"Ah, but I did not say rebellion, did I."

"What I hate about you sorcerers is that you all talk in riddles. You know something new?"

"Something I had previously not seen as what it really is." The sorcerer bent and hefted the sapling, which bent with the buck's weight. "One-two-three!" On the third count they both lifted it up onto their shoulders and settled the burden comfortably.

"Tell on. If you're going to."

"Have you ever heard of a man called Golias of Char-beck?"

The pole crashed to the ground. Otto had dropped his end, spinning to face the sorcerer, who perforce put his down quickly too. The deer lolled on the frozen snowy gra.s.s.

"Golias? What about him?"

"So you have."

"Yes."

"Ah. Recently?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm asking whether you've recently had any business with him," Dewar said.

"No. I'd thought he must be dead."

"No, he's not dead."

Otto demanded, "Then what about him?"

"We'd better keep moving. The snow grows heavier."

"Dewar, in three seconds I'm going to get p.i.s.sed off-"

"I thought your back was bothering you. What do you know about him?" Dewar crouched down and took the pole in his hands again, his eyes crinkling with suppressed amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Why do you ask?"

"Curious."

"Curiosity has killed more than cats."

"As a sorcerer, I am well able to take care of myself. Tell me of Golias. Lift."

They heaved the carca.s.s up again, Ottaviano smoldering.

128.

'Etizabetfi.

Then he laughed. "You're like a little boy, you know? You have to have your surprises - "

"It's an endearing trait; I cultivate it. Golias, Otto."

"Well, how's your history of the turmoil around Panur-gus's death?"

"I do know that Golias shifted from side to side in there. Seemed like he had it in for everyone and they had it in for him at the end."

Otto led the way down the meadow, picking his footing and his words. "My father died fighting him."

"Ah."

"My father Sebastiano was good friends with him. Golias knew Count Bors of Lys first, somehow; I'm not sure just how. Bors was friendly with my father, too. Golias's mother was one of the Palace women - he said a lady-in-waiting to Queen Anemone. Panurgus fullered around with her for a while, Ihe usual thing, and then when she got pregnant blew her off. Had her sent off to one of those little retreats and informed her he'd no intention of making her Queen, which apparently disappointed her so much she ran away, off to the West, and hid and nursed her baby and her grudge until she died when he was in his early teens. They lived in a cottage; she had sold a lot of jewelry to get money, when she first ran off, and they used that to pay rent and they had a cow and poultry and pigs. She did some spinning and whoring and Golias did everything else. When she died, Golias took what money was left, which wasn't a little, and bought himself some good armor, a sword, a shield, and some lessons. He wasn't going to herd cattle and swine around for the rest of his life; he knew who he was, that he was the King's son, and he meant to make his mark in the world."

"A romance," Dewar commented. "I'm rapt. Go on."

Otto snorted, chuckling. "Yeah. I think maybe he romanticized it a little and sanitized it a lot. So Young Prince Golias - of course he didn't call himself that - went out into the world, sword in hand, and joined the Army. He liked the life, the travelling, and he found he had the charisma and talent to lead men. Much more to his taste than following livestock. He went independent and became a mercenary, Sorcerer and a Qentteman 129.

recruited a company pretty quickly and got experience fighting in smaller wars, not in Landuc. That lasted about fifteen, twenty years, I guess. Then he distinguished himself in the f.l.a.n.g.e War by a lot of heroic deeds. All according to schedule. Unfortunately he didn't get the degree of distinction he wanted from that, though he did get the Well's favor by being knighted. In the last naval battle, he'd taken fifteen oif the f.l.a.n.g.e ships, and he was naive enough to expect King Panurgus to be more grateful.

"Some people say it was Queen Anemone's doing that he wasn't. Golias slogged up to Court to be knighted and afterward announced his lineage to the King. The King denied it and laughed him out of the place. Anemone had borne many sons to him-he liked Queens who had boys, as Diote found out the hard way-and was high in favor and had a lot of powerful relations, friends, and supporters, and I'm sure the last thing she wanted to see was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d getting on equal footing with or precedence over her brood, like Princes Gaston and Herne. So Golias wasn't believed, wasn't permitted to bathe in the Well's fire, and was publicly humiliated."

