking beings had ever made their mark upon it. There was no sign of mineral ore or anything else of value, and the aborigines did not investigate such places for amusement, as humans did. What in the world was Iriane doing here?

Haramis had not seen her friend in some time and realized now that she had greatly missed the Blue Lady’s tart good humour and common sense. The Archimage of the Sea was no otherworldly mystic. She loved good food and beautiful clothing (teasing Haramis for her disinterest in either), and she had been the only one to sympathize truly with her young colleague’s doomed love for Orogastus.

Haramis thought: Iriane will understand my carrying his portrait, too, while my sisters never would.

Because of her vast age and experience, the Blue Lady would almost surely know whether there was any possibility that the Vanished Ones might return – as the young Star Man had told the Skritek – and what the so-called Sky Trillium portended. Iriane might even be able to obtain the counsel of the mysterious Archimage of the Firmament concerning the rebirth of the Star Guild. The enigmatic Dark Man in the Moon had only grudgingly lent assistance during the late war, and he had ignored every attempt of Haramis to communicate with him since then.

The underground journey beneath the Hollow Isle seemed to be taking hours, leading from cavern to cavern, moving ever deeper into regions of frigid darkness. At last, after they had traversed a cramped, stalactite-fanged tunnel, the Lercomi led the Archimage into a chamber very different from the others. It was full of icy mist that was suffused with a rich blue glow, swirling and billowing like phantom draperies and concealing details of the cave’s interior.

‘There,’ said the aboriginal spokesman, pointing toward the indistinct source of the illumination. ‘The Lady is there.’

‘Iriane?’ Haramis’ call was hesitant. She went toward the hazy light, stepping gingerly on the frost-cracked rock floor. All at once the mist thinned, and she saw ahead of her a sight that brought her up short, exclaiming with amazement.

Row upon row of the Lercomi stood in silence, with bowed heads, before what Haramis at first thought was a colossal glowing sapphire. The object was twice her height, with a darker heart. Coming closer, she found she had been mistaken in thinking it a gem.

Within the blue transparency was the ample form of a woman, standing upright. She wore an indigo gown spangled with tiny jewels that pricked out graceful designs of marine growth. A filmy cape of midnight blue fell from two pearl brooches at her shoulder. Her dark hair was elaborately dressed in coils and rolls, held in place by ornate shell combs and hairpins with pearls at the ends.

The plump arms of the Archimage of the Sea were extended in motionless, futile appeal. Her open mouth seemed to have been frozen in mid-scream and her eyes glittered with terror.

’O Triune God, no,’ Haramis whispered.

‘Yes. Ah, yes!’ the Lercomi Folk wailed in heartbroken response.

Haramis ran forward to what she thought was a glass case imprisoning her friend. As she touched it she discovered the truth.

The Blue Lady’s eyes moved, ever so slightly.

She was entombed within a great chunk of blue ice. And she was alive.

‘Who has done this?’ Haramis asked Ansebado, after some time had passed, during which she tried without success to free Iriane.

‘Four humans,’ the First of the Lercomi declared, ‘came in a small sailboat to our village on Sundown Isle, which is half a day from here by water. Three were men and one was a woman, and they demanded that we summon the Blue Lady.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Nearly twelve moons ago. We were most astonished, for the only people of your kind that we ever see are the Feathered Barbarians – and they come very seldom to trade for fireshell, gold, and precious fish-scale, and never during the stormy time of year.

‘These human persons were lofty in demeanour and atrociously rude. Each one wore a Star hanging on a chain. When we asked their reasons for wanting audience with the Lady they did not answer, but instead killed several of our old people by means of awesome magic. They repeated their demand, threatening to destroy our children next, and then all of our tribe if we did not hasten to do their bidding. We had no choice but to give in. No choice! Do you understand, White Lady?’

Haramis said nothing. The Mereman continued:

‘We explained that our Blue Lady’s magical portal is here, in Flyaway Isle. The strangers compelled the three of us to bring them here to the cave. Then … this one made the perfidious Call. As First of the Lercomi, it was my melancholy duty. But if I had known what would happen, I would have begged those brutes to slay us all instead.’

He began to weep, and the Second and Third also, and in another minute the entire crowd of little people in the blue misty cavern howled and sobbed in contrition, striking their crested heads on the ground. Haramis calmed them and commanded that the rest of the story be told.

Ansebado said, ‘No sooner had the Archimage of the Sea stepped from her enchanted door (which lies right behind her, even now) than the awful deed was done. The female stranger, one having flame-coloured hair, used a magical device that sprinkled the poor Lady with some gelid astral liquid. She froze instantly. Further sprinkling produced the blue ice-block that you see. No fire can melt it. No prayer can banish it. Not even your own magic can overcome it! The name of the Lercomi Mere Folk will stink throughout the Sea Realm forever, for we have condemned our dear Blue Lady to living death.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Haramis said none too kindly, lifting her talisman to forestall another mournful hubbub. ‘This ice is not true magic, but something else appertaining to the Vanished Ones and their science. I cannot free the Blue Lady now, but perhaps a way might be found.’

Ansebado and his people fell on their faces to thank her, but she ordered them to arise, pull themselves together, and answer more questions.

Haramis learned that the human villains were all dressed in the silver-and-black robes of the Star Guild. They were none of them above thirty years in age, were of differing stature, and all save the redheaded woman had hair of grizzled grey or dull white. Each Star Guildsman carried a dissimilar ancient weapon: one killed by boiling the blood, another threw forth a deadly small thunderbolt, the third provoked fatal convulsions, and the fourth, much larger than the others and more complex in aspect, had ensorcelled the Blue Lady.

‘The malefactors stayed with us for several days,’ Ansebado said, ‘questioning us about the underwater regions hereabouts where the Vanished Ones once flourished. Then another sailboat came with two more Star Men. One of them was young, of no special distinction save for his loud and bullying speech. But the other human was different from all the rest. He was much older, and he wore a many-rayed starburst headpiece of silvered leather that concealed his upper face while leaving the back of his head uncovered. His long hair was as pale as the platinum of his Star.’

Haramis gave a low cry. Ice seemed to have congealed in her own vitals. This could not be. Must not be …

She found herself asking, ‘Was – was he tall?’

‘Taller than the others, who gave him great reverence and called him Master. He came into this cavern, stepped into the portal of the Blue Lady, and disappeared. The others waited for some hours, whereupon he reappeared. Then the lot of them got into the boats and went away.’

‘Oh, Lords of the Air,’ Haramis whispered. With her gloved fingers stiff and clumsy, she drew the gold-framed small picture out of her robe and was barely able to ask her last question. ‘And was this the Star Master?’

The little aborigine frowned at the portrait, then replied. ‘His face was partly masked by the starry headgear. But, yes. It was he. He had eyes like that. Eyes like yours, White Lady.’

Pain, born in her swelling heart, was spreading like molten metal through the entire body of the Archimage of the Land. It was a jubilant hurting, mingled with stark fear. She spoke in a voice made unsteady by emotion.

‘Since the Blue Lady’s imprisonment, have the Lercomi Folk visited underwater ruins of the Vanished Ones at the Star Men’s behest?’

‘Nay,’ said Ansebado, ‘but we have heard that other Mere tribes have been compelled to do so. They have gathered certain ancient artifacts coveted by the Star Men, but none of them knows what these things might be, nor do we.’

But Haramis knew. ‘I will come to you again, Ansebado. Command your Folk to watch by the imprisoned Blue Lady until then. Should any person emerge from her magical portal, bespeak me at once, even if you must lay down your lives to do so. Now farewell.’

She clasped her talisman and commanded her magic to take her to Kadiya.

## CHAPTER 5

Queen Anigel stared at the plate of food before her, a simple grilled fillet of garsu fish and a helping of glazed dorun tuber, and put down her knife and fork. ‘I confess that Hara’s dreadful account of the poor Blue Lady has robbed me of my appetite. It pierces my very soul to know that there is nothing we can do to free her from that hellish enchantment.’

‘If Iriane is frozen stiff,’ Kadiya said reasonably, ‘she cannot be suffering. What good can it do her if you pine and starve yourself?’

‘You are ever practical,’ Anigel said with a sigh. ‘But hardhearted.’

