'Lady Saltaja? Huntleader Fellard Lokison at your service. Welcome to Tryfors, you and your companions.'
'Where is the satrap?' Saltaja demanded. 'Is this the best reception he can offer?'
'We are short of men just now.' Fellard contemplated Darag, each waiting for the other to salute first. When it became clear that neither would—'You are foolhardy not to dress your men better in this climate, Huntleader. Ah! The lady Fabia?' He beamed at Fabia, flashing battlements of ivory. 'I have the inestimable honor to be Fellard Lokison, huntleader of the Fist's Own, but you can call me Fellard.'
'I would not dream of being so disrespectful.'
'Your fiance has left town—how's that for news, Fabia?'
'How's this for a smile, Fellard?' She gave him her biggest.
His smile was cute, too, in spite of his misshapen lip, and he accompanied it with a faint hint of a nod and wink. 'We can drive you ladies to the palace. Men have to walk, I'm afraid.'
Saltaja turned to Darag. 'Huntleader, make sure Wigson comes with you.'
Seizing her chance, Fabia took four long steps and accepted a hand up. Lokison slapped the team and the chariot whirled away in a clamor of shingle. He grinned down at her.
'I am honored, Fabia.'
'My pleasure, Fellard.' What a joy it was to be free of the Queen of Shadows for a while! 'You have made a dangerous enemy,' Fabia said as they started up the hill.
'Saltaja? Bah! Their day is over, her and her brothers. Stralg's losing the war, Therek's crazier than a loon in a jug.' Fellard leered at her again, paying no attention to his driving. 'You really want to marry Cutrath Horoldson?'
'I may have no choice.' Fabia suppressed an image of Horth with a noose around his neck.
'He's a slug.' Fellard's arm nudged hers again. Like Verk's. Did large young men in chariots always crowd their passengers like this? Skjar seemed very far away now.
'Compared to who?'
'Anyone.'
'How long ago did he leave?'
'Three days. The caravan is not due to leave yet; you can still catch him at Nardalborg. Or I could help you escape.'
Badmouthing the Hrag family was understandable, but open offers of treason were not.
'What are you suggesting?'
'Hide out in my bedroom. I'll smuggle food in for you and keep you warm at night.'
Outrageous! She wondered why she laughed. 'No, that sounds much worse.'
'I can't tell you how many women have tried it and raved about it.'
'I'm sure you won't.'
'Wit as well as beauty? The woman lacks nothing.'
'Except freedom.'
As the chariot left the hill and entered into a wide street between stone buildings, Lokison switched mood. 'Crossing the Edge is a horrible ordeal, mistress. The war news is very bad. A lot of people think Stralg will be driven out of Florengia by spring.'
That possibility would need some thought. 'Why are the roofs so steep?'
'To shed snow.'
'Of course. Did the satrap order you to snub his sister?'
'Not exa-a-a-actly. When he heard she was coming he cursed until the rafters smoked, roared at me to prepare a kennel for the ... er, lady, and stormed off to sulk in his nest.'
'And a Hero puts duty before danger, of course. What nest?'
'See that high tower? That's the Vulture's Nest. Mad old Therek is up there right now, watching you. He has eyes like an eagle and much less compassion. Try not to stare when you meet him.'
Fabia was amazed. 'You insult your liege and slight his sister. Won't the seers betray you to him?'
'Only if he asks the right question, and Therek wouldn't care anyhow. I'm not plotting treason.'
'You really think the House of Hrag is close to falling?'
'Must come soon,' Fellard said. 'I'm the Vulture's third in command and every night I dream of his head on a tray.'
¦
There was a sense of wrongness about the palace, which was a stone labyrinth grimmer than a tomb. If anyone brought a flower into those dismal halls, Fabia decided, it would crumble to dust. The occupants seemed to be mostly scowling Werists, guarding almost every stair and doorway.
Even the women's quarters were utterly without cheer, sourly dank and dusty, as if they had not been aired in a generation. There she found a half-dozen maids, confused and frightened, who soon admitted that they normally worked in the laundry. They had been drafted to attend the noble visitors, although they had no training, nor any
