Skeal Eile leaned past her and gestured Bonnasaint away. The a.s.sa.s.sin melted into the night. The Seraphic waited a moment more and then turned back to her. "So now we are alone." He gave her his most endearing smile. "You are well, I hope?"

"Well enough. Come to the point."

"As you wish. I've come to make you an offer, one that I think will benefit us both, one that I've been contemplating for some time. It involves your husband."

She rolled her eyes. "Haven't we had this discussion already? There is nothing left to say."

"Only in the abstract, when discussing a future in which he would not be present. We have never conceived of a means by which that future might come about."

"Yes, and for good reason. My husband is a member of a long-lived family, and he shows no signs of slowing down. I will be old and gray and you will be dust in the earth before he dies."

"But you would like him dead, wouldn't you?"

"You already know the answer to that question."

"Let me be direct. When we spoke before, there was always the problem of how to make his death look accidental, how to avoid suspicion falling on you. As well, there was the problem of his daughter, who is next in line for the throne."

"Sweet little Phryne," Isoeld sneered. Her features were no longer quite so beautiful. "I despise the very air she breathes. But I am finally on the verge of winning her over. She speaks civilly to me now and seems persuaded by my words. I may yet find a way to make use of her."

Skeal Eile nodded. "Perhaps you won't need to. What if we could solve both problems at once? What if we could eliminate father and daughter in one stroke and make you Queen of the Elven people under circ.u.mstances where no one would question your right to rule?"

She stared at him wordlessly for a moment.

"What would you say to that?" he pressed.

"You could do this?" she asked quietly.

"I think so. Would you like to hear how?"

She considered. "What would you want in return? You worship the ground I walk on, I know. But I suspect that alone is not enough to satisfy you should I become Queen."

A birdcall sounded in the dark, and Skeal Eile pressed himself against the Queen, flattening her close to the wall of the outbuilding, deep in the shadows. On the roadway at the head of the path, a solitary figure walked past without slowing or looking and then was gone.

Isoeld pushed him away. "That had better not be what it will take to satisfy you, Seraphic. Though it might prove amusing."

"What I want, my Queen, is your support. My order requires respect from more than the handful of communities in which it is already given. I am expanding its reach into those villages that still do not believe, but it goes too slowly. If the ruler of the Elves were to become an openly admitted member of the sect and urge her people to join with her, that would give me purchase that I could exploit. If their ruler were to acknowledge the value of my order and embrace my teachings, that would give me a way to expand my influence. If I were invited to visit regularly and to speak at a forum provided and endorsed by their Queen, I would gain immeasurable stature."

She gave him a look. "It is one thing to be seen embracing your teachings and your sect. It is another to give you free and open access to my lands. If I open that door, I am inviting the wolf to come in among the sheep. You will devour them all eventually, and where will I be then?"

He smiled. "Better off than you are now."

There was a long silence as they faced each other down.

"Let me clarify," the Seraphic said finally. "What I want has nothing to do with encroaching on your territory. What I want is sufficient prestige to allow me to overshadow those others who claim the t.i.tle of Seraphic. If I were to become the voice of the Elven people, acknowledged as such by their Queen, I would gain immense influence throughout the villages of Men. That would be enough for me to a.s.sume the mantle of supreme leader. Besides, gaining credence for my sect with a majority of the Elves seems unlikely in any case, don't you think?"

He could tell from her face that she wasn't sure. "Are you really so frightened of my influence?" he challenged. "Cannot a Queen find ways to keep her people in line? Cannot a Queen manage to consolidate her power and cement her rule? Can she not put an end to any influence a Seraphic of the Children of the Hawk might wield if bounds once set are overstepped? I would think so, my lady."

"What of this Troll army that threatens us? What difference if I am Queen and you are acknowledged leader of the Children of the Hawk if this horde overruns us?"

Skeal Eile shook his head. "The inevitable is upon us, my Queen. The world is changing even as we speak, the old one fading and a new one arising. Whether we defeat this army and live to fight another day or are driven from our valley into the larger world, our peoples must still have leaders of vision and ability. Would you not rather be one of those than just another follower? Who better to lead your people? Not the King, surely. Not his child daughter. No, my Queen, whatever fate awaits us all, it would be better met if you and I were in power."

"I cannot argue that," she said. She thought about it again, and he remained silent now as she did so. "You would keep your distance from my people save when you were invited to visit? You ask only my verbal support of your position? Do I understand you correctly?"

"You do," he acknowledged, thinking that she was a bigger fool than he had imagined.

She nodded slowly. "I do want to be Queen," she said. "You can make this happen?"

He smiled. "Let me tell you how."

TWENTY-SEVEN.