‘Nonsense,’ said the Lady of the Eyes, taking a goodly helping of bittercress salad and pouring rich cheese dressing over it. ‘One must sympathize with the troubles of others, but not to the point of impairing one’s own good health – especially if one has duties of state to perform. Don’t you agree, Hara?’

The Archimage inclined her head. ‘My talisman refuses to confirm my suspicions, but I believe that Iriane’s imprisonment may be only the beginning of a new time of peril for all of us. The return of the Star Guild, and the possibility that Orogastus may be gathering weapons of the Vanished Ones, poses a grave danger to the peace and good balance of the world. It may be that we Three will once again be called upon, and if this be so, then we will need all of the physical and mental strength we can muster. And you, dearest little Sister, have important personal obligations as well.’

Queen Anigel received this admonition in chilly silence. But she began with obvious reluctance to eat.

The triplets were at dinner in Ruwenda Citadel, seated at the high table with the Queen presiding, while others of the court feasted at lower boards in the torch-lit great hall. There were many persons missing – including King Antar and his military advisers – and the usual cheerful conviviality attending the evening meal was absent. Less than an hour earlier, the magic of Haramis had transported Kadiya and herself to the Citadel, where they had reported to the Laboruwendian court not only the misfortune of the Archimage of the Sea but also the apparent resurgence of the Star Guild under the leadership of Orogastus.

The latter piece of news had caused a furore, since only a single day now remained before the departure of the royal entourage on the long journey to Labornok. King Antar, Marshal Lakanilo, and General Gorkain had sequestered themselves in order to make hasty plans for increasing the security of the train, leaving the Queen and her two sisters to speculate upon what the dire events might portend.

‘At the present time,’ the Archimage said, ‘only the Lords of the Air know what Orogastus’s long-range plans might be. But we can be assured that they involve the conquest of the world – both by physical means and by dark sorcery.’

Anigel added more crystallized honey to her cup of darci tea and stirred it morosely. ‘I find it hard to believe that once again that evil man has cheated death. Who would ever have thought such a thing possible? Hara, how could your talisman have deceived you about his fate?’

It was Kadiya who made the unpalatable reply. ‘The talisman spoke true – only the Archimage misinterpreted its words.’

Haramis admitted the accusation with a doleful nod. She brought forth the portrait of Orogastus and put it on the table before them. ‘When I requested a view of his dead face, the talisman could not comply. Only when I worded the command differently, avoiding the mention of death, did it show me his likeness so that I could fashion this picture.’

Now the Lady of the Eyes cried fiercely, ‘Damn that wizard! For all we know, he has already found the star-box and bonded Ani’s Three-Headed Monster to himself!’

‘No,’ Haramis stated positively. ‘My talisman indicates that he has not. Some other person has the coronet and the box – but the Circle will not tell me who.’

Kadiya took up her tableknife and with precision sliced a drumstick from the succulent roasted togar on the platter before her. ‘You may wager platinum to plarr-pits that Orogastus will seek out this coy new magician and attempt an alliance.’

‘You are probably right, Kadi,’ Anigel said. ‘And this is all the more reason why you should heed Hara’s counsel, and give up your own impotent talisman into her safekeeping so that neither villain gets hold of it.’

‘Never!’ Kadiya said through her mouthful of meat. ‘Even though the Three Moons tumble from the firmament!’

‘Oh, Kadi,’ cried the exasperated Queen. ‘It is the only safe course and you know it.’

‘All very well for you to say,’ muttered the Lady of the Eyes, pointing in accusation with the fowl’s legbone, ‘having given up your own talisman to Orogastus in ransom – ‘

‘Thus saving the life of the King my husband!’ Anigel exclaimed in high dudgeon. ‘Should I have let Antar die in captivity?’

‘You did not give Hara and me time to rescue him,’ Kadiya retorted, ‘but capitulated to the kidnappers with unseemly haste, opening the way to the invasion of your kingdom.’

Very quietly, so that none of the other supping courtiers noticed, the Queen began to weep. ‘You are right. I was at fault – but so are you. Your Three-Lobed Burning Eye is sure to be stolen by Orogastus or this unknown wizard sooner or later. My own foolishness and your stubborn vainglory may yet doom us all.’

‘For shame, Kadi,’ the Archimage said, taking her youngest sister in her arms. ‘Have you forgotten that Ani is with child and should not be upset?’

‘She is as rugged as a draft-volumnial dropping its yearly calf, for all her fragile looks,’ Kadiya remarked callously. ‘And do not either of you think to convince me to give up my talisman through this soppy charade.’

Anigel ceased crying. She sat up, wiped her eyes with a napkin, and shrugged. ‘It was worth the try,’ she said sweetly.

‘By the Flower!’ the Archimage said, chagrined as much by the Queen’s artful deception as by Kadiya’s intransigence. ‘You two will drive me to distraction.’

‘No, dear Hara,’ said Anigel, now in deadly earnest. ‘We will rather do whatever must be done to help you conquer the Star Men and restore the balance of the world, no matter what the personal cost.’ She turned to her other sister with a steely glance. ‘Is it not so, Kadi?’

‘Oh … lothok dung!’ cried the Lady of the Eyes, flinging the drumstick down onto her plate. ‘I suppose I will have to give in. You shall have the Burning Eye, Hara. What matter if my pride is in rags and my confidence undermined?’

‘It is for the best,’ the Archimage said, with evident relief.

‘May I keep the talisman with me until we Three separate, at least?’ Kadiya asked.

‘Certainly. There can be no danger here within the Citadel. I know for a certainty that there are no viaducts here, through which Orogastus or his agents might enter and steal the Eye.’

‘Those triply bedamned magical bolt-holes!’ Kadiya exclaimed. ‘You had better explain to Ani about them so she is forewarned.’

‘Viaducts?’ the Queen frowned. ‘Do you mean such as carried Hara from the Land of Fire and Ice to the home of the Archimage Iriane, when the Blood Trillium estranged us Three?’

‘Yes,’ Haramis said. She pushed aside dishes and tableware, laid out a large clean napkin, and touched her talisman to it. There was a faint smell of scorched linen, and immediately the cloth became a wondrously detailed map of the world-continent. ‘The viaducts are not truly magic, even though they seem so to us who know little of the science behind their making. Behold the viaduct portals.’

Anigel exclaimed in amazement, for the map became peppered with innumerable scarlet pinpoint dots. ‘So many!’

‘And now,’ said the Archimage, ‘since Orogastus stole a certain book belonging to Iriane that explained their operation, they are accessible to the sorcerer and his Star Guild.’

Kadiya said, ‘The villains are capable of popping up out of any one of those points like ziklu from a warren, and they can also go to ground through them, escaping their pursuers. Hara is thus far unable to destroy the viaducts or close them with her magic.’

‘It seems that the Vanished Ones used these passageways for casual travel about their world,’ the White Lady explained. ‘To ordinary people, the viaduct openings are invisible and imperceptible. But if one knows more or less where the portal is, it is only necessary to utter the proper arcane command – “viaduct system activate” – whereupon it becomes visible and operative. Some of the viaducts were destroyed in the great conflict between the Vanished Ones and the Star Guild, but these on the map remain. Heretofore, they have been used only by the Archimages of yore and by the sindona, when they venture forth from the Place of Knowledge.’

Kadiya said, ‘You’ll be interested to know, Ani, that this viaduct’ – she stabbed her finger at one of the dots – ‘opens right into Zotopanion Keep in the Winter Palace of Labornok! It was the way by which both Iriane and the sindona gained access to the keep during the climax of the Battle of Derorguila.’

‘Holy Flower!’ cried the dismayed Queen. ‘Is there no way of getting rid of these abominable tunnels?’

‘My talisman says there is,’ Haramis replied. ‘However, its instructions are given in archaic scientific gibberish and so far I can make no sense of it. When I return to my Tower I will look further into the matter of obliterating the viaducts, but for the present we shall have to barricade them instead. All that are in critical locations must be enclosed within sturdy cages or earthen mounds, and be heavily guarded withal.’

