figures-of men mounted on horses. There were many, many-perhaps a thousand-along the wharf, three deep and snaking in lines up into the town. Each and every one of the mounted men wore a similar costume: a brilliant scarlet shirt and black trousers and boots. The oars beat rhythmically as the boat scudded across the harbor, closing, and Diana saw that the riders were armed with sabers, and that most of them held long spears, some with pennants tied up near their heads, snapping in the breeze.
'They're armed!' she exclaimed. 'We're rowing straight into them.'
Soerensen shaded his eyes with one hand to stare. One of the rowers spoke rapidly in a foreign tongue.
Marco listened and nodded, and then translated for the others. 'He says the barbarians came into town two days since, that they came to wait for the Prince of the far city, which is Charles, of course.'
'Of course,' Maggie echoed, glancing sharply at Soerensen. If he was paying attention to this conversation, he did not show it.
'He says,' Marco continued, beginning to smile, 'that it's the Bakhtiian's own private guard, his picked troops, and that Bakhtiian himself is with them.'
'But isn't, he the conqueror?' Maggie demanded. 'The king? Why would he be here?' But Marco fell silent as the boat slipped in among pilings and the sailors tied her up to a pier.
Soerensen disembarked without taking his packs. The others scrambled after him. The little party walked at a brisk pace up the pier to the waiting guard. This close, the riders were even more impressive-each horsed and seated magnificently, a long line of men, fair and dark, set off by the intense red of their shirts. Soerensen moved with an impatient, clipped stride.
Maggie dropped back beside Diana and whispered, 'He'll see his sister Tess at last. It's all he's been speaking of.' Soerensen slowed, surveying the line, and halted at the end of the pier, faced with the barbarians. Diana and Maggie stood behind him, Marco and Dr. Hierakis on either side of him.
First there was silence. Diana scanned the line for any sign of the sister, but she saw only men. Each one in turn, those close enough for her to look at, cast down his eyes, as if they had some taboo about looking on a stranger. Then, to the far right of the line, a rider appeared, flanked by two others.
'Enter, the king,' said Diana under her breath.
Soerensen lifted a hand in greeting, but as the three riders neared, he lowered it. All three were men, and the one in the fore rode a splendid black horse. The trio halted in front of Soerensen, and the dark-featured man on the black horse dismounted and handed the reins to one of his companions. Then he examined his audience, making no immediate move to come forward. He wore the brilliant clothing of his people with impeccable neatness, and he had that air of utter authority that comes from having one's will obeyed instantly.
Marco made a hiss of amazement. 'That's him,' he said in a voice pitched low, for Soerensen's ears. 'That's Bakhtiian.'
'Of course it is,' whispered Diana. 'Only kings or actors make entrances like that.'
Soerensen did not acknowledge either comment. 'I don't believe it,' said Maggie.
Marco glanced back over his shoulder and shook his head. 'No, really. I met him once. He's not a person I would forget.'
'I confess I thought a great conqueror would be taller.'' Maggie said it in a low voice, but the conqueror's gaze flashed her way for an unreadable instant.
'For God's sake,' said Marco, 'you're damned well taller than everyone else in this party as it is, Maggie.'
Diana could not help herself, Tamburlaine was so fresh in her mind. ' 'His looks do menace heaven and dare the gods, His fiery eyes are fixed upon the earth, As if he has devised some stratagem.' ' She faltered, because he moved.
He walked forward with easy grace and halted in front of Soerensen. There was a pause. This close, Diana felt compelled to stare at him. He was not handsome, exactly, but rather one of those people who attracts the eye as much by force of will as by physical perfection. He was exceedingly well-proportioned and his features were precise, marked especially by a pair of dark, passionate, and impatient eyes. Of course he had a scar, a white line running diagonally from one high cheekbone almost to his chin, doubtlessly suffered in a battle, or a brawl, or perhaps in an assassination attempt. Diana realized that she was holding her breath and staring, and she let air out deliberately and breathed in again.