DELADION INCH REACHED THE DROUJ CAMP shortly before sunset of the following day, driving his armored ATV down out of the high country where he had dropped off Sider Ament and continuing on toward the flats west. Ament had told him enough so that he would know the girl he was looking for when he found her-as if there could possibly be more than one held prisoner in the Troll camp-and provided a roughly sketched map of the way back up to the pa.s.s through which he would bring her to safety. He had accepted both without comment, knowing that either might fail to help in the end, that things might change as they frequently did in a dangerous undertaking like this one.

In truth, although he might have said something to the contrary, he did not really expect they would see each other again. Odds were against it, and he paid close attention to the odds.

But he liked Sider Ament-genuinely liked him-enough that he hoped he was wrong and they would find each other in better times. If he hadn't liked the other, he would never have agreed to this fool's errand. Walking boldly into a camp of five thousand armed Trolls with the express purpose of taking something away from them that they had no intention of giving up-now, that was just plain idiotic. Didn't matter how carefully disguised his intentions or clever his efforts, he was putting his head in the jaws of a steel trap and handing the trigger release to his enemy. You didn't do things like that for anyone but a friend.

Except, of course, sometimes you did things like that for yourself, which was at least partially true here. His friendship with Sider Ament aside, spiriting the girl away would be akin to rubbing the noses of Taureq Siq and his boys in the dirt, and he found the idea immensely attractive.

He watched the Drouj camp grow closer as he eased the big crawler ahead at dead slow, rolling and heaving through the rough terrain like a great beast. Ahead, the first of the sentries appeared from their hiding places. They would recognize the vehicle and allow him to approach without attacking. Word would already be on its way to Taureq Siq, and the Maturen would be ready to receive him when he was escorted in. A part of him relished the meeting; a part of him whispered that it would be a good idea to turn around right now. Taureq Siq was unpredictable, and he had no special love for Inch. He tolerated him and sometimes even used his mercenary skills because the big man had training and weapons that the Trolls did not. As long as he found Inch useful, he would refrain from doing anything bad to him. But all that could turn around pretty fast. It was always a gamble when you got within strangling distance of the Drouj leader.

Well, he thought, permitting himself a wry smile, he hadn't anything better to do with his day.

In some of his darker, wilder moments, those times when he could afford to think about doing things that were so reckless they bordered on idiotic, he imagined riding the ATV into the Drouj camp at full speed with all weapons firing, creating a killing swath of terrible proportions, leveling the hordes that would come against him, tearing apart tents and supplies and finally, ultimately, catching the Siq family in a murderous firestorm that would put an end to them once and for all. He thought about it again now, a momentary indulgence, fueled by a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of what lay ahead. Didn't matter that he would end up dead, too. Didn't matter that he would go the way of the Trolls and be another of yesterday's memories. Sometimes that was enough.

When you were a mercenary of the sort he was, you thought about dying all the time. If it bothered you, it was time to get out of the business.

He rolled the ATV to a stop in front of the pair of Troll sentries who blocked his way, their impa.s.sive faces hiding the fear he knew they were feeling, and switched off the engine. Opening the gull-wing door, he climbed out and stretched, taking his time about it. He wore his black leathers and his body armor and carried both the flechette and the spray, one strapped over each broad shoulder. He'd belted knives at his waist and ankles and hooked several flash-bangs to his vest. He looked and felt dangerous.

Giving the sentries a smile, he closed the ATV door and punched the locking numbers on the keypad, alarming and arming it both. Get too close and it would howl like a banshee. Touch it and you risked finding yourself missing a few body parts. Try breaking in and you turned everything for fifty yards in all directions into charred lumps. The Drouj knew this; he had warned them often enough. Once, early on, he had given them a demonstration of his experience with explosives, one that didn't involve any killing or maiming, but made his point about what might happen. It was sufficiently impressive that no one had chosen to test him on his warnings since. No one would today, either.

"Cudjion!" he greeted the sentries in their own language, using a general appellation meant as a designation for warriors. He gave them a friendly wave and walked over to greet them as if they were all comrades-in-arms. "Ejow mik su keshonen Maturen Taureq Siq."

The sentries nodded. They already knew why he was there.

Or thought they did.

He followed them into the Troll camp, taller and broader than most, a big man looking easy and confident in his walk. He took his time, forcing the sentries leading him to follow his pace rather than trying to set their own. Once, early on, they had tried to take away his weapons on orders from Taureq Siq. He had advised them in no uncertain terms that they were not to do this. If the Maturen wanted his services, he had to accept Inch on the latter's terms, not his own. Expecting him to give up his weapons while alone and surrounded by Trolls was just nonsense. Besides, what was he going to do? Was he going to suddenly start killing everyone around him when he was one man against so many? Taureq Siq had apparently decided not because he never asked him to disarm again.