Anigel studied the map intently. ‘There are not so many portals in the Mazy Mire as elsewhere, but here is one not far from the Queen’s Mireway. I wonder … The trip to the Winter Capital will be so lengthy and tedious in the early rains. If, as you say, there is a viaduct leading directly to Zotopanion Keep –’

‘Do not contemplate it for a moment!’ Haramis said, aghast. ‘Only one adept in the science of the Vanished Ones dare use the things. Sometimes their routing is fixed and one has no control over the ultimate destination. At other times, if a kind of complex magical spell is recited before entry, the viaduct carries the traveller to the location that is specified. But if this spell is not said properly, the person risks emerging within the Sempiternal Icecap or even deep beneath the sea.’

She pointed again to the map, and it was indeed true that some of the scarlet dots were in perilous places.

‘Damn,’ said the dainty Queen. Her fair hair was bound up with ribbons of a gold so deep it was nearly brown, and she wore a loose-fitting smocked satin gown of the same colour, trimmed with worram-fur and adorned with a collar of trillium-amber. Her pregnancy of four months was still unnoticeable. ‘I would have gladly whisked myself and the court by viaduct from here to Derorguila and spared us the long journey in the rain.’

‘I could transport you, Antar, and the children,’ Haramis offered, albeit hesitantly, ‘even though carrying others strains my magic to the utmost.’

But the Queen shook her head. ‘It was but a jest, Hara. I would not dream of asking you to exhaust yourself. No, we must go to Labornok with the others of the court entourage, as is fitting.’

‘I shall give each of you copies of this map to keep,’ the Archimage said. ‘Ani, you will have to arrange for soldiers – preferably with aboriginal helpers – to stand guard at those viaduct openings in critical places within Labornok and Ruwenda. I shall command Kadi’s Folk to watch the terminals in more remote regions – the Mazy Mire, the Ohogan Mountains, and the Tassaleyo Forest. If members of the Star Guild are seen, the Folk will sound the alarm using the speech without words.’

‘What of the viaducts in other nations?’ inquired the Queen.

‘I have already bespoken a warning,’ Haramis said. ‘Every civilized country will soon be on the lookout for suspicious persons wearing Stars.’

‘The scoundrels can wreak no sorcery without their medallions,’ Kadiya explained to Anigel. ‘Unfortunately, this does not hold true for their use of weapons of the Vanished Ones, which are not truly magical but partake of the same ancient science as the viaducts and those antique artifacts one may purchase from certain traders.’

‘How shall we defend ourselves against Star Men equipped with such dread armaments?’ asked the Queen in apprehension. ‘If only Hara had not destroyed those weapons that had been deployed by the forces of Tuzamen and Raktum during the Battle of Derorguila! We might have made good use of them ourselves.’

‘We still have our magic,’ the Archimage said. ‘And if the Triune wills it, we will also soon have an alliance of every nation under the Three Moons to counter the much smaller forces of those loyal to the Star. After giving warning to the other nations, I also requested that they dispatch special envoys in fast ships to Derorguila. The delegations should have arrived by the time the royal retinue of Laboruwenda completes its journey to the flatlands. We will hold a conclave of mutual defence there in your capital in forty days.’

‘I will gladly assist you and my Royal Husband in rallying the nations,’ said Queen Anigel. ‘I suppose Kadi will be doing the same work amongst the Folk.’

‘Not for some time,’ the Lady of the Eyes said, ‘for I have been given a larger job to do. Only one state balked at Hara’s plan of alliance: Sobrania.’

The Queen assumed a rueful face. ‘I might have known. The Feathered Barbarians are so fearful of plots against them by Galanar or the Imlit and Okamisi republics that they resist any pact that infringes upon their much-vaunted independence. Emperor Denombo of Sobrania is an honourable man, according to his lights – but impetuous and short-sighted, and hardly inclined to concern himself with nations other than his own collection of fractious tribes. Will you go to him, Kadi, and attempt persuasion?’

‘Yes, may the Flower defend me. Hara has commanded it and I will willingly obey.’

‘She will also have another task.’ The Archimage spoke more quietly, even though musicians had begun to play the introduction to the night’s entertainment, making such a noise that eavesdropping seemed impossible. ‘I told you of observing a young Star Man in the mountains above Zinora. He had with him feathered saddlebags of Sobranian make. This could be a meaningless detail … or it might be a valuable clue.’

‘To the location of the Star Guild headquarters!’ Queen Anigel’s eyes, blue as the Dry Time sky, sparkled with excitement. ‘Have you any other indication pointing to Sobrania?’

‘None as yet,’ Haramis admitted, ‘for my talisman is powerless to descry Guildsmen who are in full control of the Star’s magic. It was only good fortune – or the kindness of the Lords of the Air – that enabled me to detect and Send to that young Star Man who incited the Skritek. He was a novice, not yet fully adept in commanding the Star’s protection, perhaps undertaking a mission of minor import while his fellows deal with weightier conspiracies.’

They left off talking for a moment while pages cleared the table of earlier courses of food, brought in tarts and fresh fruit, and refilled the wine goblets. Then there was a fanfare of bugle-horns. A troupe of Tuzameni acrobats pranced into the hall to much applause.

‘But how,’ the Queen asked Haramis under cover of the renewed noise, ‘will Kadi hope to spy out the Star Men in Sobrania, if your own great magic is powerless to do so?’

‘Eyes,’ said Kadiya laconically. ‘Not Three-Lobed Burning ones, but the two that God set into my head. Wherever the Star Men hide – and it might well be in a backward place like the Land of the Feathered Barbarians – the scoundrels must eat and sleep. And unless they subsist wretchedly as wanderers in the wilderness they require a permanent dwelling of fair size, food to eat, clean clothes to wear, beasts to ride when they are not zipping hither and yon through magical viaducts, and a corps of servants to keep all these things in order. Nor will they go invisible at all times, for that takes much effort. If they are hiding in Sobrania I will find them. If they are not, I will look elsewhere, as Hara instructs me.’

‘The Star Men will know that you search for them,’ Anigel said baldly. ‘They will descry you through sorcery and hunt you down.’

‘Have you forgotten,’ Kadiya said, pretending to watch the performers with an idle smile, ‘how we Three, as young princesses, fled for our lives from Orogastus, his Voices, and the evil King Voltrik? None of those miscreants could seek us out through magic, because we were protected then … as we are protected now.’

She drew from the shirt beneath her forester’s jerkin a faintly glowing amber pendant with a fossil Black Trillium within, swinging upon a golden chain. ‘Only the three talismans of the Sceptre of Power were able to countermand the magic of the Flower.’

‘Ah,’ breathed the Queen, smiling with relief. ‘Of course. I fear that I take its magic too much for granted.’ Her hand moved briefly to touch her bodice, where her own amulet was hidden.

Haramis smiled. Her trillium-amber nestled within the silvery wings of the Circle wand hanging about her neck. ‘Kadi will be shielded from the oversight of those who would do her harm through magic. The amber has other powers, but that one is perhaps the most valuable.’

‘The Star Men or their followers may still recognize my person as I go among them,’ Kadiya admitted, ‘as I may know them by their Stars. But I will disguise myself and my travelling party well. Perhaps, if I can persuade the amber to obey, I will even be able to go invisible!’

‘If you take any of your Mire Folk with you to Sobrania, you will be conspicuous,’ Anigel warned. ‘The aborigines of that distant region are said to be much different in appearance from those of the Peninsula.’

‘I must take Jagun, for his counsel is necessary, as is his ability to speak without words across long distances and keep me in touch with Haramis. My other comrades on this quest will be human … Ani, I ask that you find six of your most valiant young Oathed Companions to accompany me as volunteers. The Wyvilo will take us down the Great Mutar to Var and the sea. I have friends in the Varonian capital who will provide us with a ship and all other things necessary for the Sobranian quest.’

The acrobats did a spectacular turn and the Queen clapped her hands dutifully. ‘It seems you have thought of everything. Of course I will find you six brave knights. More, if you wish.’

‘I would travel lightly and swiftly. Six will suffice.’

‘There is still great danger in the enterprise,’ Haramis noted. ‘And as you have said, if Orogastus should once again obtain a working talisman, not even trillium-amber would prevent him from viewing and listening to all of us. With a talisman, he could locate you easily, Kadi. I do not know if he could slay you while you wear the amber, but you would ill serve our cause embedded in a block of blue ice like poor Iriane.’

