Land and Overland Omnibus

CHAPTER 9



“It’s getting late,” Toller said. “Perhaps Leddravohr isn’t coming.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see.” Lain smiled briefly and returned his attention to the papers and mathematical instruments on his desk.

“Yes.” Toller studied the ceiling for a moment. “This isn’t a sparkling conversation, is it?”

“It isn’t any kind of conversation,” Lain said. “What’s happening is that I’m trying to work and you keep interrupting.”

“Sorry.” Toller knew he should leave the room, but he was reluctant to do so. It was a long time since he had been in the family home, and some of his clearest boyhood memories were of coming into this familiar room—with its perette wood panels and glowing ceramics—and of seeing Lain at the same desk, going about the incomprehensible business of being a mathematician. Toller’s instincts told him that he and his brother were reaching a watershed in their lives, and he had a longing for them to share an hour of companionship while it was still possible. He had been vaguely embarrassed about his feelings and had not tried putting them into words, with the negative result that Lain was ill at ease and puzzled by his continuing presence.

Resolving to be quiet, Toller went to one of the stacks of ancient manuscripts which had been brought from the Greenmount archives. He picked up a leatherbound folio and glanced at its title. As usual the words appeared as linear trains of letters with elusive content until he used a trick which Lain had once devised for him. He covered the title with his palm and slowly slid his hand to the right so that the letters were revealed to him in sequence. This time the printed symbols yielded up their meaning: Aerostatic Flights to the Far North, by Muel Webrey, 2136.

That was as far as Toller’s interest in a book normally went, but balloon ascents had not been far from his mind since the momentous meeting of the previous day, and his curiosity was further stirred by the realisation that the book was five centuries old. What had it been like to fly across the world in the days before Kolcorron had arisen to unify a dozen warring nations? He sat down and opened the book near the middle, hoping Lain would be impressed, and began to read. Some unfamiliar spellings and grammatical constructions made the text more oblique than he would have liked, but he persevered, sliding his hand across paragraph after paragraph which, disappointingly, had more to do with ancient politics than aviation. He was beginning to lose momentum when his attention was caught by a reference to ptertha: “…and far to our left the pink globes of the ptertha were rising”.

Toller frowned and ran his finger across the adjective several times before raising his head. “Lain, it says here that ptertha are pink.”

Lain did not look up. “You must have misread it. The word is ‘purple’.”

Toller studied the adjective again. “No, it says pink.”

“You have to allow a certain amount of leeway in subjective descriptions. Besides, the meanings of words can shift over a long period of time.”

“Yes, but…” Toller felt dissatisfied. “So you don’t think the ptertha used to be a diff—”

“Toller!” Lain threw down his pen. “Toller, don’t think I’m not glad to see you—but why have you taken up residence in my office?”

“We never talk,” Toller said uncomfortably.

“All right, what do you want to talk about?”

“Anything. There may not be much … time.” Toller sought inspiration. “You could tell me what you’re working on.”

“There wouldn’t be much point. You wouldn’t understand it.”

“Still we’d have been talking,” Toller said, rising to his feet and returning the old book to the stacks. He was walking to the door when his brother spoke.

“I’m sorry, Toller—you’re quite right.” Lain smiled an apology. “You see, I started this essay more than a year ago, and I want to finish it before I get diverted to other matters. But perhaps it isn’t all that important.”

“It must be important if you’ve been working on it all that time. I’ll leave you in peace.”

“Please don’t go,” Lain said quickly. “Would you like to see something truly wonderful? Watch this!” He picked up a small wooden disk, laid it flat on a sheet of paper and traced a circle around it. He slid the disk sideways, drew another circle which kissed the first and then repeated the process, ending with three circles in a line. Placing a finger at each end of the row, he said, “From here to here is exactly three diameters, right?”

“That’s right,” Toller said uneasily, wondering if he had missed something.