In Jeds, the natives bowed to Soerensen as one would to a prince. Bakhtiian inclined his head, as one equal greets another. 'I am Bakhtiian,' he said. In Rhuian, the language of Jeds.
Soerensen returned the nod and replied in the same language. 'Charles Soerensen.'
'I give you greetings.'
'And blessings in return.'
What their true feelings were, Diana could not guess through the mask of politeness they wore. Soerensen had always been an enigma to her, a rather pale man with sand-colored hair who showed humor readily and never gave the slightest inkling of how he felt at having been turned from a failed revolutionary leader into the only human duke in the massive and labyrinthine Chapalii Empire. Most people she could read, she could get a sense of, but Soerensen was a blank.
The two men studied each other, but what they made of that examination did not show on their faces.
At last Bakhtiian spoke. 'I have arranged that we leave morning after next, for our camp some ten days ride inland. That will give your party a day to organize their goods on the wagons we've brought for the journey.'
After a beat of silence, Soerensen said, 'Where is my sister? I expected that she would be here to greet me.' His face maintained its mask of politeness, but the air changed quality, as if charged by a net of electricity.
Bakhtiian's expression did not change, but everything else about him did, the indefinable shift of his posture utterly transforming the message his body carried. He moved his left foot slightly. His left hand strayed to his saber hilt, and he brushed the tip of the golden hilt with his thumb. 'She is at the camp,' he said, in a tone that meant: and that is that.
Soerensen blinked, once. When he spoke, it was without inflection. 'She told me, in a letter, that she would meet me at the port.'
'She may well have,' replied the conqueror of half a dozen kingdoms and principalities, 'but she could not come.' He removed his hand from his saber hilt and began to turn away, to lead the group up into town, since the matter was now obviously settled.
Soerensen did not move. 'Why is that?' he asked, as easily as if he were commenting on the weather.
Half turned away, Bakhtiian froze, paused, and swung back. The force of his stare, antagonistic and unforthcoming, would have cowed any other man. He did not reply.
''Why could she not come?'' repeated Soerensen.
For an instant, Bakhtiian looked taken aback that a living being questioned his authority. For an instant only. 'Because she could not leave camp.'
For the first time, a sudden, intense energy radiated off of Soerensen. Abruptly, Diana saw in him the man who had dared to challenge humanity's alien masters. He was powerful, and frightening. His jaw tightened; his lips thinned; he took in a breath.
The storm was about to hit. The charge of emotion washed over her like fire. She burned with it, fear and exhilaration together. Marco took a step back, putting a hand out to push Diana back behind him. Maggie gasped. Without thinking, Diana reached out to grasp Maggie's hand. Maggie glanced at her, pale skin flushed with alarm, and neither let go. The scarlet-shirted riders nearest the group stirred, and horses minced under tense hands.
Dr. Hierakis stepped forward into the breach. 'I am sorry to hear that she is ill,' she said with astonishing smoothness. 'However, we had better be sure we have accommodations for the next two nights, since the rest of our party are coming in from the ship and will need to be directed as to where they can stow their baggage.'
Soerensen said nothing, but as quickly as it had shone forth, his light was buried again. Evidently he approved of the doctor's intervention. But Bakhtiian's response was more startling: she looked directly at him, as one does when addressing a person, and he immediately dropped his gaze away from hers and stepped back. 'Of course,' he said obediently. 'I have arranged for two inns for your party. I hope they will be adequate.''
'I am sure they will be.' She seemed taken aback by Bakhtiian's sudden deference.
Marco looked astounded. Maggie let go of Diana's hand and nervously straightened her tunic. Diana was not sure where she ought to look, like an actor with no lines, on stage but not given direction. She felt a wee bit disappointed.
'I am Doctor Hierakis, by the way,' Hierakis added. 'And may I introduce Diana Brooke-Holt and Margaret