Kadiya grinned at the Archimage. ‘It is your job to see that does not happen. Keep me under surveillance as best you can, and warn me of danger if you are able to. I will find the Star Men’s nest and smoke them out like night-carollers from a honey-tree.’

‘You will act only according to our agreed plan!’ the Archimage admonished. ‘You must not attack Orogastus or the Star Guild on your own!’

Kadiya sketched a mocking bow. ‘Of course not, White Lady.’

‘Forgive my abruptness,’ Haramis apologized. ‘But for the love of God, Kadi – promise me to eschew any rash action.’ ‘You must take great care,’ Anigel added. ‘I feel guilty – my own task is so much easier and safer than yours. Dearest Kadi, I would accompany you myself, together with all my knights of the Oathed Company, if I were bearing but a single babe and not triplets.’

‘Triplets!’ Both Kadiya and the Archimage were astounded.

‘Immu has only lately been certain of it,’ the Queen said, referring to the little old Nyssomu woman who had been midwife to their own unfortunate mother, Queen Kalanthe, and later the nurse and trusted friend to the sisters.

‘Can this pregnancy be another omen?’ Haramis wondered. ‘Might these also be children of high and awful destiny, as we Three were?’

Anigel placed a reassuring hand on that of the Archimage. ‘More likely it is an entirely natural thing. At any rate, Immu says that all of my unborn babes are boys, so the Petals of the Living Trillium need fear no usurpers.’

‘Idiot!’ laughed Kadiya, and turned in her chair to embrace and kiss Anigel. ‘May the Flower bless you and your new sons. Antar must be so proud.’

‘He is,’ said the Queen, ‘and so are my two eldest children. Only Tolivar seems dismayed by the prospect. Twelve is such a difficult age, when a boy is on the brink of manhood and torn by unfamiliar emotions. Poor Tolo has always been plagued by self-doubt and envy of his older brother and sister, and he seems now to resent the impending birth of the babes. But when he sees them, I am sure he will love them dearly.’

Haramis and Kadiya exchanged glances over their sister’s head. Young Prince Tolivar was a secretive and jealous boy who had been a thoroughgoing brat not too many years earlier. He bitterly resented being subordinate to Crown Prince Nikalon, who at fifteen was not only taller and better looking but also considerably more popular with the courtiers and common people. Princess Janeel, a year younger than Niki and clever as a she-fedok, had never been able to resist teasing her little brother, whom she thought deficient in character. Tolo loathed her heartily in return.

Over the years, Kadiya had made a special effort to be kind to the unhappy younger Prince; but she feared he might think she was only taking pity on him. Tolivar seemed to have no real affection for either of his illustrious aunts and had been barely civil when presented to them tonight before dinner.

Kadiya now studied the lad, who sat with the other royal and noble youth at one of the tables not far from the triplet sisters. Crown Prince Nikalon and Princess Janeel were laughing and throwing coins with the others as the acrobats retired, but Tolivar only sat with his elbows on the table, an inscrutable expression on his face.

The boy’s mire-name was Hiddenheart. And Kadiya thought that it suited him only too well.

‘Tolo needs to be given useful work to do,’ she said. ‘Ani, have you ever considered cutting him free of your apron strings? Letting him leave the court for a time, so he would not constantly compare himself to Niki or feel belittled by Jan?’

‘He was always my baby,’ Anigel confessed, ‘and since he was restored to me four years ago I have kept him close to me, hoping that my love would suffice to boost his fragile self-esteem. But perhaps you are right. The newborn sons will take all of my attention for some time, and Tolo might possibly feel worse than ever.’

‘Let the lad accompany me,’ Kadiya said impulsively. ‘Perhaps not as far as Sobrania, but at least during the first part of my mission. Jagun and I will keep him so busy he’ll have no time to sulk or feel sorry for himself

‘He is so young,’ Anigel said, looking doubtful, ‘and his body is not strong.’

Kadiya’s expression was sardonic. ‘He survived being snatched by pirates and held captive by Orogastus. Even though he is a bit lacking in stature, he is robust enough. Do not overprotect the boy, Ani. We may not deny children the right to encounter and overcome great obstacles. Such can turn even a shy or petulant soul heroic.’

‘As I myself know full well,’ the Queen admitted, smiling. ‘What do you think, Hara?’

‘The idea has merit,’ said the Archimage, ‘provided that the lad is carefully supervised. Is not the retired stablemaster Ralabun his close friend? He is a responsible person, if not overly endowed with brains. Perhaps he could accompany Tolo.’

‘Let us put it to the boy himself,’ Kadiya suggested. ‘I would not take him, were he unwilling.’

‘Very well.’ Queen Anigel gave in with reluctance. ‘But if he accepts, you must promise to send him home before you venture beyond the Peninsula.’

‘He and Ralabun can catch a fast Engian cutter to Labornok from Mutavari,’ Kadiya said, ‘and with fair winds, reach Derorguila not too long after the arrival of the royal entourage. What say we speak to the boy right now?’

‘We may as well.’ The Queen beckoned to a page, telling him to summon Prince Tolivar to the high table.

## CHAPTER 6

Tolo’s mouth tightened as the message was given to him.

‘Now what trouble have you got yourself into?’ Princess Janeel inquired. ‘Have you filled too many wagons with boxes of your precious books?’

‘Perhaps,’ Crown Prince Nikalon suggested, ‘he decided to take so many that there was no room for his boots or underwear.’

That set the entire table of young people to laughing. Tolo flushed and lowered his head to hide his anger as he accompanied the page to the high table and bowed deeply.

‘How may I serve you, Great Queen and Mother?’ he inquired. All expression had now been banished from his features. He was a thin lad with fair hair and skin that was very pale, as though he spent too much time sequestered indoors.

‘Your Aunt Kadiya has a proposition to put to you,’ Anigel said.

The Lady of the Eyes explained in some detail, not minimizing the hardships of the expedition, for they would travel downstream when the Great Mutar was in flood, and the seas on his journey home from Var would doubtless be wracked by storms.

To Anigel’s surprise, Prince Tolivar’s listlessness dropped away like the husk of an emergent nas-beetle. His eyes shone with excitement and he exclaimed, ‘Oh, yes, Aunt Kadi! Take me and Ralabun with you! I promise to obey you in everything, and never complain or shirk my duties or vex you.’

‘Then it is settled,’ the Lady of the Eyes said, clapping the boy on the shoulder.

‘I only wish you would let me help in your quest against the Star Men,’ Tolivar said stoutly.

The three women laughed.

‘You are brave, but still too young,’ said the Archimage.

‘The world must be saved from Orogastus,’ the lad said in a low voice. ‘I have personal knowledge of his evil and treacherous ways. If necessary, I would give my life to destroy him.’

‘It will suffice if you serve your aunt faithfully,’ said the Queen. ‘Leave graver matters to those older and wiser.’

‘Yes, Mother.’ The Prince’s demeanour could not have been more respectful and docile. He bowed and took his leave from the great hall, saying he was eager to tell the exciting news to Ralabun.

‘Poor Tolo.’ Anigel’s concerned gaze followed her son. ‘He was so deeply affected by his time of captivity with Orogastus. He still feels guilty because he believed the sorcerer’s lies about becoming his heir and his apprentice in enchantment.’

‘He was too immature then to understand the enormity of his actions,’ the Archimage said kindly.

But the Queen shook her head. ‘He was eight years old, and capable of knowing evil. Again and again he has besought Antar and me to forgive him for repudiating us, and we have tried with all our hearts to reassure him. But his guilt remains un-assuaged. Kadi … be kind to him. Try to ease his troubled spirit.’

‘I will do what I can,’ said the Lady of the Eyes, ‘but I suspect Tolo’s healing will come only with time. And with some atoning action he himself must perform.’

‘The times are perilous,’ Haramis said with a sigh. ‘There will be dangers and challenges and opportunities for heroism sufficient for all of us, even the young Prince. Pray that we will measure up to them, Sisters. Pray with all your hearts and souls, for I cannot help but feel that some fresh disaster will confront us very soon.’

Long after the midnight hour he dared to unlock his iron strongbox, which he had refused to let the servants take away until the very moment of the caravan’s departure. He took out the smaller cloth bag, unwrapped the Three-Headed Monster, and held it in trembling hands. The silvery coronet shone in the light of the guttering candle on the bedside stand, shadows making the awful faces carved upon it seem almost alive.

