Coda, Chapter Two: Summit Meeting

The whirling portalspace tunnel deposited her in a large stone-walled room with a vaulted ceiling. Just below the curve of the vault, a clerestory pierced with crystalline windows let in a fair amount of light. At the far end of the room stood a massive chair like a throne. In front of it were two smaller chairs in which Isin Dule and Nalicana were seated, and a crystalline Golem with rainbows shot all through its body was bringing in a cushion for Thromer. So they had all arrived safely in this hallowed place, and their council was no place for the messenger girl. Tapuaua shifted her drum in front of her, but at its first beat Thromer turned, saw her, and beckoned.

"Oh, stay, Tapu; you know too much already; and we might need some Lore." She raised a tentative hand to her drum again, and Thromer shook his head and and pointed downward with one heavy finger. She obediently squatted down on the floor. The stone was old: there was a depression worn in its surface, a path between the throne and the door. Worn over the centuries by Asheron's feet. She reached out and touched it, cold under her fingers.

"I only learned about the return of Kellin," Isin Dule began, "when I came to Nalicana's chamber and overheard her lieutenant telling her about him. Certainly that is not good news, but if we know nothing more, there is nothing we can do at present.

"I have some other news, however, which I wanted to tell you as quickly as possible. I have just returned from the southernmost shores of Knorr, where the True Falatacot are encamped. You know there are ruined cities down there? --- yes, of course you do, Nagual Mij'jab's letter mentioned it. The Falatacot have occupied three of them so far and are rebuilding them: and new troops are arriving daily. I have seen the banners of three Cohorts above their towers, raised higher with each new course of stonework. And today, in a square lined by four honor guards, a portal opened and the Blood-Father stepped through with his retinue. They expect the arrival of the Fourth Cohort tomorrow."

Nalicana sighed. Thromer leaned forward. "At least we know," he said. "And last I heard, they were too busy fighting the Olthoi to bother much with us. How did you find all this out? Could you get close enough to see them?"

"Oh, I can go anywhere --- except the shrines of the Light," Dule said. "Neither Olthoi nor Falatacot nor any living creature can see me when I'm cloaked. Shortly after I was released from prison, I traveled all over Auberean, drifting over land and sea like a cloud. The Falatacot were already in place when I came to Knorr. Over the space of a year, they gained perhaps two-thirds of the land below the Shieldwall, and then stopped."

"How were they able to fight the Olthoi?" Nalicana asked. "We Yalain were powerless against them; how have the Falatacot prevailed? And why did they stop?"

"To your first question: I don't know, not yet; I have some ideas, but they are too slender yet to bear the weight of scrutiny. I need more information, which I shall seek in the Falatacot camps tonight. To the second: I think they were awaiting reinforcements, which they now have. I shall see what they do tomorrow.

"One thing I have seen them do: at dawn and dusk their troops pace out their boundaries. Squadrons are sent out from camps and rebuilt towns, singing incantations and swinging censers that put forth a heavy sluggish smoke that settles to the ground. After those have passed, sentries patrol the boundaries and small skirmishing units stand behind them, ready to fight any Olthoi that cross them --- for they do, singly and in small groups, continuously, and are cut down.

"For months now, the boundaries have remained fixed: perhaps they felt they could hold no larger area with the forces available to them. Now, with four Cohorts --- about two thousand troops, all of them fighters, none merely support staff --- they may be ready to penetrate the Shieldwall."

"We have so many enemies," Nalicana said with a sigh. "The Falatacot. The Olthoi. The Dericost undead --- you know that Rytheran and Aerfalle have been sighted in Vothardun? The other undead, Skeletons and Bal and Flayers. The Chaos-tainted. Wharu."

Tapuaua opened her mouth, and shut it again. "I'm sorry, Tapu," Nalicana said. "I mean, 'thing-Wharu.' Wharu, the Anima of decay, is a necessary part of the cycle of life. The Thing which has amused itself by taking on the name of Wharu is not necessary to anything I know of."

"I thought that when Aun Tanua, peace to his spirit, fought thing-Wharu he destroyed the cleft by which it entered the world, and dispelled it," Thromer said. "Am I mistaken?"

"No, I think you are right," Dule said. "The taint of Chaos it left in the world has lessened since the turn of the year --- though with so many other Chaos-creatures in the world, it is hard to be sure."

"Then there are the creatures that should have been our allies," Nalicana went on, "the Gearknights and Takeru and the Colossi. If only we could get some of them to fight each other."

"That trick never works," Thromer said.