“Now we come to the amazing part.” Lain made an ink mark on the edge of the disk and placed it vertically on the paper, carefully ensuring that the mark was at an outermost edge of the three circles. After glancing up at Toller to make sure he was paying proper attention, Lain slowly rolled the disk straight across the row. The mark on its rim described a lazy curve and came down precisely on the outermost edge of the last circle.

“Demonstration ended,” Lain announced. “And that’s part of what I’m writing about.”

Toller blinked at him. “The circumference of a wheel being equal to three diameters?”

“The fact that it is exactly equal to three diameters. That demonstration was quite crude, but even when we go to the limits of measurement the ratio is exactly three. Does that not strike you as being rather astonishing?”

“Why should it?” Toller said, his puzzlement growing. “If that’s the way it is, that’s the way it is.”

“Yes, but why should it be exactly three? That and things like the fact that we have twelve fingers make whole areas of calculation absurdly easy. It’s almost like an unwarranted gift from nature.”

“But… But that’s the way it is. What else could it be?”

“Now you’re approaching the theme of the essay. There may be some other … place … where the ratio is three-and-a-quarter, or perhaps only two-and-a-half. In fact, there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be some completely irrational number which would give mathematicians headaches.”

“Some other place,” Toller said. “You mean another world? Like Farland?”

“No.” Lain gave him a look which was both frank and enigmatic. “I mean another totality—where physical laws and constants differ from those we know.”

Toller stared back at his brother as he strove to penetrate the barrier which had slid into place between them. “It is all very interesting,” he said. “I can see why the essay has taken you so long.”

Lain laughed aloud and came round the desk to embrace Toller. “I love you, little brother.”

“I love you.”

“Good! I want you to keep that in mind when Leddravohr arrives. I’m a committed pacifist, Toller, and I eschew all violence. The fact that I am no match for Leddravohr is an irrelevance—I would behave towards him in exactly the same way were our social status and physiques transposed. Leddravohr and his kind are part of the past, whereas we represent the future. So I want you to swear that no matter what insult Leddravohr offers me, you will stay apart and leave the conduct of my affairs strictly to me.”

“I’m a different person now,” Toller said, stepping back. “Besides, Leddravohr might be in a good mood.”

“I want your word, Toller.”

“You have it. Besides, it’s in my own interests to keep on the right side of Leddravohr if I want to be a skyship pilot.” Toller was belatedly shocked by the content of his own words. “Lain, why are we taking all this so calmly? We have just been told that the world as we know it is coming to an end … and that some of us have to try reaching another planet … yet we’re all going about our ordinary business as though everything was normal. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s a more natural reaction than you might think. And don’t forget the migration flight is only a contingency at this stage—it might never happen.”

“The war with Chamteth is going to happen.”

“That is the King’s responsibility,” Lain said, his voice suddenly brusque. “It can’t be laid at my door. I have to get on with my work now.”

“I should see how my lord is faring.” As Toller walked along the corridor to the main stair he again wondered why Leddravohr had chosen to come to the Square House instead of visiting Glo at the much larger Greenmount Peel. The sunwriter message from the palace had baldly stated that the Princes Leddravohr and Chakkell would arrive at the house before littlenight for initial technical briefings, and the infirm Glo had been obliged to journey out to meet them. It was now well into aftday and Glo would be growing tired, his strength further sapped by the effort of trying to hide his disability.

Toller descended to the entrance hall and turned left into the dayroom where he had left Glo in the temporary care of Fera. The two had a very comfortable relationship because of—Toller suspected—rather than in spite of her lowly origin and unpolished manner. It was another of Glo’s little affectations, a way of reminding those around him that there was more to him than the cloistered philosopher. He was seated at a table reading a small book, and Fera was standing by a window gazing out at the mesh-mosaic of the sky. She was wearing a simple one piece garment of pale green cambric which showed off her statuesque form.

She turned on hearing Toller enter the room and said, “This is boring. I want to go home.”

“I thought you wanted to see a real live prince at close quarters.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“They’re bound to be here soon,” Toller said. “Why don’t you be like my lord and pass the time by reading?”