Did he dare? Was there a chance of success if he did?

The unexpected great opportunity had come almost like a miracle, but it would not last long. He placed the coronet upon his head, took a deep breath, and strove to speak without faltering.

‘Three-Headed Monster,’ he whispered, ‘you belong to me! Answer me true: If I obtain the dead Three-Lobed Burning Eye from my Aunt Kadiya and place it in the star-box, will it bond to me?’

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a mysterious voice within his own head replied: Yes. If you press the coloured gems within the box in consecutive order, the Eye will cleave to you alone, slaying any other person who presumes to touch it without your permission.

‘Will the Eye obey my commands?’

It will, if the commands are pertinent.

Tolivar nearly shouted with elation. ‘Can – can you make me invisible so that I may enter my aunt’s room without her seeing me?’

The question is impertinent.

The Prince nearly burst into tears of frustration. Not again! Not now! ‘Make me invisible! I command you!’

The request is impertinent.

The talisman would sometimes obey his commands – especially when he asked it simple questions, or bade it give him Sight of some person or place far distant – but more often it spoke that maddening phrase of refusal. His attempts at sorcery, undertaken either in the hut out in the mire or in his other hiding place in the Derorguila ruins, had always been timid and hesitant and not often successful. Tolivar had good reason to be afraid of his talisman. Sometimes, for reasons unknown, the power would turn upon the one who wielded it. This had happened to Orogastus while Tolivar was his hostage. The sorcerer had not been seriously hurt.

Hut even though there was danger, Tolivar could not let this fortuitous opportunity pass by.

‘I will not give way to faintheartedness,’ the Prince said to himself. ‘After all, the Monster did make me invisible once before, when I first obtained it.’ He squeezed his eyes shut, breathed slowly in and out until he felt calmer, and then spoke to the talisman again, this time choosing his words with care.

‘Instruct me how I may become invisible.’

Visualize the deed to be accomplished and then command it.

Could it be that simple? Was the talisman’s operation triggered by his thoughts, then, rather than by spoken words? Was that the great secret to successful wizardry? It was a notion that the boy had never considered before. Had he perhaps done the visualization inadvertently earlier on, when issuing the successful magical commands?

Let it be! Please, let it be!

With his eyes still closed, Tolivar conjured a picture of himself within his imagination, sitting on the bed in his room, wearing the coronet. Keeping the vision clear, he caused his body to fade away like dissipating smoke. He did not speak until the imaginary bedroom was empty.

‘Talisman,’ he intoned, ‘now render me invisible.’ He waited for a few heartbeats, then opened his eyes. Slowly, he lifted his hand in front of his face.

He saw nothing but the room and its furniture.

There was a small mirror mounted on the wall near the washstand, and he rushed to it. No face returned his gaze into the glass! The talisman had obeyed him.

He sat down on a stool and pulled off his boots (which immediately became visible once they dropped from his hands), and ran on tiptoe to the door. There he paused as a thought struck him, inspired by the reappearing boots. Would the Burning Eye seem to vanish when he picked it up? If it did not, and if Aunt Kadiya woke and saw it wafting away from her, borne by a magical force, she might lash out with her dagger. Invisible or not, if that happened he might be wounded or even killed.

He experimented, lifting the silver pitcher from its basin on the washstand, and uttered a groan of disappointment. Horrors! The thing did remain quite visible, seeming to float in mid-air. But then he collected himself, once more closed his eyes, and imagined that the pitcher disappeared. Without speaking aloud this time, he formulated a thought-command:

Talisman, render the pitcher invisible.

He opened his eyes. His fingers still grasped a smooth metal handle and his arm muscles were aware of a weight being held. But he saw nothing. Carefully, he put the invisible pitcher back into its basin. He heard a faint clink, withdrew his hand momentarily, then poked the unseen vessel. It was there, all right.

He found himself smothering a delighted laugh. He was getting the hang of it! Not even speech was truly needed. The thought was what counted in wreaking magic.

‘Is that true?’ he asked the talisman.

And the voice within him said: Yes.

Serious again, he caused the pitcher to reappear. Then he slipped out into the corridor and headed for his Aunt Kadiya’s room.

She had kept it, as always, at her side in bed; but when she awoke the next morning the Three-Lobed Burning Eye was gone, leaving only its empty scabbard. Jagun swore to her that no one had entered, for he had slept just outside her door. The Citadel servants and guards had noticed nothing unusual. Nevertheless the Burning Eye had undeniably been stolen.

What was worse, Haramis’ Three-Winged Circle refused to show the whereabouts of the magical pointless sword, nor would it say who was the thief.

‘This can only mean,’ the White Lady said to her two badly shaken sisters, ‘that Kadi’s talisman is now bonded to another and empowered. There is no use attempting a physical search of Ruwenda Citadel. It is too vast, with countless potential hiding places. Besides, the thief is no doubt long gone with his booty. A search would not only be futile, it would also trumpet the fact of the second talisman’s theft and dishearten the people. Only we Three and Jagun must know of this.’

‘Now we are surely lost,’ the Queen said, her voice heavy with despair. ‘All this time, one of my own courtiers has had both the star-box and my purloined coronet! And now he owns the Burning Eye as well. The wretch is probably already on his way to a rendezvous with Orogastus! The situation is hopeless.’

‘Don’t talk like a fool, Ani,’ snapped Kadiya. ‘We will carry on – as we did once before when the sorcerer himself owned two talismans. Now that was a time seeming to be truly without hope – and yet we prevailed. If the Triune wills, we shall do so this time also.’

On the following day the three sisters said their farewells and quit Ruwenda Citadel.

The Archimage Haramis used her magic to transport herself instantly to her Tower on Mount Brom. There she began preparing proposals for the defensive conference in Derorguila, as well as devising instructions for those Folk who were to be entrusted with the blockade of the viaducts. After that she intended to search her own archives and those of the Blue Lady, in the hope of discovering a way to either control the invisible portals or destroy them. She was not optimistic of swift success.

Kadiya, Prince Tolivar, Ralabun, and six of the Queen’s valorous Oathed Companions set off on the first leg of their journey to far Sobrania. The Prince was allowed to bring along a locked iron box of modest size, which he said contained certain of his most valued books.

Lightweight boats drawn by rimoriks would carry them through Lake Wum. After bypassing Tass Falls they were to travel down the Great Mutar through the vast Tassaleyo Forest to the Wyvilo town of Let, where they would take passage on an aboriginal tradeboat bound for the kingdom of Var and the Southern Sea.

∗ ∗ ∗

The caravan with Queen Anigel, King Antar, and all of their court began the long journey northward to Labornok, which was expected to take at least thirty days. The Wet Time was now well and truly begun, and unrelenting rain poured down upon the long train of coaches, carts, riders, and foot travellers like a cataract from heaven.

In spite of the inclement weather, the advance of the slowly moving royal entourage through the swamp was marked by many a furtive eye.

## CHAPTER 7

By the time the travelling court was ten days out of the Citadel, Anigel was bored to death riding in her lumbering great carriage with Immu and the four ladies-in-waiting. The new Queen’s Mireway, opened only the previous year, was living up to its reputation as a great marvel of the world. It was as sturdy as any dryland thoroughfare, even in the exceptionally heavy rains that plagued the trip this year, and Anigel saw no reason why she should not go riding up and down the procession visiting and sightseeing, as the King and the royal children and the male members of the nobility did.

The women were shocked at her daring and tried to dissuade her, but the Queen swept their objections aside. After all, it was her mireway. For nearly six years she had supervised its construction, eking out funds from a shaky budget, coping with rebellious Glismak road-gangs and other aboriginal problems, and bolstering the confidence of engineers who insisted that certain sections of the thoroughfare could never be built.

Anigel lowered the coach window and called to a page riding hard by. ‘Summon the Royal Fronial Master.’ She smiled at the perturbed noble ladies around her. ‘I refuse to travel shut up in a stuffy coach like an invalid simply because I am with child. It will not harm my unborn babes if I take to the saddle in the honest Ruwendian rain.’

