his shoulders. He covered his face with his hands.
“She could well be the one,” he said. “She hates us, hates our leadership.”
“She is twisted and jealous,” said Myett. “If Hercol is found dead in his cabin some morning, we’ll know who cut his throat.”
“No,” said Taliktrum, through trembling fingers. “They’re allies, that girl and the swordsman. I’ve seen how they talk. We must move to denounce her. We have evidence of her treason already.”
Saturyk frowned. “It’s a trifle risky, Lord. Oh, the clan would likely endorse your decision. But later, when they’re not so afraid, the questions could get awkward.”
“Then keep them afraid,” said Myett, rubbing harder in her fright, trying to make Taliktrum look up at her. “Ensyl has earned death; there are other ways to deliver it than clan execution. Let her disappear. Two or three of your Dawn Soldiers could do the job.”
“Take your hands from me,” said Taliktrum. As Myett recoiled, wounded, he added, “Carry on, Saturyk. What awkward questions?”
Saturyk crossed his powerful arms. “In point of fact, Ensyl was within her rights to stand by her mistress, even against your orders. She may not be certain of that herself, but the House Elders know the law perfectly well- and they know, by the same token, that Ludunte is the oath-breaker, not Ensyl. He vowed to serve the Lady Diadrelu in all things, until released by her consent, or by the will of the clan in full council. Not even a clan leader may sever that bond.”
“But a prophet might,” said a voice from behind him.
It was Lord Talag. The others started; he had come down from his high seat without assistance, and now stood straight and proud in the doorway. Maimed by Sniraga, then held for weeks by the rat-king, Master Mugstur, he had suffered unimaginable abuses. Few had thought that he would live to see the far side of the Nelluroq, let alone the fabled shores of Stath Balfyr, the beloved Sanctuary he had lived for. But Talag was growing stronger all the time. Clan rumor held that he was in constant pain, but there was little sign of it about his person.
“I would speak to my son alone,” he said, moving to a seat at the table.
Myett and Saturyk left the chamber, the young woman trailing a hand up Taliktrum’s arm as she went. When the door closed behind them, Taliktrum rose and poured his father a tall glass of wine.
“How is it with you, sir?”
“You can see that I am healing,” said Talag curtly. “Taliktrum, you have a traitor in your midst.”
“Apparently,” sighed the young lord.
“What do you mean, ‘apparently’? You cannot believe this was an accident!”
“No, Father.”
“Well, then a traitor’s at work. Have you considered that it may be Myett?”
Taliktrum vehemently shook his head. “Forgive me, sir, but that makes no sense.”
“To sane men the actions of lunatics are senseless by definition,” said Talag. “Senseless-not impossible. The girl has a vague and fearful mind. She trails behind you like a shadow. And she shares your bed. She could well have borrowed your key to the strongbox.”
“But she has no motive whatsoever. She detests the giants.”
“And worships you-apparently. Taliktrum, a perfect cover is reason in itself to be suspicious. Don’t exempt her from scrutiny because of the pleasures of her touch. You should devise some way to test her.”
Taliktrum moved away across the room. He stared at a portrait of Alighri Ixphir, third commander of the House that bore his name. “I will destroy the remaining antidote,” he said. “Isn’t that what you’d do, in my place?”
“And condemn all the prisoners to eventual death?” said Talag. “You are not thinking clearly. What if the traitor simply informs the humans of your act? What will you bargain with, once their death is assured?”
“Besides, we are not savages. That is what Dri would say, in such a pass.”
Talag glowered. “Find the traitor. That is what your father says.”
Taliktrum started to pace. “I will test Myett. I’ll take another woman. We’ll see what jealousy looks like on her pretty face.”
“You’re a fool if you do,” said Talag, sniffing his wine. “It’s the jealousy of the clan you’ll soon be confronted with-the men’s, at any rate.”
“How am I to play the part of a prophet without a prophet’s grandeur?”
Talag thumped the table with his hand. “By not confusing your people’s history with the enemy’s!” he growled. “Arquali mystics were epicures, gluttons. Our own knew restraint. How did you ever get the idea that luxury and wealth would inspire awe? These extra rooms, this feasting, this wallowing in bed with your concubine. No one thinks you more powerful for such displays.”
“The younger folk do. They’re not the same sort of warriors as your generation, Father-the sort you raised me to be. They’ve known more safety in your house than any clan in memory. They like comforts. They like to see someone enjoying them.”
Talag allowed himself a wolfish smile. “Utter rot,” he said. “They believe in you despite your taste for comforts, not because of them. It’s their need for a prophet we’re exploiting here. Fortunately that need is profound. Be a warrior again, Taliktrum, and they’ll follow you to the bottommost Pit.”
Taliktrum smiled in turn. “Perhaps I don’t want to visit the Pits just yet.”
Talag’s face darkened. Taliktrum watched him, hands writhing. He drew closer to Talag and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Skies aflame but it’s bad, Father. Rose is the very last person we should ever wish to set free. He’s maniacal about his command. We don’t dare pick a fight with him openly now-he’s capable of anything, even sacrificing the other prisoners. All of them. Who does he care for among them? Oggosk? We know that she adores him for some reason, but is the feeling reciprocated? And even if it is, I think he might sacrifice her, unnatural beast that he is.”
Talag was very still. “To sacrifice a loved one for a greater cause-you call that unnatural, do you?”
Something in his voice made Taliktrum feel cold in the pit of his stomach. “Not for us, perhaps,” he said. “We understand these things differently. But Rose has no clan to fight for. He’s demonically selfish, and no more. Yet somehow the crew is elated to have him back. Why do they trust him? It proves the giants are half-wits, that’s all I can say.”
“You saw how Rose decimated the Jistrolloq, twice the fighting ship Chathrand is. You saw how he kept us alive through the Nelluroq storms.”
“He’s a fine mariner, of course.”
“He is more than that,” said Talag, motionless. “Some men know exactly what they’re capable of, and set out to achieve it. They have no pretense, because they need none. They choose, and they act. Other men detect this quality in them and want to take shelter in its certainty, its safety. Naturally they find themselves following such men, obeying them willingly. It is the same instinct that makes one hurry to leave a bog for solid ground.”
Taliktrum gave him a sharp look. “Those who believe in me-and it is most of them, you know-believe in me totally. Saturyk has observed them. They stay up late in the night, discussing my chance utterances, trying to catch glimpses of our destiny. It is almost frightening.”
“It is that,” agreed Talag. “And here is something worse. Those who do not believe in you, like Ensyl-they dismiss you utterly, as a weakling and a fraud.”
“I do not like the way they look at me,” said Taliktrum.
“To like or dislike-what is that?” snapped Talag. “Pay less attention to your likes, and more to the content of those looks. Tell me, prophet, what is behind them?”
Taliktrum looked at his hands. “Need,” he said at last.
“That is correct,” said Talag, “need. They believe in He-Who-Sees because they are afraid of their own blindness. Afraid of what may be coming for the clan, in that future they cannot see.”
“Father,” said Taliktrum suddenly, “the hostages are not our only security, are they?”
Talag had been lifting his glass; now he set it slowly on the table.
“If the worst should happen-if we should lose them all-you have another plan, do you not? Something to fall back on as a last resort?”
The old man looked at his son in silence. At last he said, “Would you follow any fool this long if he did not have such a plan?”