Fera mouthed silently, carefully forming the swear words so that there would be no doubt about what she thought of the idea. “It wouldn’t be so bad if there was even some food.”

“But you ate less than an hour ago!” Toller ran a humorously critical eye over his gradewife’s figure. “No wonder you’re getting fat.”

“I’m not!” Fera slapped her belly inwards and contracted her stomach, an action which caused a voluptuous ballooning of her breasts. Toller viewed the display with affectionate appreciation. It was a frequent source of wonder to him that Fera, in spite of her appetite and habit of spending entire days lolling in bed, looked almost exactly as she had done two years earlier. The only noticeable change was that her chipped tooth had begun to turn grey. She devoted much time to rubbing it with white powders, supposed to contain crushed pearls, which she obtained from the Samlue market.

Lord Glo looked up from his book, his clapped-in face momentarily enlivened. “Take the woman upstairs,” he said to Toller. “That’s what I’d do were I five years younger.”

Fera correctly assessed his mood and produced the expected ribaldry, “I wish you were five years younger, my lord—merely mounting the stairs would be enough to finish my husband.”

Glo gave a gratified whinny.

“In that case, we’ll do it right here,” Toller said. He darted forward, put his arms around Fera and drew her close to him, half-seriously simulating passion. There was an undeniable element of providing sexual titillation for Glo in what he and Fera were doing, but such was the relationship the three had built up that the overriding motif was one of companionship and friendly clowning. After a few seconds of intimate contact, however, Toller felt Fera move against him with a hint of genuine purpose.

“Do you still have the use of your old bedroom?” she whispered, pressing her lips to his ear. “I’m beginning to feel like…” She stopped speaking and although she remained in his arms he knew that somebody had entered the room.

He turned and saw Gesalla Maraquine regarding him with cool disdain, the familiar expression she seemed to reserve just for him. Her dark filmy clothing emphasised her slimness. It was the first time they had met in almost two years and he was struck by the fact that, as with Fera, her appearance had not altered in any significant way. The sickness associated with her second pregnancy—which had caused her to miss the littlenight meal—had invested her pale features with a near-numinous dignity which somehow made him feel that he was a stranger to all that was important in life.

“Good aftday, Gesalla,” he said. “I see you haven’t lost your knack of materialising at precisely the wrong moment.” Fera slipped away from him. He smiled and looked down at Glo, expecting his moral support, but Glo indulged in playful treachery by gazing fixedly at his book, pretending to be so lost in it that he had been unaware of what Toller and Fera were doing.

Gesalla’s grey eyes considered Toller briefly while she decided if he merited a reply, then she turned her attention to Glo. “My lord, Prince Chakkell’s equerry is in the precinct. He reports that the Princes Chakkell and Leddravohr are on their way up the hill.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Glo closed his book and waited until Gesalla had left the room before baring the ruins of his lower teeth at Toller. “I thought you weren’t … hmm … afraid of that one.”

Toller was indignant. “Afraid? Why should I be afraid?”

“Huh!” Fera had returned to her position by the window. “What was wrong with it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said she came in at the wrong moment. What was wrong with it?”

Toller was staring at her, exasperated and speechless, when Glo tugged his sleeve to signal that he wanted to get to his feet. In the entrance hall there were footfalls and the sound of a man’s voice. Toller helped Glo to stand up and lock the verticals of his cane frame. They walked together into the hall, with Toller inconspicuously taking much of Glo’s weight. Lain and Gesalla were being addressed by the equerry, who was aged about forty and had tallowy skin and out-turned liver-coloured lips. His dark green tunic and breeches were foppishly decorated with lines of tiny crystal beads and he wore the narrow sword of a duellist.

“I am Canrell Zotiern, representing Prince Chakkell,” he announced with an imperiousness which would have been better suited to his master. “Lord Glo and members of the Maraquine family—no others—will stand here in line facing the door and will await the arrival of the prince.”

