growing older now, and had taken up residence in a town house in Margalit. Normally he hated
the city, preferring a tent brittle with hoarfrost under frozen skies, but one of his daughters was
unwell, and he had thought to spend the coldest months of the winter with her.
Evenor might be old, but he was still a strong man, and a cunning one, as well as
experienced.
Thus it was that he was the first of the household to realize the presence of intruders. He
rose from his bed silently, not disturbing the girl who slept next to him, and stole down the great
central staircase of the house.
At the foot of the stairs he took a heavy walking stick from a rack, hefting it in his hand.
There were stealthy movements to his left, in the main reception area, and the very faint
glow of a light.
Thieves, Evenor thought, who did not expect him to be in his daughter”s house.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped quickly into the reception room…
And stopped in surprise.
A slightly built man stood in the center of the room, hands folded before him, his eyes
downcast. He looked up as soon as he realized he had company.
“Ah,” the man said, “Rilm Evenor. I”m sorry to disturb your night like this.”
“Who are you?” Evenor had stopped several paces away. “How did you get past the
guards?”
“Your guards shall be here soon enough,” said the man, “but not soon enough to save
your life, I am afraid.”
Evenor moved. There was no time or reason for words now. He lunged forward and
slightly to the right, striking out with the walking stick.
He didn”t make it more than a pace.
A man loomed out of the shadows behind Ba”al”uz—Zeboul, the most trusted among the
Eight. He swung a great wooden pole between his hands, stepping around Ba”al”uz and smashing
it into the front of Evenor”s throat the moment before Evenor struck Ba”al”uz.
Evenor crashed to the floor.
Ba”al”uz had not once flinched.
The remaining brothers moved out from the gloom, where they”d been hiding.
“Are his guards coming?” whispered Ba”al”uz.
“Yes,” said one of the Eight, “they have awoken in their barracks and grabbed their
weapons. They will be here within a moment. Will we be safe?”
“Yes,” said Ba”al”uz, and looked down.
Evenor was choking to death, unable to get air down his windpipe. One hand clawed
desperately at his throat, the other scrabbled about uselessly for the stick that had rolled away
when he”d fallen.
Ba”al”uz murmured words whispered to him earlier by Kanubai, and within the moment
he and the Eight were cloaked in dark power.
Footsteps sounded outside, and then eight or nine soldiers burst into the room just as
Evenor gave a final gasp, his body arching in a death spasm.
The soldiers stopped momentarily, assessing the situation.
They saw their commander, apparently dead on the floor.
They did not see Ba”al”uz and the Eight.
Instead they saw, and would swear to this for the rest of their lives, Baron Allemorte of
Pelemere and a mixed force of armed men from Pelemere and Hosea.
“Tell your damned council,” said Allemorte, stepping away from the body, “to stay out of
lands that don”t belong to them.”
Then, suddenly, strangely, Allemorte and the foreign soldiers were gone.
Evenor”s men would recall later that they”d had a bitter battle with the murderous
invaders, a battle they”d fought long and hard, but that Allemorte and his band had finally
managed an escape.
Residents in the houses adjoining Evenor”s daughter”s house would also report seeing the
armed men escape down the street.
And when the Outlands Council, appalled, angry, and vengeful, investigated further, they
discovered a trail of reports from innkeepers and road travelers from Pelemere to Margalit about
Allemorte”s band, who had traveled to Margalit and then escaped along the main Outlands
highway to the west.
Ba”al”uz and the Eight returned to their inn, tired but satisfied. They were not so fatigued
that they did not take the time and effort to murmur a prayer of thanks to Kanubai for his aid.
Three days later, much recovered, Ba”al”uz led his Eight toward Pelemere and thence to
Kyros, well pleased to see the numbers of armed men gathering in Margalit.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pelemere, the Central Kingdoms
Ishbel tried her utmost to settle into her role as Maximilian”s wife. She thought of it only
as a “role” and a pretense, not as any permanent reality, but ever since the appearance of the
Great Serpent on her wedding night Ishbel did her best to accept her current situation.
She would wash with the tide, as the Great Serpent had commanded her. She would be
whatever Maximilian needed in a wife, until the Great Serpent needed her elsewhere.
At least she did not have to wear the ring. Someone asked her a few days after the
marriage why she did not wear it, and, while she hunted for an excuse, Maximilian stepped in
smoothly.
“It fits poorly,” he said. “Ishbel”s finger is too slim. Once we return to Ruen I shall have
it altered for her.”
He looked at her as he said this, and Ishbel gave him a small nod of gratitude.
She was lucky, she realized, that the Great Serpent had not required her to marry some
fat, intolerant fool. Maximilian was very bearable.
Ishbel became used to the sexual side of their marriage far quicker than she had ever
anticipated. She”d always thought that she would find a man”s touch and intimacies intrusive,
perhaps even repulsive, but sharing a bed with Maximilian was neither of these. He made her
laugh, he made her body thrum with unexpected sensation, and she found herself actually
enjoying their intimate relationship.
What she did find difficult to accept was her pregnancy. That invaded, whereas
Maximilian”s sexual attention did not. The baby represented a complete loss of control—over her
body and over her future—that Ishbel found extremely disconcerting.
Besides, Ishbel”s life in the Coil had not prepared her in the slightest for a pregnancy. She
had no idea what to expect, or what changes would occur in her body (apart from growing la rge
and bulky, which she regarded with horror). She was not even too sure what were the early signs
of pregnancy.
There was no one save Maximilian she could ask, or in whom she could confide. Garth
Baxtor, with whom perhaps Ishbel could have talked, had left Pelemere on the day after her
wedding to visit with a college of physicians in a town a few days” travel to the north.
Maximilian, however, not to Ishbel”s surprise, had no idea what to expect either, and was
faintly aghast that Ishbel was so unknowledgeable herself. She talked with him once about what
she could expect, but received enough of a surprised and perplexed look that she didn”t pursue
the matter.
“Garth will help you when he gets back,” said Maximilian, and Ishbel left it at that.
Meanwhile, Ishbel and Maximilian enjoyed the hospitality of Sirus. Sirus made Ishbel
uneasy. He was old—at least seventy—but still hale and possessed of the whipcord strength of a
man a quarter of his age. He was very tall and thin, and his head was crowned with an unruly
mop of pure white hair over a hawk”s nose. Maximilian liked him, but Ishbel simply didn”t know
what to make of the man. Half the time he appeared to be trying to make some very bad and
crude jest, and the other half of the time he watched her with the silent, sharp eyes of a bird of
prey.
Too sharp, and a little too intelligent, and Ishbel found herself either keeping
conversation light, or avoiding the king”s company altogether.
Her new role as Queen of Escator she found almost as difficult as her approaching
maternity. Ishbel just did not know how to act as a wife, let alone as a queen. Since the age of
eight she”d been cloistered within Serpent”s Nest, undergoing strict training with the Coil. From
the age of thirteen she”d been a priestess of the Coil, and from fifteen, archpriestess. There had
been no time for the fripperies of womanhood; there had only been time and desire for the strict
isolationism of the Coil. Now Ishbel felt as if she was floundering along, trying to work out the
correct demeanor for both woman and queen, and trying to manage court etiquette and
expectations. The only time she could relax was at night, with Maximilian, in their chamber.
He didn”t question too closely her lack of social skills and answered whatever questions
she had, as well as guiding her throughout the day when he realized she struggled.
Ishbel knew she stood out like a sore thumb at Sirus” court, but a week after her marriage
(during which week Ishbel had tried to avoid every social gathering she possibly could) she was
largely saved from the horrors of the court when Pelemere was thrown into turmoil by the news