"No, it works on occasion," Dule corrected him. "The problem is that sometimes it doesn't, and then the victor emerges stronger, and there's nothing left to stand between you and him."

During the Fourth Sending, Tapu thought, Asheron and the mortals and the Virindi and the Dericost undead united against a common enemy. She kept her thought to herself: they already knew it and she would not name Bael'Zharon before his friend and traitor. And when it was over, they went back to fighting each other without even taking time to pick up the pieces.

"In any case," Dule continued, "history reminds us that a Cohort, of three hundred to six hundred troops, was traditionally the tenth part of a Legion, and logic tells us that there are at least six more Cohorts wherever the first four came from, and an unknown number of additional Legions. If the Falatacot decide to attack the Shieldwall in force, it will serve as no more than a bottleneck to them, for the portal is open to all from the south, and Tanua's Outpost is fortified only against the scattered attacks of random, uncautious beasts."

"I can speak to the Brotherhood of Shapers about strengthening the Outpost," said Nalicana.

"That would be well. Returning to my point: we shall soon be facing a large and disciplined army with a incoherent mass of rugged individualists, each of whom would prefer to fight singly for his individual glory. Or, when that is impossible, to fight in groups of no more than nine, or sometimes a few nines together. A few band together from time to time to fight under the banner of their Kingdom, but that is merely a game of capture-the-flag and most people know that and don't care for it. Most hunt with their Allegiances, many of which don't care a straw for Kingdom affiliation. If we go up against the Falatacot like this, they will cut us to pieces.

"We need a unifying force, and I have no idea what that could be. And we need a war leader, who can be none of us three. I cannot abide in the presence of Elemental Light Lattices. Nalicana, you are not a warrior. Thromer, in time you may make a great commander, but at present you are too young."

Since all these things were true, the three sat in silence for a while.

"Tapu, you're very quiet," Thromer said.

"How not? I'm reluctant, at sixty-three, to advise people hundreds and thousands of years older than I am."

"I'm only seventeen," Thromer said. "You can tell me."

"Well. Milord Dule is right, it's difficult and unchancy to go up against a trained, disciplined army with a ragged band of heroes, each seeking his own glory. But there have been times when the ragged band has defeated the disciplined army, piecemeal and over time. They're called 'guerilla troops,' from a Milantian word meaning 'little war.' They are at their best in rocky or wooded country where they can hide, and when they're on their own home ground and know all the paths and hiding places. Not to mention the impetus to their morale, if they are fighting for their homeland. If our undisciplined fighters go up against the Falatacot below the Shieldwall, they are likely to be cut to pieces. But if, avert the omen, the Falatacot come to Dereth, then we will have the home-ground advantage and the tables will be turned."

"May it never come to that," Dule said. "We need a commander, to keep it from coming to that. Many of the Humans, most of the Lugians, I think, would follow an heir of the House of Strathelar, if there is one." The dark mask turned toward Nalicana.

"There is none," she said. "Sirda died without issue; she fell with the Fetterguard." Again there was silence for a moment. "Tapu?"

"Oh," the Tonk said. "Well, if it were up to me I would choose the Raven."

"Is that your monarch?"

"No, Pfeil is my monarch, but the Raven is the one Pfeil always chooses to lead large hunting parties. She can manage several fellowships at once --- though occasionally she has to shout at them --- and, what's more, over time the parties have become more organized, less likely to wander off and irritate the outlying monsters, more likely to survive; and then she doesn't have to shout at them so much."

"The Raven," Dule said thoughtfully. "What Kingdom?"

"Um, she used to be one of yours, milord," Tapuaua said, looking at the floor. "She joined the Order a few months ago."

"Then I will speak to her," said Nalicana.

"Getting back to the Gearknights," Thromer said. "The Gear Master has been having great success with repairing the mad Gearknights that roam above the Shieldwall. Mostly, he's been collecting the Soul Badges that the adventurers bring in, and installing them in reconstructed bodies with new brains. Here it gets kind of complicated."

"Go ahead," Nalicana said. "We are listening."