Toller, who was shocked by Zotiern’s arrogance, assisted Glo to the indicated place beside Lain and Gesalla. He glanced at Glo, expecting him to issue the proper reprimand, but the older man seemed too preoccupied with the laboured mechanics of walking to have noticed anything amiss. Several of the household servants watched silently from the door leading to the kitchens. Beyond the archway of the main entrance the mounted soldiers of Chakkell’s personal guard disturbed the flow of light into the hall. Toller became aware that the equerry was looking at him.

“You! The body servant!” Zotiern called out. “Are you deaf? Get back to your quarters.”

“My personal attendant is a Maraquine, and he remains with me,” Glo said steadily.

Toller heard the exchange as across a tumultuous distance. The crimson drumming was something he had not experienced in a long time, and he was dismayed to find that his cultivated immunity to it was proved illusory. I’m a different person, he told himself, while a prickly chill moved across his brow. I AM a different person.

“And I have a warning for you,” Glo went on, speaking in high Kolcorronian and dredging up something of his old authority as he confronted Zotiern. “The unprecedented powers the King has accorded Leddravohr and Chakkell do not, as you appear to think, extend to their lackeys. I will tolerate no further violations of protocol from you.”

“A thousand apologies, my lord,” Zotiern said, insincere and unperturbed, consulting a list he had taken from his pocket. “Ah, yes—Toller Maraquine … and a spouse named Fera.” He swaggered closer to Toller. “While the subject of protocol is in the air, Toller Maraquine, where is this spouse of yours? Don’t you know that all female members of the household should be presented?”

“My wife is at hand,” Toller said coldly. “I will…” He broke off as Fera, who must have been listening, appeared at the door of the dayroom. Moving with uncharacteristic demureness and timidity, she came towards Toller.

“Yes, I can see why you wanted to keep this one hidden,” Zotiern said. “I must make a closer inspection on behalf of the prince.”

As Fera was passing him he halted her by the expedient of grasping a handful of her hair. The drumming in Toller’s brain crashed into silence. He thrust out his left hand and hit Zotiern on the shoulder, knocking him off-balance. Zotiern went down sideways, landing on his hands and knees, and immediately sprang up again. His right hand was going for his sword and Toller knew that by the time he fully regained his feet the blade would be unsheathed. Propelled by instinct, rage and alarm, Toller went in on his opponent and struck him on the side of the neck with all the power of his right arm. Zotiern spun away, limbs flailing the air like the blades of a ptertha stick, crashed to the floor and slid several yards on the polished surface. He ended up lying on his back, unmoving, his head angled close to one shoulder. Gesalla gave a clear, high scream.

“What happens here?” The angry shout came from Prince Chakkell, who had just come through the entrance closely followed by four of his guard. He strode to Zotiern, bent over him briefly—his sparsely covered scalp glistening—and raised his eyes towards Toller, who was frozen in the attitude of combat.

“You! Again!” Chakkell’s swarthy countenance grew even darker. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“He insulted Lord Glo,” Toller said, meeting the prince’s gaze directly. “He also insulted me and molested my wife.”

“That is correct,” Glo put in. “Your man’s behaviour was quite inexcus—”

“Silence! I’ve had my fill of this doltish upstart!” Chakkell swung his arm, signalling his guards to move in on Toller. “Kill him!”

The soldiers came forward, drawing their black swords. Toller backed away, thinking of his own blade which he had left at home, until his heel touched the wall. The soldiers formed a semicircle and closed in on him, eyes slitted and intent beneath the rims of their brakka helmets. Beyond them Toller could see Gesalla hiding in Lain’s embrace; the grey-robed Glo rooted to the spot, his hand raised in ineffectual protest; and Fera watching him through latticed fingers. Until that moment the guards had remained equally distant from him, but now the one on the right was taking the initiative and the point of his sword was describing eager little circles as he prepared for the first thrust.