‘But such things are not done by pregnant queens!’ exclaimed Lady Belineel. She was of an ancient Labornoki family, and only too eager to voice disapproval of the more easygoing Ruwendian customs.

Surprisingly, the old Nyssomu nurse Immu piped up in support of Belineel. ‘Your mireway is not Derorguila High Street, my Queen. It traverses some of the most dangerous country in the Peninsula, particularly in this section, and there is a scent of Skritek spawn in the air. I beg you to stay in the carriage.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Anigel. ‘I smell only muck and wet leaves and the spoor of harmless tarenials – and someone’s oversweet perfume, which is giving me a headache.’ She called out the carriage window to the middle-aged peer she had caused to be summoned. ‘Lord Karagil, pray bring me a mount at once, and have my Oathed Companions attend me. I will ride for the rest of the day.’

‘This is very unwise,’ Immu said grumpily. ‘One shouldn’t take chances when spawn are about.’

The Fronial Master was equally dismayed at Anigel’s decision. ‘The Oddling nurse is right about the Skritek, my Queen, for our scouts have come upon fresh sign. It is unusual for the horrid offspring of the Drowners to range this far east, but –’

‘Obey me,’ said the Queen, her voice low and pleasant but her intent unshaken. ‘If my Oathed Companions cannot protect me from Skritek spawn, then it is time they turned in their swords and took up fancy needlework. I shall first visit with my Royal Husband, who is in the advance party.’

‘Stubborn stubborn stubborn!’ said Immu to Anigel, using the overfamiliar manner of venerable retainers. ‘It is indecent for a gravid royal woman to go off galloping amongst a cavalcade of soldiers and teamsters – even if there were no danger from spawn.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Anigel said blithely, ‘I am going.’

Immu besought the noblewomen. ‘Will not one of you ride with the Queen?’

But the ladies only made excuses and continued to remonstrate. Finally, Immu said, ‘Then I will go myself!’

Anigel looked upon the Nyssomu nurse with some doubt. ‘You may certainly ride pillion with me if you insist, dear friend. But I daresay it will be most uncomfortable for a small person such as yourself, jouncing along at my back.’

Lord Karagil suddenly brightened. ‘I have an idea that may serve all purposes,’ he declared, and rode off. He returned anon with two grooms, one leading a white fronial caparisoned royally for the Queen and the other bringing the she-beast’s gentle, half-grown colt, fitted out with an improvised saddle and bridle for Immu.

Happily, Anigel put on boots and a cloak. Accompanied by twenty knights of her Oathed Companions, and with Immu following resignedly on the long-legged colt, the Queen rode forward along the line of march until she reached the vanguard. There she found King Antar and his commander-in-chief, General Gorkain, dismounted at one of the new bridges that spanned a swollen tributary of the River Virkar. They were conferring with two aboriginal scouts clad in the livery of the Two Thrones. Lord Marshal Lakanilo and numbers of other noble officers sat their steeds close by, waiting upon the royal pleasure. They wore only light helmets and cuirasses beneath their raincloaks, as did the Oathed Companions, the King, and the General. A troop of well-equipped men-at-arms and a single knight in full battle-armour had gone down to the riverbank, where they prepared to board a large raft manned by two human boatmen and a Nyssomu guide.

King Antar greeted his wife and the other comers courteously, then showed Anigel the map he and Gorkain and the scouts had been studying.

‘One of those infernal viaducts Haramis warned us about lies some six leagues downstream from here,’ Antar told her. ‘Soldiers under Sir Olevik’s command have volunteered to guard it while the main body of our train passes by. They will travel on that raft.’

‘But what can our brave men do,’ the Queen asked in a low voice, ‘if villains should pop through the magical doorway while they are on watch? Soldiers cannot fight magic, and surely there will be no time to barricade the viaduct effectively.’

‘No, my Queen,’ General Gorkain admitted. ‘In truth, all that Sir Olevik and his force can hope for is to divert any invaders for a brief period, selling their lives dearly while their Oddling comrade bespeaks us fair warning.’

‘They are brave hearts,’ Anigel murmured.

‘There is small chance of an attack by Star Men so soon,’ Antar reassured her. ‘Nor is Orogastus likely to assail a huge, well-armed column such as ours. We are merely taking due precaution.’

‘Within two tennights,’ said one of the little Nyssomu scouts, ‘our Folk dwelling in this part of the Mazy Mire will have secured that viaduct, as the White Lady and the Lady of the Eyes have commanded. We will heap a tall mound of stone and soil over the site and set a guard.’

‘It will be very hard for Star Men to emerge unnoticed from a viaduct after this is done,’ said the other scout. ‘They will have to resort to powerful magic to dig their way out. This we will surely detect, and then sound the alarm in the speech without words.’

Anigel looked again at the map. ‘It seems there are no more viaducts near to the road until we reach the mountains. We can be thankful for that.’

A ragged cheer now arose from the Oathed Companions as the raft with Sir Olevik and his men pushed off from the shore. ‘May the Flower bless you,’ the Queen called, sketching the sign of the Trillium in the air beyond the bridge railing, ‘and bring you back safely to our company.’

Those on the raft responded with spirited cries of their own, brandishing their arms. Then the raft rounded a bend and was lost to sight behind a dense stand of trees.

The advance riders resumed their slow progress through the rain, with Anigel and Antar riding side by side amidst the troop of knights, and Immu trailing behind the Queen. Coming after them at a fair distance was a parade over two leagues in length: volumnial-drawn wagons loaded with baggage of the court, more carts carrying food and supplies, fine coaches and carriages bearing the nobility and civil servants, royal officers and knights on fronial-back, and nearly a thousand other retainers both mounted and afoot. Double files of soldiery plodded along on either side of the main column, and the sound of their singing came softly through the swamp to the ears of those riding ahead.

The Queen was well content now, making proud inspection of her mireway. What had been from time immemorial an indistinct and hazardous track only negotiable in the Dry Time (and then only by those possessing local knowledge or the secret maps of the Master Traders) was now a handsome paved road. Its elevated bed, formed of alternate layers of crushed rock and massive logs from the Tassaleyo Forest, stood three ells or more above the swamp and was surfaced with cobblestones. Wooden bridges had replaced the old fords over streams and rivers, save for the crossing of the broad Virkar at the edge of the Dylex country, where there was a ferry. Hostels with guardposts, sited a day’s journey apart, provided secure places where smaller parties of travellers or merchant caravans might rest; but the huge royal train perforce camped on the road itself, with only the royalty and elderly or infirm nobles taking shelter beneath hostel roofs.

The middle section of the mireway that the entourage now traversed was more narrow than the rest since it had been so difficult to build. Twisting nearly a hundred leagues between Bonar Castle and the Dylex city of Virk, this part of the road crossed a wilderness devoid of human habitation. Soaring trees and dense tangles of thorn-fern, vines, and nearly impenetrable vegetation hemmed in the mireway and even overhung it in many stretches, so that it sometimes seemed to Queen Anigel that they rode through a green tunnel curtained by misty rain.

The advance party made a halt at midday, eating cold food and resting while a welcome sun broke briefly through the clouds, causing the roadway to steam. But by the time the riders remounted storm clouds had returned, together with a rising wind. Nevertheless Anigel found herself dozing in the saddle as the patient fronials moved slowly onward, their antlered heads bobbing, the tendons in their legs clicking, and their splayed hooves clip-clopping on the mossy stones. Overhead, the leaden sky became more and more oppressive, although the heavy rain held off.

The Queen was jolted into wakefulness when occasional whiffs of stomach-turning stench began to contaminate the wind. No one was much surprised when General Gorkain came riding back through the ranks of knights and saluted the King and Queen before delivering grim news.

‘A scout reports freshly scoured raffin bones on the mireway ahead, and the cobbles show sign of Skritek spawn. We will halt here in order to close up the gap between our advance group and the main body of the caravan. The Lord Marshal and the Oathed Companions will provide Your Majesties with close escort, and foot-soldiery will come forward to accompany us until the danger is past. I have also sent a messenger to summon Crown Prince Nikalon and Princess Janeel. It is no longer safe for them to range up and down the procession casually with their young friends.’

‘Very well,’ said Antar. ‘You may carry on.’