"Well, the individual Gearknight's personality --- and they are individuals, and they have personalities, never doubt that --- is inscribed in its Soul Badge, along with its memories of the major events of its life, its opinions, its favorite tactics, and so on. But the Soul Badge by itself can't think. For that, it needs a brain, which is a kind of calculating machine that reads in sensory input from the outside world, consults the Soul Badge for memories to compare to the information and opinions on what to do about it, and processes it and reacts. But after a while the brain collects so much random information that it develops what's called a 'memory leak,' and it needs to go back to Fort Strathelar and be rebooted. Since the Cataclysm, that hasn't happened. The brains in these rogue Gearknights have gone deranged from centuries of memory leak, and --- before you ask --- there's no point asking the warriors to bring in the brain as well, they can't remove it from the carcass without damaging it beyond repair. Right now the Gear Master's major bottleneck in repairing the Knights is finding usable brains to install. There are storerooms all over the Ramparts; the problem is finding them."

"What about Ludward's Gearknights?"

"Well, that's a different kiddle of fish. Ludward found that one Gearknight on Knorr that was just barely sane, because it hadn't had much sensory input over the centuries till the Shapers arrived. He couldn't take the whole Knight with him when the Brotherhood escaped to Dereth, so he took the head to use as a template. He's been building his own Knights, including the brains, but the trouble is that Ludward is as crazy as a grook himself and his Knights come into being stark ravers from the get-go.

"I've been thinking someone ought to haul Ludward bodily through the portals and strap him to the back of a mount and ride him down to Fort Strathelar. See if he and the Gear Master between them can't figure out how to build empty, sane brains."

"That would be good," Dule said. "What about the Takeru and the Colossi?"

"Well, there are sane Golems on Omishan," Thromer said. "They all work for the Order so I can't get near them. But I was wondering ... there's a sage in Keidelur, Durman is his name, who's had great success in healing the minds of those sent mad by Chaos. I wonder if he could heal the mind of a Colossus, using a Golem as pattern?"

"We could take him down to Strathelar, along with Ludward," Nalicana suggested.

Thromer shook his head. "He's old and frail, he'd never make it. If we could bring a Colossus to him, and restrain it while he studied it, that would be another matter. I can just imagine myself picking up several tons of insane Colossus and carrying it, kicking and screaming, through the portals to Keidelur."

"I suppose you could taunt it," Dule said, "make it chase you through a portal your accomplice casts into its path."

"Wouldn't work," Thromer said. "You have to choose to enter a summoned portal."

"I wonder if I could bring one of the sane Golems to him," Nalicana mused. "I suppose it is worth trying."

"Um," Tapuaua said, and the three turned to look at her. "In the days before the Fourth Sending," she said, choosing her words carefully, "the monarchs of several Allegiances were portaled away into, I think, one of the Shadow Spires, where they were interrogated by mysterious voices. Do you know something of this, milord Dule?"

"I was one of those interrogators," Dule answered. "But I cannot tell you how it was done. Black Ferah gave me a rod of summoning, with which I could select a mortal and bring him into the Spire with me. But she never explained its workings, and I no longer have it. The last time I saw one was in Ferah's hand, when she captured me during the Fifth Sending."

Again there was silence. And what we encounter in her dungeon now is only a series of shadows, Tapuaua mused, shadows of a Shadow who is somewhere else, not on Dereth, not to be found.. And you can't talk to them, they speak their speeches and die and disappear.

At last she said, "Who is the most skilled planar mage on Dereth now? Who built the continental Nexus and the Knorr portal?"

"Oh, I did," Nalicana said. "At least, one of Dule's people built the pillars and I placed the Nexus gems atop them, and Waltraud built the housing for the Knorr portal and supplied the coordinates, and I cast the portal. But I have no idea how to portal an involuntary target to a place of my choosing."

"Somewhere in the Singularity there must be that skill," Thromer said. "The Adumbrators use it to transport visitors to Dominion Central. But there's no point in asking them: they lack some of the aspects of consciousness. I'll have to investigate."

"Do, please," Nalicana said. "I can imagine such a skill would be useful for other things than capturing unwilling Colossi."

"Then each of us has a task," Dule summed up. "In the meantime, I believe the people of Dereth should learn at once that the Blood-Father has arrived on Knorr, and that the rest of his Legions are at hand. What say you?"

"Yes," Thromer said, and Nalicana added, "Yes. I will write up an announcement for the Town Criers. The news should be all over Dereth by tomorrow; everyone comes through Ikeras."

"But don't tell them about Kellin --- if that's really Kellin --- not yet," Thromer said. "Right now, he doesn't know we know he's here. Maybe he'll be a little less cautious."

"Absolutely," Nalicana said. "I'll talk to Eshivon. Tapu? Find Rebvaz and tell him once more not to mention this, but to keep his ears open and see if he hears anything about the newly-arrived Cashtal. And do the same yourself."