Toller braced himself against the wall and made ready to launch himself forward beneath the thrust when it came, determined to inflict some degree of injury on his executioners rather than simply be cut down by them. The hovering sword tip steadied, purposefully, and its message for Toller was that time was at an end. Heightened perception of everything in his surroundings brought him the awareness that another man was entering the hall, and even in the desperate extremity he was able to feel a pang of regret that the newcomer was Prince Leddravohr, arriving just in time to savour his death…

“Stand away from that man!” Leddravohr commanded. His voice was not unduly loud, but the four guards responded at once by stepping back from Toller.

“What the…!” Chakkell wheeled on Leddravohr. “Those men are in my personal guard and they take orders only from me.”

“Is that so?” Leddravohr said calmly. He aimed a finger at the soldiers and slowly swung it to indicate the opposite side of the hall. The soldiers went with the line of it, as though controlled by invisible rods, and took up new positions.

“But you don’t understand,” Chakkell protested. “The Maraquine lout has killed Zotiern.”

“It shouldn’t have been possible—Zotiern was armed and the Maraquine lout wasn’t. This is part of the price you pay, my dear Chakkell, for surrounding yourself with strutting incompetents.” Leddravohr went closer to Zotiern, looked down at him and gave a low chuckle. “Besides, he isn’t dead. He is damaged beyond repair, mind you, but he isn’t quite dead. Isn’t that so, Zotiern?” Leddravohr augmented the question by nudging the fallen man with his toe.

Zotiern’s mouth emitted a faint bubbling sound and Toller saw that his eyes were still open, frantic and staring, although his body remained inert.

Leddravohr flicked his smile into existence for Chakkell’s benefit. “As you think so highly of Zotiern, we’ll do him the honour of sending him off along the Bright Road. Perhaps he would even have chosen it himself were he still able to speak.” Leddravohr glanced at the four watchful soldiers. “Take him outside and see to it.”

The soldiers, obviously relieved at being able to escape Leddravohr’s presence, saluted hastily before swooping on Zotiern and carrying him outside to the precinct. Chakkell made as if to follow, then turned back. Leddravohr gave him a mock-affectionate slap on the shoulder, dropped a hand to his sword and padded across the hall to stand before Toller.

“You seem obsessed with placing your life in danger,” he said. “Why did you do it?”

“Prince, he insulted Lord Glo. He insulted me. And he molested my wife.”

“Your wife?” Leddravohr turned and looked at Fera. “Ah, yes. And how did you overcome Zotiern?”

Toller was puzzled by Leddravohr’s tone. “I punched him.”

“Once?”

“There was no need to do it again.”

“I see.” Leddravohr’s inhumanly smooth face was enigmatic. “Is it true that you have made several attempts to enter military service?”

“It is true, Prince.”

“In that case I have good news for you, Maraquine,” Leddravohr said. “You are now in the army. I promise you that you will have many opportunities to satisfy your troublesome warlike urges in Chamteth. Report to the Mithold Barracks at dawn.”

Leddravohr turned away without waiting for a reply and began a murmured conversation with Chakkell. Toller remained as he was, his back still pressed to the wall, as he tried to control the seething of his thoughts. Despite his ungovernable temper he had taken human life only once before, when he had been set upon by thieves in a dark street in the Flylien district of Ro-Atabri and had left two of them dead. He had not even seen their faces and the incident had left him unaffected, but in the case of Zotiern he could still feel the appalling crunch of vertebrae and still could see the terrified eyes. The fact that he had not killed the man outright only made the event more traumatic—Zotiern had had a subjective eternity, helpless as a broken insect, in which to anticipate the final sword thrust. Toller had been floundering, trying to come to terms with his emotions, when Leddravohr had delivered his verbal bombshell, and now the universe was a chaos of tumbling fragments.

“Prince Chakkell and I will retire to a separate room with Lain Maraquine,” Leddravohr announced. “We are not to be disturbed.”

Glo signalled for Toller to come to his side. “We have everything ready for you, Prince. May I suggest that…?”