If he had known Inch better, he would have insisted on it. He would have realized that the big man always thought about killing everyone around him, just because that was how he kept his edge.

Once, Grosha had tried to take the spray away from him. The boy was a fool, but he was dangerous, too. Inch had knocked him back a dozen feet and leveled the spray at him. He might have killed him, too, if he hadn't thought Grosha so funny at the time. He didn't think him funny now, and sometimes he thought everyone would have been better off if he had just done what his instincts told him when he had the chance.

Maybe today, he told himself. It was a good day for it.

After he found the girl.

The sentries brought him up to Taureq Siq's command tent, where the Maturen was waiting for him, standing in front of the tent flaps with his sycophants and retainers and his miserable younger son. No sign of the elder, which might mean he was still inside the valley. It would be too bad for him if he was. Sider Ament would find him and put an end to him; Inch was certain of it. He'd seen the look in the other's eyes when he'd learned the truth. Revelation, rage, and murderous determination-they were all visible. Scary, even to a seasoned veteran like himself. Sider wasn't the kind you wanted to antagonize, and the Maturen's elder son had gone way beyond that.

Inch came up to Taureq Siq, giving him a friendly greeting in the form of hands outstretched and palms turned up. It signified that he came openly and without bad intentions. A dreadful lie, but what could you do? The Maturen gave him a small nod and nothing more. Trusted n.o.body, that one. Inch knew why. Taureq was always expecting the worst of everyone and was seldom disappointed. One day Inch, too, would live up to his expectations.

He barely spared a glance at Grosha as he addressed the boy's father in his own tongue. "Cudjion, Taureq. Word is you've made plans to make a new home in a valley beyond those mountains." He pointed off to the east, toward where he had left Sider Ament to make his way back. "I thought you might need someone with my skills to help you get settled."

The Maturen gave him a hard look. "How do you know of this? The Trolls don't speak of it."

Inch shrugged. "I met a man, one from the valley. He spoke to me about you. Said you had one of his people. He wanted to know what I could tell him about you, what I knew that might help him decide how to stop you. I told him he had better find a new home far, far away."

Grosha started forward a step, snarling. "You spoke to someone about us?" he demanded. "You gave him information?"

"What I told him, he already knew." Deladion Inch spoke to the father, ignoring the son. "What matters is that I know where to find the entrance to the valley, so maybe that's information you can use. Maybe I can be of service, if there's something in it for me."

Taureq Siq's face relaxed. "We already know how to get into the valley this man comes from. We know everything. Those who live there are not warriors, not trained, not skilled in fighting. They have no army, no unity of their peoples, nothing that would prevent us from taking the valley for ourselves. We don't need you."

Deladion Inch nodded and shrugged. "Maybe you don't. Maybe you know all about their weapons and how to get past them. Maybe you aren't afraid of something that can wipe out half your soldiers before you even get within bow range."

It sounded good, even to him. The secret of the valley's pa.s.ses was compromised, along with the lack of any standing army trained to defend against invaders. But maybe the discussion hadn't gotten to the matter of weapons.

The Maturen hesitated. "They have the same weapons we do. Except that they have one of the black staffs aiding them, as well. But one man is not enough to stop us."

"One man, no. Fifty fire throwers and a dozen cannons that can reach a target a mile away, yes. Or am I missing something?"

Grosha spit at him. "You lie, mercenary."

"Do I? You know this?"

"I know Elves don't have weapons like that!"

He gave the boy a sympathetic smile. "Elves don't want weapons like that. But Men do. What do your spies have to tell you of that?"

It was a calculated gamble, but it appeared to be working. There was a low muttering among those a.s.sembled, silenced quickly as Taureq Siq looked around angrily. "Do you know of these weapons?" he asked Inch. "Have you seen them?"

The big man shook his head. "Only heard of them. But I recognize how they work and what they can do from what I know of my own weapons. You don't want to risk facing them without a plan."

"Don't believe him, Father!" Grosha snapped, fury twisting his blunt features. "He would say anything to share in what we have!"

Inch gave him another smile and looked at his father as if to say, These impulsive boys, what can you do? "You doubt what I'm saying, little pup? Let's ask the girl, your captive from the valley. Let's see what she says. Go ahead. Ask her."

"We cannot ask her!" Grosha shouted, enraged. "We don't speak the language well enough. Only Arik does. You know that!"

"I don't know anything about it." Inch kept his eyes on the father. "Why don't you let me speak with her? I'll tell you what she says. After all, I've got nothing to gain by lying to you about it. If I do, you'll find out quick enough when you enter the valley and you'll hang me from your tent pole."