"Not merely a romance, a cheap romance. Thrilling. Of course, Panurgus knew he was telling the truth; he was a sorcerer, and truth lives in the Well. Curious that he should endanger himself with the denial."

"Of course he knew. Stupidly, Golias's mother, I forget her name, hadn't bothered to get anything in writing about it, and the King could deny it up, down, left, and right, because there wasn't any way to prove it."

"There are ways," murmured Dewar.

"Say, this is a good way to distract me from the fact that I have the heavy end of this d.a.m.n buck. Golias was incensed. He went back to his company, who believed him, and they were peeved too because they'd all figured on riding his coattails to the top. Since the f.l.a.n.g.e War was over, there were a lot of loose blades around, and Golias recruited them and headed toward Landuc.

"He had gotten friendly with Bors of Lys and Prince Sebastiano during the f.l.a.n.g.e War, I guess. They had sup- 130.

ported him in his pet.i.tion, and they were angry when Panurgus threw him out. Esclados was the last b.a.s.t.a.r.d the King recognized, and maybe he'd had enough of his old sins coming back to haunt him. He'd exiled and disinherited Prospero over his sorcery, and Prospero had already returned to attack the King on that account, and he'd come d.a.m.n close to killing him. Maybe that famous wound was getting to the King and he was starting to think about an heir, and the second-in-line of the eligible Princes, Fulgens, is by nature unsuited to command the Well of Fire - Anyway, that's all old gossip, and the upshot is that Sebastiano persuaded the King that it would be worthwhile to recognize Golias. Panurgus agreed to acknowledge him, but refused to give him any t.i.tles or privileges. When he sent Sebastiano to Golias to say this, Golias got even angrier."

Dewar nodded, unseen. Otto seemed to have remarkably detailed knowledge of the business; perhaps Sebastiano his father had told him of it. How old was Otto? As a son of the Well, even unfired, he would change but slowly. "I can see how things could get complicated quickly."

"Yeah. One of those five-hundred-thousand-line epics full of blood, treachery, royalty, and stinking politics. In the end, of course, Panurgus unleashed Prince Gaston, who had been off somewhere flexing his muscles for a rematch against Prospero, Prospero raided Landuc again, and Golias lost everything."

"Except his life and his wits."

"Right. He took those off somewhere along with a king-sized hatred of Landuc, and if you're hinting that he's back again - "

"Sebastiano died in one of those battles, didn't he."

"Yeah."

"On whose side was he? He was Golias's friend - "

"He tried to stay out of it," Otto said. "In the end he fought under Prince Gaston. Had to. He was sworn to uphold the King and all that c.r.a.p. He and Bors of Lys both."

Dewar, at the other end of the pole behind Otto, nodded again. The account he had heard had pointed out that Sorcerer and a gentleman 131.

Sebastiano hung back, nearly losing the battle with that hesitation, and had claimed that the two b.a.s.t.a.r.d Princes had been planning to join forces and turn on favored Gas-ton. Dewar had also heard that Golias had taken refuge in Ascolet after the final battle over and within the Landuc city walls. However, it was understandable if Otto preferred not to discuss that side of the tale, and Dewar did not wish to overburden their still-fledgling friendship.

"So," Otto went on, "what about him? That's what I know."

"I had the impression you were personally acquainted."

Otto shook his head quickly. "No."

"Oh. Sorry. Well, he is somewhere to the north of here, burning and pillaging in southern Preszheanea."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," Ottaviano hissed.

"He has confined himself to Preszheanea thus far, and not intruded into Ascolet proper."

"How do you know this?"

"I know things."

Otto snorted. "Yeah. Well, that's very interesting."

"I'd wager, though," Dewar said, "that the Emperor and his Marshal do not know it. They know, that is, that they have trouble there, but not that it is Golias."

"Hm."

"Indeed."

"That's very interesting," Ottaviano said again. "I'll have to think about that."

"I thought you would. The tale was well-told, by the bye."

"I rushed it a bit because we were getting close to camp, and here we are. Ah-don't mention this elsewhere, naturally."

"Naturally."