“Suggest nothing, Lord Cripple—your presence is not required at this stage.” Leddravohr’s face was expressionless as he looked at Glo, as though he were not even worthy of contempt. “You will remain here in case I have reason to summon you later—though I confess I find it difficult to imagine your ever being of any value to anybody.” Leddravohr directed his cold gaze at Lain. “Where?”

“This way, Prince.” Lain spoke in a low voice and he was visibly quaking as he moved towards the stair. He was followed by Leddravohr and Chakkell. As soon as they had passed out of sight on the upper floor Gesalla fled from the hall, leaving Toller alone with Glo and Fera. Only a few minutes had passed since they had been together in the dayroom, and yet they now breathed different air, inhabited a different world. Toller sensed he would not feel the full impact of the change until later.

“Help me back to my … hmm … seat, my boy,” Glo said. He remained silent until installed in the same chair in the dayroom, then looked up at Toller with a shamefaced smile. “Life never ceases to be interesting, does it?”

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Toller tried to find appropriate words. “There was nothing I could do.”

“Don’t fret. You came out of it well—though I fear it wasn’t in Leddravohr’s mind to do you a favour when he inducted you into his service.”

“I don’t understand it. When he was walking towards me I thought he was going to kill me himself.”

“I’ll be sorry to lose you.”

“What about me?” Fera said. “Has anybody thought about what’s going to happen to me?”

Toller recalled his earlier exasperation with her. “You may not have noticed, but we have all been given other things to think about.”

“There is no need for you to worry,” Glo said to her. “You may remain at the Peel for as long as you … hmm … wish.”

“Thank you, my lord. I wish I could go there now.”

“So do I, my dear, but I’m afraid it’s out of the question. None of us is free to leave until dismissed by the prince. That is the custom.”

“Custom!” Fera’s dissatisfied gaze travelled the room before settling on Toller. “Wrong moment!”

He turned his back on her, unwilling to confront the enigma of the feminine mind, and went to stand at a window. The man I killed needed to be killed, he told himself, so I’m not going to brood about it. He turned his thoughts to the mystery of Leddravohr’s behaviour. Glo was quite right—the prince had not acted out of benignancy when summarily making him a soldier. There was little doubt that he hoped for Toller to be killed in battle, but why had he not seized the opportunity to take revenge in person? He could easily have sided with Chakkell over the death of the equerry and that would have been the end of the matter. Leddravohr was capable of spinning out the destruction of someone who had crossed him so that he could derive maximum satisfaction from it, but surely that would be placing too much importance on an obscure member of a philosophy family.

The thought of his own background reminded Toller of the astonishing fact that he was now in the army, and the realisation struck him with as much or more force than Leddravohr’s original pronouncement. It was ironic that the ambition he had cherished for much of his life should have been achieved in such a bizarre fashion and just at a time when he was beginning to put such ideas behind him. What was going to happen to him after he reported to the Mithold Barracks in the morning? It was disconcerting to find that he had no coherent vision of his future, that beyond the coming night the pattern broke up into shards … bitty reflections … Leddravohr … the army … Chamteth … the migration flight … Overland … the unknown swirling into the unknown…

A gentle snore from behind him told Toller that Glo had gone to sleep. He left it to Fera to ensure that Glo was comfortable and continued staring through the window. The enveloping ptertha screens interfered with the view of Overland, but he could see the progression of the terminator across the great disk. When it reached the halfway mark, dividing the sister world into hemispheres of equal size but unequal brightness, the sun would be on the horizon.

A short time before that point was reached Prince Chakkell emerged from the lengthy conference and departed for his residence in the Tannoffern Palace, which lay to the east of the Great Palace. Now that the main streets of Ro-Atabri were virtually tunnels it would have been possible for him to stay longer in the Square House, but Chakkell was known for his devotion to his wife and children. After he and his retinue had left there was complete silence in the precinct, a reminder that Leddravohr had come to the meeting unaccompanied. The military prince was noted for travelling everywhere alone—partly, it was said, because of his impatience with attendants, but mainly because he scorned the use of guards. He was confident in his belief that his reputation and his own battle sword were all the protection he needed in any city of the empire.