The General touched his helm-visor in salute and spun his fronial about. But before he could ride away there were shouts from the knights ahead. ‘Spawn! Spawn on the road!’

Gorkain swore and spurred his mount forward, drawing his two-handed sword. Marshal Lakanilo and a dozen Oathed Companions closed in around the King, the Queen, and Immu, lances couched, while others of the elite group followed the General.

An excruciating foul odour spread through the air. For a time everyone was quiet and the only sounds were distant hoof-beats, the creak of harness, and the hiss and patter of the rain.

Then Immu whispered, ‘See there!’ She pointed to a dark slough at the right of the mireway, half-screened by thornless fodderfern twice the height of a man.

Rising from the scummy water were dozens of glistening white shapes, some nearly the size of a human body, others much smaller. They resembled odious fat worms or grubs, lacking obvious heads but having stubby limbs equipped with razorlike claws. Their foreparts lifted as they reached the narrow verge beside the roadbed, revealing wide open mouths with green teeth that dripped venom. The blind monsters swayed from side to side questing for prey, which they tracked with their keen hearing.

For an instant the riders were frozen with horror. Then one young knight exclaimed, ‘Zoto’s Stones, what detestable things! Like giant corpse-maggots!’

At the sound of his voice the Skritek spawn began humping and wriggling up the embankment toward the road.

King Antar’s longsword sang as it left its scabbard. ‘Follow me, Oathed Companions!’

He sent his fronial skidding down the steep slope, the Lord Marshal and the knights following closely after, and with a single sweeping stroke he smote one of the leading spawn in two. It disintegrated, splashing vile jelly-like ichor all over the King. The Companions spitted other bloodthirsty Skritek young on their lances or put them to the sword, crying out in anger and disgust as they were also drenched by evil-smelling fluids from the spawn bodies.

Lakanilo’s fronial fell to the muddy ground, squealing in agony, its foreleg held fast in poisoned jaws. But the Companions raced to the Lord Marshal’s rescue, hauling him to safety, slaying the tenaciously clinging spawn, and granting merciful death to the doomed antilopine steed.

It was not long before all of the larvae were either killed or fled, leaving Antar and the knights beslimed from helm to heel. Victorious cries from the road ahead signalled that the other pod of immature Skritek had also been routed by Gorkain and his men.

‘Well done,’ cried Queen Anigel warmly.

But the King looked down upon his filthied person with a grimace. ‘Only the Triune knows how we shall remove this mess from ourselves, unless we take a headlong leap into the swamp and exchange mud for spawn-slime.’

As if in answer, thunder rumbled overhead and a deluge of rain pelted down. Antar removed his helm, tilted his head so water bathed his face, and laughed. ‘Thank you, gracious Lords of the Air! By the time the main column catches up with us, we may almost be fit for civilized society again.’

‘Perhaps you should return to your carriage, my Queen,’ Lord Marshal Lakanilo suggested to Anigel. He was a tall man of sparse flesh, whose manner was grave and dignified in spite of his befouled appearance. He had been appointed to his office following the heroic death of Lord Marshal Owanon in the Battle of Derorguila.

The Queen shook her head, dismissing the suggestion that she should retire. ‘Heavens, no, Lako! With the smell of Skritek now stronger than ever, my ladies will wrap their faces in perfume-soaked veils. Frankly, my nose is less offended by the smell of the monsters.’

Princess Janeel and Crown Prince Nikalon came cantering up with a group of noble attendants and gave noisy greeting to their parents and the Oathed Companions.

‘Phew!’ cried the Princess, pinching her nose. ‘The spawn-reek is much worse up here – oh!’ She screamed at the sight of the slaughtered creatures.

‘They are quite dead, my Lady,’ the Lord Marshal said. ‘There is nothing to fear.’

Prince Nikalon had drawn his sword and his eyes were alight as he surveyed the noisome remains. ‘Are you certain, Lako? Perhaps we’d better reconnoitre the swamp. I’m ready!’ At fifteen, he had nearly attained a man’s stature and wore a helm and breastplate and military cape.

‘Ready ready ready!’ Immu exclaimed crossly. ‘Your royal parents and the Oathed Companions must now feel very relieved that such a great champion has arrived.’

‘Oh, Immu,’ groaned the Prince. The knights were laughing, but with good humour for they all were very fond of the impetuous Niki.

‘There is no need for us to leave the road,’ Antar said. ‘Indeed, it would be foolhardy for us to do so, since the water continues to rise.’

‘Well, I’m sorry I missed the fight. I never saw Skritek spawn before.’ The boy sheathed his sword and began questioning the knights about the attack, and the Lord Marshal sent off for another mount.

Janeel rode closer to her parents and the little old nurse, expressing relief when she was told that the only casualty was a single fronial. ‘What horrible things the spawn are! Is it true that they kill their dams at birth?’

‘More often than not,’ Immu said. ‘Adult Skritek have the use of reason – more or less! – but the young are ravening and mindless. If the mother is lucky, she may leap to safety as each larval offspring drops from her womb, and the spawn will feed upon meat she has provided. But it is more common for the offspring to awaken before birth and gnaw their way from confinement through the mother’s body wall.’

‘Ugh!’ said Janeel. Her face had gone white within the hood of her raincape and she would gladly have departed the nauseating scene, were it not that Queen Anigel seemed unfazed. ‘No wonder Skritek know nothing of love or gentleness.’

‘And yet,’ Prince Nikalon interposed with grisly relish, having rejoined his parents and sister, ‘the Skritek are the oldest race in the world, and sages say all Folk are descended from them. Even you, Immu!’

‘I thought humankind was the most ancient race,’ the Princess said.

‘We did not originate in this world,’ said the Queen. ‘Your Aunt Haramis the Archimage learned that human beings came here from the Outer Firmament uncounted aeons in the past. The Vanished Ones were our ancestors.’

‘What is even more amazing,’ said King Antar very quietly, ‘is that the Vanished Ones used the blood of both Skritek and humanity to fashion a Folk-race that might withstand the Conquering Ice.’

‘But … why?’ The Princess, unlike her older brother, had never heard the story; nor had most other people, for the Archimage had decided that it must be kept secret, except among the royal family and its most trusted confidants.

‘The ancient humans felt guilty abandoning the world their warring had largely destroyed,’ Antar said. ‘You see, Jan, the Vanished Ones believed that the ice they had unwittingly created twelve-times-ten hundreds ago would devour all the world’s land, save for the continental margins and some islands. They thought the Skritek would surely die, leaving the world devoid of rational beings. But that did not happen. The ice failed to conquer after all, and both the Skritek and the new race of hardy Folk lived on together. So did certain stubborn humans who had remained behind when the rest Vanished into the Outer Firmament.’

‘Those aborigines that we call Vispi,’ said the Queen, ‘the high-mountain dwellers who aided your Aunt Haramis in obtaining her talisman and who are now her special Folk, are the result of that long-ago experiment. They are the true firstborn, combining the Skritek and human lineage. Of course they give birth in human fashion, as other high races of Folk do.’

‘But the Vispi are so beautiful,’ Jan said, ‘while the other races of Folk are – ‘ She broke off, realizing how improper it was to speak thus before the old Nyssomu nurse. ‘Oh, Immu, I beg pardon. I did not mean to insult you.’

‘I take no offence, sweeting.’ Immu was calm. ‘To Nyssomu and Uisgu the Vispi appear unattractive. You call them beautiful merely because they most resemble yourselves.’

‘But how, then, did the other races of Folk come about?’ Janeel inquired.

‘Some were engendered through new infusions of Skritek blood,’ said the Queen in a sombre tone.

The Princess thought over the horrid implications of this, and she and her brother were silent for some time.

Then Immu added, ‘Over the ages, fresh human blood also contributed to the racial mixing. In ancient times, humans often mated with Folk. It is just within the last six hundreds that your people began to call mine Oddlings, insisting that we are inferior beings. In other human kingdoms, the disdain for us persists. Only in Laboruwenda are the Folk acknowledged to have souls, and certain of us are granted the privileges of citizenship.’

‘I will see that the nation of Raktum does likewise,’ Princess Janeel stated offhandedly, ‘when I marry Ledavardis and become its queen.’

‘Oh, Jan!’ Anigel exclaimed angrily. ‘You know I have forbidden you to speak of that matter before your Royal Father.’