"Yes, my Lady. We can start in Arwic and follow the usual path a newcomer takes, from Warder to Warder."

"Then let us begin," Dule said, rising from his chair. "At least, you three probably want to sleep, for it is after midnight. I shall proceed to Knorr." Nalicana vanished, and Thromer after her, and Tapuaua last of all. Left alone, Isin Dule turned toward Asheron's throne and touched the broad arm, as Tapuaua had done, with insubstantial fingers. Then he too vanished.

- - - - - - - - - -

In the great hall of the city the First Legion had made its headquarters, Nagual Mij'jab stood at respectful attention while the Blood-Father interrogated a scout.

"And you tell me there are four species of these creatures?"

"Five, actually, Blood-Father," the scout said, "since we've learned to tell the long-eared from the short-eared ones."

"Five," the Blood-Father said, in a voice that was almost a growl. "Very well, describe them."

"When we arrived here," the scout said, "there was nothing living here but the insects and the insane warriors --- the mechanical ones and the wooden ones and the metal or stone ones. You have seen those. Under the Grand Paragon's command, we fought them, captured and consolidated territory, and cleansed the land from the fungal life that seems to accompany the insects. When, in the Grand Paragon's judgment, we had taken as much as we could hold without additional troops, we began sending out scouts to the other islands. There we found other creatures, none of them intelligent. Any one of us could slay any one them, but they were so many that we could not attempt to take those islands.

"Then, about half a year ago --- it was in the late spring, was it not, Grand Paragon? --- the first three species began arriving in the northern islands. One is a short, stocky little biped with skin ranging in color from brownish-pink to pinkish-brown. The next is tall, almost as tall as ourselves, and three times as massive, with grey skin. These ones build machines, sometimes, that sit on pedestals beside their owners and throw fireballs. The third kind is covered with fur and bends its body forward, with a long tail behind to balance it; it looks more like an animal than like a thinking being, except that they are clearly intelligent. Some of them train swarms of little flying insects to attack their foes. Others cast magical bolts by beating on small drums and singing chants in no language I have ever encountered. They are very strange.

"The fourth and fifth began appearing about a season ago. The former are definitely Empyreans. Whether they are distant kin of ours, or the despised Yalaini, or some other nation, I cannot tell. You understand, Blood-Father, that we have had no communication with these people. When one of them meets one of us, we fight; and if we slay them, they die, and within minutes the corpse disappears. Or perhaps, we fight, and they slay us and we die --- usually we are more than a match for them, one-on-one, but we have had a number of scouts fail to return."

The Blood-Father turned to Nagual Maj'jib. "Is this true?"

"It is true, Blood-Father, and it is in the report which I had the honor to present to you last night."

"Hmmm," the old man growled again. "That was four. What of the fifth?"

"Frequently very small, slender to the point of emaciation, with triangular faces and long ears," the scout said. "The tallest of them are the size of the shortest of the other ones, the ones with little ears. We haven't seen very many of them."

The Blood-Father was silent for a moment. "Well," he said. "I must acknowledge, Paragon Maj'jib, that the decisions you have made approximate those I would have made myself."

Nagual bowed. "You honor me, Blood-Father."

"Yes, I know. What makes the lamps flicker like that?"

"The morning-wind," Nagual said. "The dawn is at hand. The reliefs are about to go out, and the patrols will soon be coming in."

"Then let us go out and see how the battlefield looks under the light of day." He rose, struck his staff of office once upon the floor. and led the way out of the hall to a balcony overlooking the camp. The blackened sky over the parade-square was beginning to turn grey. Torches burned in ordered ranks above their near-invisible bearers, and there was the sound of marching feet and the clatter of mail.

Behind them, on the campaign table, the pages of Nagual Maj'jib's report began to flutter as if the breeze had caught them. The first page turned over, and after a moment, the second.

"If you permit, Blood-Father," said Nagual, "I am on duty for this patrol, and should join my fellows."

"Indeed," the old man said, settling his staff into its sheath on his shoulder. "And I go with you. It is long since I have spilt living blood." Nagual bowed, saying nothing. "And why should I not?" the Blood-Father asked sharply. "My arm is as strong, my sword as sharp as any man's still."

"And your wits keener," Nagual agreed politely. With a courteous gesture he led the way down the great stairs and across the square to where his patrol stood. "We have another sword with us today," he said to them. "Let us go forth, and observe how the thing is done."

And it is no doubt true, he thought as they marched toward the city gate. The Blood-Father, for the strength of his body and his mind, is the equal of any two or three of us. But his will is sick, and he wastes its strength by mounting defenses where there is no attack. Perhaps when the Blood-Mother comes she will heal him.