Toller had hoped that Leddravohr would leave soon after Chakkell, but hour after hour went by with no sign of the discussion coming to an end. It appeared that Leddravohr was determined to absorb as much aeronautical knowledge as was possible in a very short time.

The weight-driven glasswood clock on the wall was showing the hour of ten when a servant arrived with platters of simple food, mainly fishcakes and bread. There was also a note of apology from Gesalla, who was too ill to perform the normal duties of hostess. Fera had been waiting for a substantial spread and was theatrically shocked when Glo explained that no formal meal could be served unless Leddravohr chose to go to table. She ate most of what was available single-handed, then dropped into a chair in a corner and pretended to sleep. Glo alternated between trying to read in the unsatisfactory light from the sconces and staring grimly into the distance. Toller received the impression that his self-esteem had been irreparably damaged by Leddravohr’s casual cruelty.

It was almost the eleventh hour when Lain walked into the room. He said, “Please return to the hall, my lord.”

Glo raised his head with a start. “So the prince has finally decided to leave.”

“No.” Lain seemed slightly bewildered. “I think the prince is going to do me the honour of staying the night in my home. We must present ourselves now. You and your wife as well, Toller.”

Toller was at a loss to explain Leddravohr’s unusual decision as he raised Glo to his feet and helped him to leave the room. In normal times and circumstances it would indeed have been a great honour for a royal to sleep in the Square House, especially as the palaces were within easy reach, but Leddravohr hardly wanted to be gracious. Gesalla was already waiting near the foot of the stair, holding herself tall and straight in spite of her obvious weakness. The others formed a line with her—Glo at the centre, flanked by Lain and Toller—and waited for Leddravohr to appear.

There was a delay of several minutes before the military prince came to the head of the stair. He was eating the leg of a roast quickfowl, and added to the discourtesy by continuing to gnaw at the bone in silence until it was stripped of all flesh. Toller began to get sombre premonitions. Leddravohr threw the bone to the floor, wiped his lips with the back of a hand and slowly came down the stairs. He was still wearing his sword—another incivility—and his smooth face showed no sign of tiredness.

“Well, Lord Glo, it appears I have needlessly kept you here all day.” Leddravohr’s tone made it clear that he was not apologising. “I have learned most of what I need to know and will be able to finish here in the morning. Many other matters demand my attention, so to avoid wasting time in travelling back and forth to the palace I will sleep here tonight. You will be in attendance at the sixth hour. I take it you can bestir yourself by that time?”

“I shall be here at the sixth hour, Prince,” Glo said.

“That is good to know,” Leddravohr replied, jovially sarcastic. He strolled along the line, paused when he reached Toller and Fera, and produced the instantaneous smile which had nothing to do with humour. Toller faced him as woodenly as possible, his foreboding turning into a certainty that a day which had begun badly was going to end badly. Leddravohr turned off his smile, walked back to the stair and began to ascend. Toller was beginning to wonder if his premonitions could have been groundless when Leddravohr halted on the third step.

“What is this?” he mused, keeping his back to the attentive group. “My brain is weary, and yet my body craves activity. There is a decision to be made here—shall I have a woman, or shall I not?”

Toller, already knowing the answer to Leddravohr’s rhetorical question, brought his mouth close to Fera’s ear. “This is my fault,” he whispered. “Leddravohr hates better than I knew. He wants to use you as a weapon against me, and there is nothing we can do about it. You’ll just have to go with him.”

“We’ll see,” Fera said, her composure unaffected.

Leddravohr drummed his fingers on the balustrade, prolonging the moment, then turned to face the hall. “You,” he said, pointing at Gesalla. “Come with me.”

“But…!” Toller took one step forward, breaking the line, his body a pounding column of blood. He gazed in helpless outrage at Gesalla as she touched Lain’s hand and walked towards the stair with a strange floating movement as though tranced and not really aware of what was happening. Her beautiful face was almost luminescent in its pallor. Leddravohr went ahead of her and the two were lost in the flickering dimness of the upper floor.

