handed.'
King Tristan smiled wanly, unconsciously holding his hand over the blunt wrist of his left arm. 'You're right, of course. I've had enough demonstrations of loyalty-from all of you-that such complaints are unbecoming. I apologize,' he said to Alicia, nodding formally.
The princess blushed even more deeply, for she sensed the teasing in his words. 'He'll be back soon!' she finished lamely.
'Brandon departed yesterday?' Tristan mentioned idly. Alicia didn't know if he was changing the subject or pursuing his original tack mercilessly. It was common knowledge that the Prince of Gnarhelm had sought her hand in marriage, and the fact that he had sailed away alone gave a clear enough indication of her reply.
'Yes. He had matters in his father's kingdom to tend. He-he plans to come to Callidyrr over the winter.' She wasn't sure how she felt about that. The memory of his determination brought back the sensation of being trapped that she had struggled with earlier.
'A good man, that,' the king continued, his appetite growing more hearty as his mind drifted away from his ailing daughter and his own semicrippling wound. 'I remember his father, King Olafsson, though I haven't seen him in twenty years. Still, he made a fine impression when we signed the Treaty of Oman.'
'The treaty that made it possible for his son to help us,' Robyn pointed out. The northmen and Ffolk had been mortal enemies for many centuries until the signing of that historic pact. The peace, arranged by High King Kendrick and the kings of the north, had been reaffirmed during the recent troubles. Also, although Alicia had not been aware of this, the prospect of a unifying marriage had been considered and anticipated by both peoples.
'Indeed,' Tristan reminisced. 'It was King Olafsson who suggested the place for the ceremony. He thought that the image of the Icepeak above, with the surrounding groves of the Grampalt Highlands, made the proper setting for a peace between two such diverse populations.'
'The Icepeak… that's the highest mountain in the isles, isn't it?' Alicia asked.
'So high that its summit remains shrouded by ice and snow the full year around,' Robyn confirmed.
'I remember often enough sailing through the strait on the voyages from Callidyrr to Corwell,' Alicia observed. 'A few times the weather was clear enough that we could see the mountain. I remember the first time I saw it. Never did I think that any piece of the world could soar so high into the air!'
'There are summits on the mainland that are higher,' the king allowed. 'But none within the Moonshaes that even comes close.'
The king was silent for a moment, then looked at Alicia with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 'And now the son of Svenyird Olafsson is smitten with my daughter! What a way to seal the peace, eh, my queen?'
'Father!' objected the princess as her mother smiled.
Tristan held up his hand in a gesture of peace. 'You didn't imagine it was a secret, did you? Besides, it's time you gave some thought to a husband. He'll marry onto the throne of the High King, remember.'
'I believe Alicia knows her own mind-well enough for now, in any event,' interjected Robyn, coming to her daughter's rescue. Thankfully the princess made haste with the rest of her breakfast, mumbling some excuse about her horses as she rose from the table and all but raced for the doors.
An acolyte awakened Keane as the first rays of sunlight began to lighten the eastern horizon. He met the Exalted Inquisitor in the plaza, where they shared a quick breakfast of fruit and wine. By the time pale blue stretched across the full arc of the sky, the cleric announced that he was ready to depart.
Bishou Harmanius arrived then with a long, narrow roll of silk. Keane discerned that the fabric was merely a wrapping, protecting a straight object some five feet long. The inquisitor took no note of his underling's arrival.
'What shall I do?' inquired Keane, still mystified as to Hyath's intended mode of transport.
'All questions are answered for the patient man,' intoned the inquisitor. 'For now, just wait there.'
Dressed in splendid white robes etched in trim of gold and silver thread, the inquisitor struck a grand pose, closing his eyes and clasping his hands reverently over his solid stomach.
The words of his prayer mingled into a low chant, in a language that Keane did not recognize. The cleric spoke for more than a minute, his tone modulating from harsh to mild, flowing up and down the scale almost as if he sang.
Abruptly Keane detected a brightening in the air before the cleric. Slowly the illumination grew more distinct, taking on a shape and solidity where before had been only the clear morning air. Soon a spinning wheel of fire resolved itself from the arcane pyrotechnics, crackling and hissing, casting showers of sparks to the paving stones of the courtyard. The shape expanded, and gradually Keane made out two blazing figures-like horses, but made from light and fire. Above the flaming wheel, he saw a platform, well shielded and quite wide enough to carry several riders.
It was the image of a chariot, only both the vehicle and the prancing steeds in harness were etched in colors and lines of fire. The beasts kicked and pranced in their traces, eager to run … or to fly. like ghosts, the apparitions flared before Keane, and the wizard knew he beheld an example of very powerful clerical magic.
'The Chariot of Sustarre,' explained the patriarch proudly. 'It will carry us in royal fashion.'
'Indeed,' Keane agreed, more awed than he would have liked to admit.
Now the inquisitor turned to Harmanius, and the bishou passed the silk-wrapped package to his master. Carrying the object in one hand, Hyath stepped into the chariot, turning once to beckon to Keane.
The mage hesitated a bare moment, then climbed in beside the inquisitor. Fire crackled all around him, but he felt no unusual heat, though the chill of the morning air had been fully dispersed.
Then, before he could catch his breath, the cleric shouted another word and the chariot took to the air.
Deirdre finally let herself go, giving up the resistance, the panicked flight and terrified evasions that never allowed her to elude the darkness. With her surrender came a sense of impending destiny, and as she faced her own image, she found that her slumber again restored her, revitalizing and empowering nerve and muscle and mind.
She sensed many things as she looked into her eyes. Certainly the fear, the dark, shrouded terror, still lingered there, but no longer did these emotions boil to the surface. Instead, they lay deep within her, fueling the flames of other things … of might and power, greatness and control.
And even more.
Talos the Destructor sensed the growing power of the woman, and he knew well that she was more than she had been now, more than any human was. The soul of his own immortal might had entered her, and now, with each passing evening, that presence sealed its grip upon her will and her soul.
His presence stirred evil and chaos throughout the Moonshae Islands, nourished by the woman's spirit, driven by a growing reality of vengeance. As the power of Talos swelled, others began to take notice-others who included not only mortals but also gods.
3
Thurgol saw with pleasure that, during every step of the march from Blackleaf, all evidence indicated that the dwarves remained as set in their peaceful ways as he had hoped they would. The chieftain had led a rude column of more than a hundred firbolgs and half that many trolls through the fertile bottomland of Myrloch Vale, but not once had he encountered sign of a dwarven watch post. Even the wide-ranging wolfdogs, sniffing and snarling in a pack as they accompanied the humanoids on the march, had failed to identify any spoor of dwarven activity. Now, approaching Cambro, Thurgol saw that their foolish complacency continued.
Though he was no moralist, the giant couldn't entirely vanquish a small measure of unease over the attack he now contemplated. After all, twenty years of peace was no mean accomplishment. Yet now, after all those years, things were not as good as they once had been. Perhaps peace was the mistake he had made. In the end, he could see no alternative to attacking the dwarves. Doing nothing meant dying by starvation, and death in battle was an