Taureq Siq was silent a moment, gesturing for his angry son to be silent, as well. He was clearly conflicted about it, but he was smart enough not to want to risk missing something important.

"All right," he agreed finally. "But if you deceive me, you will die." He gestured toward one of the guards. "Bring the girl."

Grosha turned away in disgust, muttering to himself.

Deladion Inch took a deep breath as the guard departed. He was going to get his chance now, the chance he needed, but he still didn't know how he was going to make this work. Somehow, he had to get the girl through the camp and back to the ATV if they were to have any chance of escaping. But Taureq would have his eye on him the entire time he was speaking to her, so he was going to have to be clever.

A sudden thrumming on the tent roof drew his attention. It was raining, a downpour. Funny, but he hadn't even noticed rain clouds on his way in. He breathed in the fresh smells, the dampness and the cool. He glanced through the gap in the tent flaps; the daylight had faded, clouds covering the sun and masking the sky. It would be dark much sooner. The ground would be wet, and tracks would be hard to follow.

It took only moments before the guard returned with his prisoner. The girl was just a little thing, probably not much more than a hundred pounds, small and slender, with bright red hair and green eyes that looked right through you. She didn't flinch from him when she saw him, clad in black leather and armor, weapons hanging off him everywhere. She simply studied him as she would an interesting specimen, trying to make something out of it.

Inch glanced at Taureq for permission to speak to her, and the Maturen nodded. The big man came forward and knelt in front of her. "You're Prue Liss?" he asked her. "Sider Ament sends greetings."

She stared at him, surprise reflected in her green eyes. "He sent you?"

"He did. He couldn't come himself. Are you all right? Have you been hurt?"

She shook her head no. "What are you going to do?"

"Talk to you a minute. Ask you about weapons that your people in the valley don't have. Pretend you're telling me something about them. Just a quick few words. They don't understand what we're saying, so it's all right. When I'm done, give me a hug. Look frightened. Can you do that? You'll be taken back to where they're holding you, but I'll come for you. Understand?"

She nodded. "I understand."

"Remember the hug," he said.

She nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on his face.

They talked about nothing, as he had said they would, pretending at questions and answers. It was hot inside the tent, and Deladion Inch could felt the sweat running down his back inside his heavy leathers. Outside, the rain continued to beat against the tent surface, a staccato rhythm. He tried to keep the girl's eyes locked on his, willing her to play along, to make believe with such skill that the Trolls, who were pressing close about them, would not discover their deception. The girl kept looking at him, staring into his eyes, understanding what was needed. She never flinched.

Inch finished, gave her a quick nod, and started to stand up. As he did, she rushed to him immediately and threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close. He patted her comfortingly and backed her away.

Then he turned to Taureq Siq. "She confirms what I already told you. But there is some good news. Not everyone has these weapons, only the Men of the larger villages. They have some small fighting forces, too, but they aren't well trained. You can overcome them once you know how to jam their weapons."

Taureq Siq was watching him closely. "You will explain all this to me. But not until Arik returns. He will be here by morning. You will be our guest until he arrives."

Your prisoner, you mean. Inch had expected as much, but he was dismayed that the older son would be back so soon. He would have to act quickly if he wanted to get out of here alive. "I would be honored, Taureq."

They were taking the girl back to where they had been holding her, the guard easing her toward the tent flaps and back outside. Inch glanced her way once, but paid no further attention. "I would appreciate some food and a place to sleep," he told Siq. "I've been traveling all day."

The Maturen nodded to the guards who had brought him in. "Give him what he wants, but stay with him."

Taureq Siq turned away, his attention on something else, the interview over. Deladion Inch moved for the tent flaps, not waiting on his escort. He pushed through quickly, out into the rain, which had diminished from a downpour to a steady drizzle. Twilight had settled in, and torches burned through the gray haze, fighting back against the damp. Without seeming to do so, he scanned his surroundings, just managing to catch sight of the girl's slight figure as she disappeared from view into a maze of tents and bodies. But he marked the direction in which she had gone, knowing it would help him find her later.

His guards caught up and motioned him in the opposite direction, staying well clear as they did so. Inch smiled and nodded, following their lead, taking mental notes of everything as they made their way to a small, shabby tent that was perhaps fifty yards away. The tent served otherwise as a supply dump or an animal shelter, a deliberate comment on his status. On any other occasion, Deladion Inch would have been furious. But it didn't matter here. After tonight, he would never be back.

He ducked inside the tent and settled himself on a sleeping pad amid tent coverings and piles of ties and stays, happy to discover that at least his quarters were dry. His guards brought him food, and he sat down with his dinner. Some sort of stew and warm ale. It was sufficient.

He ate and drank and then settled back to wait.