Toller wheeled on his brother. “That’s your wife—and she’s pregnant!”

“Thank you for that information,” Lain said in a dead voice, regarding Lain with dead eyes.

“But this is all wrong!”

“It’s the Kolcorronian way.” Incredibly, Lain was able to fashion his lips into a smile. “It is part of the reason we are despised by every other nation in the world.”

“Who cares about the other…?” Toller became aware that Fera, hands on hips, was staring at him with undisguised fury. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Perhaps if you had stripped me naked and thrown me at the prince things would have worked out more to your liking,” Fera said in a low hard voice.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you couldn’t wait to see me go with him.”

“You don’t understand,” Toller protested. “I thought Leddravohr wanted to punish me.”

“That’s exactly what he…” Fera broke off to glance at Lain, then returned her attention to Toller. “You’re a fool, Toller Maraquine. I wish I had never met you.” She spun on her heel, suddenly haughty in a way he had never seen before, walked quickly back into the day room and slammed the door.

Toller gaped after her for a moment, baffled, then paced an urgent circle around the hall and came back to Lain and Glo. The latter, looking more exhausted and frail than ever, had clasped Lain’s hand.

“What would you like me to do, my boy?” he said gently. “I could return to the Peel if you want the privacy.”

Lain shook his head. “No, my lord. It is very late. If you will do me the honour of staying here I will have a suite prepared for you.”

“Very well.” As Lain left to instruct the servants Glo turned his large head in Toller’s direction. “You’re not helping your brother with all your running about like a caged animal.”

“I don’t understand him,” Toller muttered. “Somebody should do something.”

“What would you … hmm … suggest?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Would it improve Gesalla’s lot if Lain were to get himself killed?”

“Perhaps,” Toller said, refusing to entertain logic. “She could at least be proud of him.”

Glo sighed. “Help me to a chair, and then fetch me a glass of something with heat in it. Kailian black.”

“Wine?” Toller was surprised despite his mental turmoil. “You want wine?”

“You said somebody should do something, and that’s what I’m going to do,” Glo said evenly. “You will have to dance to your own music.”

Toller help Glo to a high-backed chair at the side of the hall and went to obtain a beaker of wine, his mind oppressed with the problem of how to reconcile himself to the intolerable. The mode of thought was unnatural for him and it seemed a long time before inspiration came. Leddravohr is only playing with us, he decided, seizing the thread of hope. Gesalla can’t be to the taste of one who is accustomed to trained courtesans. Leddravohr is only detaining her in his room, laughing at us. In fact, he can express his contempt all the better by scorning to touch any of our women…

In the hour that followed Glo drank four large bumpers of wine, rendering himself crimson of face and almost totally helpless. Lain had retired to the solitude of his study, still betraying no trace of emotion, and Toller was dejected when Glo announced his desire to go to bed. He knew he would not sleep and had no desire to be alone with his thoughts. He half carried Glo to the assigned suite and helped him through all the tedious procedures of toilet and getting to bed, then came into the long transverse corridor which linked the principal sleeping quarters. There was a whisper of sound to his left.

He turned and saw Gesalla walking towards him on the way to her own rooms. Her black garments, long and drifting, and blanched face gave her a spectral appearance, but her bearing was erect and dignified. She was the same Gesalla Maraquine he had always known—cool, private and indomitable—and at the sight of her he experienced a pang of mingled concern and relief.

“Gesalla,” he said, moving towards her, “are you…?”

“Don’t come near me,” she snapped with a look of slit-eyed venom and walked past him without altering her step. Dismayed by the sheer loathing in her voice, he watched until she had passed out of view, then his gaze was drawn to the pale mosaic floor. The trail of bloody footprints told a story more dreadful than any he had tried to banish from his mind.

Leddravohr, oh Leddravohr, oh Leddravohr, he chanted inwardly. We are wedded now, you and I. You have given yourself to me … and only a death will set us apart.