Outside the gate, they spread out a little and ran at an easy loping pace toward the border, which was not far away. The sun, still below the horizon, cast a growing light across the sky. They could now make out shattered roadways, and the tumbled ruins of the villas of the degenerate Yalain, and the occasional empty carapace of a dead insect. Ahead of them, a whistle blew a recognition signal, and Nagual took his own whistle, drew breath, and answered it.

With excellent timing, the two patrols met just as the sun rose, cloud-veiled, above the distant hills. "Madame," said the Blood-Father, "I relieve you;" and to her credit the patrol leader paused only a tenth of a heartbeat before replying, "Sir, I stand relieved," and leading her patrol away.

"We begin by marking the boundaries," Nagual said, and nodded to his patrol. Two groups of three bowed and stepped away, one to northwest and one to southeast along the boundary, which was now visible to the eye under the growing light. A band several paces wide, it was marked by its sparse, mixed vegetation: here a green shoot, there a thread of fungus, continuing their own slow struggle over this disputed ground. Below the boundary, all was green; above it, the ground lay grey and hostile under the creeping threads and the occasional fruiting body that rose like a giant mushroom, putting out spores into the air. The triads walked away along the shores of the two life-seas, each thurificator swinging his censer wide and casting thick clouds of incense into the air and over the ground. Between them the incantor walked, singing the simple syllables of the rite, over and over as the incense billowed about him.

"How far will they go?"

"Until they meet the triad from the next patrol over, headed in this direction," Nagual said, "when they will exchange a blessing and return. It doesn't take very long." And indeed, not long after the three figures had vanished into the clouds they had made, they could be seen returning. From the northwest, three shapes; from the southeast ---

No. That must be wrong. It was a trick of the light and the smoke; there were not four approaching where three had gone out, the incantor and the two thurificators, and the fourth visible only as a shadow among the billowing clouds. No.

"What's the drill now? Where are our enemies?" The Blood-Father loosened his swords in their scabbards and scanned the horizon. "Do we seek them out?"

"It has been our custom to let them come to us," Nagual said, "lest, if we go too far, we should be surrounded and cut off. With additional troops coming in, you may choose to change our strategy. Look, there comes one; no, two."

Two of the big insects were indeed approaching them, their large shiny bodies balanced precariously on their two hindmost, absurdly slender legs, emitting their high-pitched chittering sounds. Two pairs of claws pointed forwards, ready for the attack. "At will," Nagual said, and three of his fellows ran forward to fight the creatures. Parronax engaged one of them, feinting high and low with his spear-thrusts, while Natsha and Maqib'ba attacked the other, lopping a fore-claw, cutting a hind-leg out from under it, and piercing it in three places as it fell. Then they turned to Parronax's opponent and sliced its back open as he skewered its head. They returned at a fast walk, Parronax chanting a spell to relieve the acid burn Natsha had taken on her arm.

"As you observe, Blood-Father," Nagual said, "three of us against two of them is what we call 'overkill,' for any one of us can take any one of them. Especially with a club. They're particularly susceptible to bludgeoning: break that shell in two or three places, and they're done for. Here comes another; I will show."

Sheathing his sword, he drew out his baton, a slender rod with a sphere at its top, ornamented with stars. It had been given him for purely ceremonial purposes, a symbol of command; but during his tour of duty here he had discovered its practical uses. It was, when all was said and done, a mace.

The insect scuttled toward him; he approached it, circling it slowly, looking for its more vulnerable side. It seemed to realize what he was doing, and sidestepped, and sidestepped again, and then suddenly threw caution (if it had any) to the winds, trilled like a mad flute player, and charged. Nagual leaped aside hastily, and as the insect passed he swung his baton backhanded at full extension and caught the creature on one of its shoulders. Something cracked.

He turned to face it again. He had done damage to its upper left shoulder, and the claw hung uselessly before it. It came to a halt and stood for a moment, chittering and shaking its limbs, perhaps with pain (no one had been able to determine whether the creatures experienced pain), perhaps with annoyance. It backed up a few paces, and came in toward him again, hissing greenish acid into the air. He dodged again, and struck it low on the abdomen. The ventral plate cracked like broken crystal, and greenish ichor began to ooze from it. Nagual backed off again, and saw that the Blood-Father had moved in to watch closely. "Now, that would kill it in time," he said, "but I don't want to waste the time; there are others coming." He ran in again; one well-aimed stroke took out its knee, and it fell. "Now a four-year-old cadet could kill it," he said, and cracked its head and carapace with a few more good blows. He wiped his baton on his blood-scarf and tucked it back into his belt.

