reputation, could plainly see the large hammer hanging at her side-far larger and more brutal than the ceremonial mallet that marked her status as current assembly Overseer-and none of those glares transformed into spoken protest.
'Good. Then the issue up for vote…' As it has been every night since before I took the damn hammer, she added silently, though everyone heard it anyway, '… is one of military command. To wit, are we agreed to unite the various armies of Imphallion under a single command in order to-'
'No!' This from Sathan, the young and newly ascended Duke of Orthessis, dressed in mourning black for his mother, the Duchess Anneth. 'We'll not be handing any more of our power over to you!'
'Then you'll soon not have it at all!' Caryna, Assistant Guildmaster of the Masons' Guild, yelled back. 'Cephira's already taken most of our eastern territories!' She pointed to one of several empty chairs, ceremonially left vacant to account for those nobles and Guildmasters who could not attend, or those who had died and whose successors had not yet been named. 'How long before they advance farther, Your Grace? We've invaders on Imphallian soil, and your damn mule-headedness has prevented us-'
'My mule-headedness? We-'
'It's not mule-headedness, it's self-preservation!' The third speaker-third shouter, really-was Bennek III, Earl of Prace. 'If Rebaine's slaughtering us one by one, I'm sure as Vantares's deepest hell not putting all my men under someone else's command!'
The tanner beside Salia stood, leaning over the table. 'Only a unified force can stand against either Cephira or Rebaine! Did we learn nothing from the Serpent? Have we all so quickly forgotten our inability to cooperate then?'
'Audriss was one of us!' Duke Sathan reminded him. 'He's precisely the reason we cannot turn over complete command of our forces to anyone we don't implicitly trust!'
'And do you not trust the Guilds?'
His snort was answer enough. 'We can repulse Cephira, but we'll do it with our own forces, not by giving them to you!'
'Cephira's forces are too large and too disciplined. If we go in piecemeal, we'll be slaughtered!'
'If we don't stop Rebaine,' Bennek muttered, 'Cephira won't need to slaughter us.'
'Why has Rebaine returned now?' Salia couldn't see who spoke; someone toward the rear of the chamber. 'Perhaps he's trying to take advantage of the Cephiran attack.'
'Do we even know he's not cooperating with Cephira?' Caryna asked.
'We-'
'Enough!' Salia rose and struck the gong, not with her ceremonial mallet but with the brutal hammer at her waist. The chime was surprisingly quiet-primarily because the blow cracked the gong straight down the center-but it shut everyone up.
'I called for a vote,' she reminded them darkly. 'And that means no debate or argument until the vote is cast. So… All in favor of uniting our forces, that we may repel the threats both at and within our borders?' A pause. 'All opposed?'
She sighed, slumping back in her chair. She didn't need the chamberlain's official tally to know the vote had split exactly as it had each previous night. The bulk of the Guildmasters wanted unification, as did a few younger nobles whose predecessors were recently slain. The majority of the aristocracy did not, at least not unless the overseer was another noble rather than a Guild appointee; a concession the Guilds-presumably fearful of losing their stranglehold over the aristocracy-were unwilling to make.
And so, for another night, what had once been the greatest nation on the continent huddled impotently, allowing the Cephiran invaders to dig in more deeply, and the murderer of nobles and Guildmasters to advance his current scheme, whatever it might be.
It was, indeed, an unpleasant, dream-like echo of the Serpent's War.
The Guildmasters almost had enough votes to carry the necessary majority-thanks be, though she felt ashamed to admit it, to the recent spate of murders, which had claimed more nobles than Guildmasters. Almost, but not quite. And even if they had, would the nobles accede as the law required, or would the Guilds be compelled to take their armies by force? Salia shivered at the realization that the problems they faced might only be leading them to the brink of civil war.
Furrowing her brow against an incipient headache, Salia Mavere called a recess until the following day and dejectedly trudged from the assembly chamber, praying that she had the strength to see everything through, to do what must be done.
And that, in the end, it would all prove worthwhile. BESIDE A SMALL COPSE OF TREES, abutting the slope of a rocky hill, a stone-lined pit held grey ash and bits of charcoal that were the cadaver of a cooking fire. A faint breeze wafted through the night, rustling branches and cooling the skin of the man who lay slumbering by the fire pit, twisting and muttering in the grasp of rapacious dreams.
Much as it had in the center of Nenavar's house in Denathere, the wind picked up, lifting loose leaves skyward, clashing and swirling against the natural currents in the air. Sticks crunched into the soil as a massive weight appeared atop them, and then Corvis Rebaine, the Terror of the East, stood beside the sleeping Baron of Braetlyn, the blood of Jassion's servants dripping from his gauntlets.
Or at least Rebaine's armor did.
The image wavered, and then that armor-and the blood-were gone. Kaleb stood in their place, clad in his mundane cloak and leathers. A quick look around, just to ensure that nothing had disturbed the camp in his absence, and then he knelt beside his supposed ally. Without ever quite touching him, Kaleb ran a hand over Jassion's face, removing a phantom film of magic that had kept the man in deep slumber. Jassion snored once and rolled over, unaware that anything was amiss.
Exactly how Kaleb wanted him. Suppressing a grin, he reached out and shook Jassion's shoulder, waking him for his turn on watch.
Chapter Eight
THE ROYAL SOLDIERS of the Black Gryphon of Cephira never did learn precisely what happened on that muggy summer night. Or rather, they ascertained most of what happened, but never why.
The blush of dawn hadn't fully covered the face of the eastern sky, and the nighttime breezes had faded into sputtering, wheezing breaths. Pre-morning dew was swiftly coalescing on the grasses, the leaves, and the eaves of Rahariem's homes, courteously making room in the air for the new day's coming humidity. The soldiers on night duty stifled their yawns, struggling to keep alert or maintain proper cadence, grateful that the rising sun would soon signal the end of shift and the opportunity to get breakfast, get drunk, and get to bed-probably in that order.
Until a scream of inchoate rage shattered the calm, a rock rudely hurled through the brittle glass of silence. From atop one of the engine platforms, a Cephiran guard leapt upon a passing patrol, naked sword in hand. Maddened spittle spattered the shocked soldiers, followed immediately by the warm blood of their commanding officer. The crazed attacker was already lunging at his next target before the officer's head fetched up against a wall, and two more men were down before the remainder had so much as pulled steel.
Drawn to the hideous shrieks and the clash of battle, soldiers from neighboring posts came running, ready to aid their brethren against any attack, stunned briefly into immobility when they realized just what form that attack had taken. The murderous warrior seemed driven by a fury not even so much 'berserk' as 'utterly inhuman.' Blades rebounded from mail, bruising flesh to the bone, yet he barely staggered before launching a blistering counterattack, more raw fury than training or skill. The tips of swords dug into thighs and arms protected only by leather-backed padding, and still he remained oblivious to their efforts. One soldier, already wounded, ducked under his guard and ran her broadsword across the back of his knee; only then, as tendon separated and his leg buckled, did he finally slow. Staggering in a tight circle, dragging his now useless leg, he fought on until the limp and the blood loss finally took their toll. Face paling, he wavered, his body quivering, and a Cephiran morningstar crushed the life from his skull.
And it was then that the Cephiran soldiers-panting hard, bleeding, horrified at their maddened brother-