‘What’s this?’ Antar glared at his daughter. ‘Don’t tell me she still fancies that Goblin Kinglet?’

‘Ledavardis of Raktum is a brave man,’ Janeel said, ‘and no more a goblin than Niki is. Even though his body is not handsome, he is noble of heart.’

‘So you say!’ The furious King spoke to the Princess through clenched teeth, and his blond beard bristled. ‘To my mind, the Raktumians are naught but half-reformed pirates, and no daughter of mine will wed their malformed King! How can you forget that Raktum allied with Tuzamen and the despicable Orogastus to make war upon us?’

‘Ledo fought and surrendered with honour,’ Janeel retorted. ‘And he has ever since then commanded his people to change their old lawless ways and behave in a civilized manner.’

‘Civilized!’ The King’s laugh was contemptuous. ‘Nothing has changed in the pirate kingdom, except now the Raktumian corsairs commit their crimes on the sly, whereas before they were bold as the vipers of Viborn. You shall never marry Ledavardis.’

The Princess burst into tears. ‘You care nothing for my happiness, Father. The real reason why you reject Ledo is your vain hope that I will marry King Yondrimel of Zinora, that scheming braggart. But you will never force me to accept him! Let him marry one of Queen Jiri’s daughters.’

‘Jan, my dearest!’ Queen Anigel hastened to intervene. ‘I beseech you to forbear. This is not the place for such discussion. Let us wait until we reach the next hostel, and – ‘

Her words were drowned out by a colossal thunderbolt. Simultaneously the mireway shook as with an earthquake, and a flash of light blinded all beholders. The rain now fell prodigiously. Shouts arose from the shocked knights, who had withdrawn some distance in order to give the royal family privacy. The fronials shied in terror from the unexpected noise, and the King forgot his anger as he strove to prevent his daughter’s crazed steed from slipping off the road into the swirling floodwaters.

Prince Nikalon was similarly occupied with the distraught mount of his mother. Anigel’s ramping white beast pawed the savage downpour with its split hooves and tossed its antlered head wildly. The Queen regained control only with difficulty after Niki dismounted and clung to her bridle. Several ells away, the young fronial Immu rode lay on its belly near the road’s left-hand edge, shaking with terror, while its rider urged it vainly to rise. But then Princess Janeel’s animal escaped Antar’s grasp and nearly trampled the colt and Immu as it galloped back down the road toward the main column.

Oathed Companions!’ cried the Queen. ‘After the Princess!’ And to her son, ‘Save Immu! Look – the verge of the mireway near her is crumbling!’

Prince Nikalon leapt back onto his mount and went pounding down the rain-lashed road. Leaning from the saddle, he swept up the little Nyssomu woman just as the fronial colt tumbled down the embankment and vanished without a sound into churning muddy water.

‘Bring Immu to me, Niki,’ the Queen shouted, ‘then aid your father and sister!’

Anigel could not understand why the Oathed Companions had not come to the rescue. Her sight of the knights on the road ahead was obscured by the pounding rain and the growing darkness, but she heard their shouts amidst continuing rumbles of thunder and a strange rushing sound. When Immu was safe on the pillion behind her and the Prince gone to Antar, who had halted Janeel’s runaway mount some distance away, the Queen put spur to her fronial in order to fetch the Companions. But the white beast skidded to an abrupt halt after taking only a few bounds.

‘Great God, the road!’ Anigel screamed, looking down from the saddle.

Between the Queen and her knights stretched a steep break in the mireway over five ells wide. It appeared that lightning had blasted the road asunder. High water formerly impounded on one side of the causeway was now pouring through, laden with downed trees and other floating debris. Before Anigel could recover from her astonishment another brilliant flash and a shattering clap of thunder rocked the Mazy Mire, causing her mount to stagger.

‘Hold tight, Immu!’ she cried, reining the animal’s head far to the right, so that it whirled in tight circles, squealing. But it did not panic this time and she was able to calm it at last, urging it back toward the King and the children.

Then the beast again stopped abruptly. Anigel gasped as she saw a second gap in the mireway, narrower than the first but growing wider every second as swift waters chewed away at the road’s foundation.

The Queen and Immu were marooned on a small island of cobblestone pavement in the midst of a raging flood.

‘Ani!’ howled the King, and Nikalon and Janeel cried, ‘Mother!’

Thunder seemed to give a mocking answer. The Oathed Companions stood helpless on their side of the severed road, but several carts and numbers of men-at-arms had finally reached the King. One quick-thinking fellow dashed up to Antar with a coil of rope, and both father and son dismounted and helped to fling it across the water.

Anigel and Immu also slid from the saddle, crouching at the lip of the shrinking section of mireway. Twice the rope failed to reach them; but on the third throw Immu took hold of it, screeching in triumph and nearly falling into the rising flood.

‘Come!’ the nurse cried to the Queen. ‘Knot it about your waist!’

Anigel tried, but at that moment the waters undermined the roadbed beneath and the cobbles under her feet shifted and separated. She fell into a shallow, water-filled hole, her arms and legs entangled in her long raincape. Dropping the rope, Immu scrambled to Anigel and helped to free her. Queen and nurse crawled over the treacherous, dissolving surface while the King recoiled the rope and flung it again and again across the widening breach.

But the line kept falling short, and soon the island of roadway would be entirely washed away.

‘Your trillium-amber!’ Immu screamed at the Queen above the roar of the storm. ‘Bid it save us!’

They were clinging to each other. Anigel took hold of her magical amulet with one hand, holding Immu tightly with the other. Behind them, the white fronial scrabbled and shrieked, consumed with terror. The ground melted under it and it was swept away into the torrent.

A third monstrous explosion sounded at the same time that lightning struck. Stones, broken timber, clots of muddy earth, and roiling mist filled the air, together with shouts from the frustrated rescuers.

Queen Anigel felt herself falling, felt Immu torn away from her grasp, felt strangely painless blows from the wind-flung branches whirling all around her, felt her slow slide into dark, rushing water that filled her mouth and nose, choking off her prayer to the Black Trillium.

Then she felt nothing.

## CHAPTER 8

The viaduct on Mount Brom was situated in the Cavern of Black Ice.

Long ages ago it had given the Vanished Ones access to their mysterious storage place deep in the Ohogan Mountains. And now, as Haramis had anticipated, the viaduct provided the sorcerer Orogastus with a means of entry to her Tower. Through her magical Three-Winged Circle she watched him emerge out of nowhere, through a dark disc without thickness that vanished with a loud bell-chime as soon as he was beyond it. He wore his silver-and-black Star Master regalia, including the gauntlets and the awesome starburst headpiece that hid the upper part of his face.

He stood quietly in the very middle of the cavern’s obsidian-tiled floor, looking at the vault of quartz-veined granite soaring overhead and at the hundreds of alcoves, compartments, and roomlets on every side. The peculiar illumination of the place, shining from unseen sources, caused the icy extrusions in the rock crevices to gleam like polished onyx.

The sorcerer seemed bemused as he walked slowly toward the exit, perhaps remembering the time that the Cavern of Black Ice and its wondrous contents had belonged to him. The glassy dark doors to the chambers and niches were all open. A few sophisticated trinkets and trifles remained, but were useless to his purposes. The compartments that had contained ancient weapons, or other devices intended to intimidate or harm, were empty.

‘So you destroyed them, did you?’ He addressed thin air, knowing she viewed him through her talisman. ‘And yet you kept the most deadly instrument of all! Did it never occur to you that the other two parts of the Sceptre of Power would be denied their greatest, most awful usage if there were no Three-Winged Circle?’

Haramis said nothing. She had thought of it, had even contemplated throwing the Circle into one of the active volcanos in the Flame-Girt Isles when it became obvious that the other two talismans had passed into the hands of a person unknown. But that small silvery wand had been purchased at such a great cost to herself; and the original purpose of the Threefold Sceptre, thwarted twelve thousand years ago, had never ceased to intrigue her. She could not bring herself to cast the talisman away.

Orogastus reached a large wooden door encrusted with hoarfrost and addressed her once more. The set of his mouth had become ironic. ‘Do I have your permission to enter the Tower, White Lady? It is mine, after all, even though you have made free with it for these sixteen years.’