"I see," the Blood-Father commented. "That is why you don't wear your blood-scarves around your throats."

"Exactly. The scent of these things is sickening, not exhilarating like the scent of true blood."

"Now, why," the Blood-Father said, "are not all our patrols armed with clubs?"

"First, because it's not only insects we fight out here; the insane warriors, for instance, have much tougher shells. The wooden ones are almost completely invulnerable to bludgeoning: a slashing weapon works better against them, an axe best of all. Second, it takes a little practice to fight well with a weapon that has neither point nor edge. Hence we form patrols armed with a range of weapons."

"Very well. Here comes another." The Blood-Father drew his staff from its sheath and walked toward the insect. Nagual watched with anticipation; he had never seen the Blood-Father in combat with his own eyes, but the exploits of his earlier career were legendary.

He stepped up to it smartly, shattered its femur with one blow, and despatched it with two more as it fell. The patrol, looking on, cheered. The Blood-Father turned to the next; there were two coming in, one following the other like an orderly his officer. He smote the first on its thoracic plate, which rang like a gong but did not break. His next blow cracked a claw, but it advanced on him brandishing the other three, and he must back away. But he could not back fast enough: faster, faster, but the ground was uneven beneath him and he fell. The creature moved in for the kill. Nagual ran in, his baton braced two-handed before him, hit it with his full weight and knocked it sprawling.

But he also fell, and now the second insect was looming over him, and his baton a body's-length away. He drew his sword, but there was not enough room to strike with it, and he had a moment to think Then this is my death.

But the insect stopped, raised itself, looking over his head as if it saw some menacing thing, and it fell silent. There was the faintest of sounds, as of a man adjusting the folds of a silken cloak. Nagual crept back and pierced the stunned insect with his sword, two and three times through the abdomen, and it crumpled without a sound. He retrieved his baton and crushed its head and thorax.

The Blood-Father also had recovered himself and knocked his opponent's head off. He stood there watching it, and observing that though it could not see it was still moving, killed it with one more blow to the carapace. Nagual moved in and looked at him: dusty and acid-burned, but still very much in command of himself.

The Blood-Father raised his staff and chanted a healing spell that covered them both momentarily in a cloud of sparkles. The two looked at each other for a heartbeat: sanctified veteran commander and rising young warrior, tried together in the heat of the same battle. Each of us nearly got himself killed. "Well, the day will be long," Nagual said. "Let us now let the others have a little of the glory."

"I concur. 'The gods are not willing to do everything, and thus deprive us of that share of glory which belongs to us.' " They stepped back into the boundary, while others moved out to encounter the next insects. A little breeze blew past them, and Nagual for a moment though he heard the echo of laughter.

Now, why did I do that?

At sunset they were relieved, and returned to headquarters at an easy pace. They observed the changing of the sunset guard, retired to their quarters for clean clothing, and went to the mess-hall. Nagual's Cohort were merry, praising the accomplishments of the day; he himself was silent. A messenger entered the hall and came up to him. "Grand Paragon, I must report a shortcoming in the sunset inventory. The storeroom was tallied and locked at dusk, as usual; returning from mess, the Storemistress found the door open."

"What is missing?"

"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps a few handfuls of incense. You know it's stored in those big forty-measure urns. One was almost empty; now it seems emptier than before."

"Incense," Nagual said. "Well, put it on the report and bid the Storemistress lock it again. I shall have the augurs inspect the locks in the morning." The messenger went away. Nagual sat in silence.

He looked up to see the Blood-Father, in his high seat, beckoning to him. "You acquitted yourself well today," the old man said. "Why are you troubled?"

After a moment's hesitation, Nagual told him what he had seen, or thought he had seen, that morning. "Do you remember the journal of Azir Kallixi, exploring the Southern Waste? 'I know that during that long and racking march, a day and a half over the unnamed mountains and glaciers, it seemed to me often that we were four, not three.' I fear an omen."

"You are a warrior of the True Falatacot. You must fear nothing."

"Yes, Blood-Father."

"What is that cold air that blows? Look how the torches flicker."

"It's the night-wind, stronger than the morning-wind. Jellik!" he said to the man on table service. "Tell them to shut the great doors."

Now, why did I do that? Is, it, perhaps, that I know you are going to betray your master to save your people?