They carried the deer carca.s.s through the camp, past piles of packs and small tents where off-duty soldiers mended their gear or huddled knitting beside small, smokeless fires.

"Dewar, what's your cut in this?" Otto asked when they had set the kill down at the feet of a cook and started back to Otto's quarters.

132.

'E&za&etfi Wittey "I prefer the haunch, roasted but not burnt, basted with wine and gravied with mushrooms," Dewar replied.

Otto rolled his eyes. "Come in here." He lifted the flap of his larger, floored tent and mock-bowed; Dewar returned the bow with grace and without seriousness, and they went in. Otto uncorked a half-empty bottle of wine. "You know what I meant."

"I know what you meant, and the answer I gave is as meaningful as any. I've said it before: I do not sell myself. I wish to see you win this war."

"Why is that?"

Dewar shrugged, smiling slowly, and lifted his cup. "Victory, Your Highness."

"Victory."

They sipped. Dewar made a face. " Tis better mulled."

Otto banged his cup down. "I don't know what to do with you, Dewar. You ambled in a little too nonchalantly, you hung around all summer and helped chase Ocher out of Lys, you're tagging along on my personal war, and all you want is bed and board? Come off it. Sooner or later there's going to be a price to pay." He examined his companion as if something in his face or clothing would change and tell him what that price would be.

"I hope not," Dewar replied. "However, if you do not trust me, I will leave. And I will not be joining Prince Gaston, either. I have plenty of other affairs to took into."

"You're a h.e.l.l of a sorcerer," said Otto. "Why hasn't anyone heard of you?"

Dewar shrugged, cleaned the fingernails of one hand with the other's. "I am modest."

Otto made a rude noise.

"Come, come, Otto. Why this, now? Because it comes close to an acid test?"

"You're too good to be true! Speaking of cheap romances and threadbare fairy tales-sorcerers, hotshot sorcerers who can rearrange a mountainside with a couple of words and a thump of the staff, do not just waltz in out of nowhere and offer to help out rebellious would-be Kings-"

"Certainly they do. The stories get started somehow, Sorcerer and a Qentkman 133.

Otto." Dewar grinned, then laughed. "What has gotten into you? I would never have thought of it that way. Did you train as a skald sometime?"

Otto sighed. "Put yourself in my shoes, Dewar."

"I do," Dewar said. "I think: I am a military man of no small ability fighting a hugeiy superior force. I think: I need all the help I can get. A man volunteers his services. He serves well. Do I refuse?"

"Put that way, no. But you've stripped out a lot of little details. Like, I don't actually know anything about you."

"All I know about you is what you have told me," Dewar said, "and more importantly, what I have seen. If I did not think you were worth the trouble, I'd be on my way months since."

They stared at one another, eye to eye, a mutual challenge.

Otto broke the silence. "All right. Let one thing be clear between us, though: If you turn coat on me, if you're playing a double game, if you betray me in any way-I'll never rest until I have your skin on my wall."

Dewar smiled and shrugged. "Fine."

Otto stared at him a moment longer. "Fine. Have another drink."

"No, thank you. I have work to do, but be a.s.sured I shall be done when the venison is."

12.A MAN HAD RIDDEN TO LYS with a letter, and now he rode back to Ottaviano's camp in the dry, hard ice-wind. Snow had not fallen in Ascolet in nearly a month, not since the Fireduke had led his soldiers there. This unusual drought was attributed by Otto's army to the force of the Well, but they did not take it as an ill omen for their defeat, because it worked as much to their advantage as to Gaston's. The messenger was a shepherd, native to the area, and knew the cliff-walks and hidden paths well, and the Marshal's men 134.

Elizabeth that prowled everywhere around Ottaviano had not seen him, nor even scented him.

His st.u.r.dy mountain horse was weighted with a chest and two heavy bags. He gave the pa.s.s-words to Ottaviano's patrols, when he chose to meet them near the camp, and he went, as he'd been instructed, straight to the uncrowned King of Ascolet's tent and there delivered himself, with a grunt, of the burdens and, with a salute, of a letter.

Ottaviano opened the letter first. A weighty lump of wax made a clumsy wrinkled blob at the bottom; scratching with his pocket-knife showed metal-a coin? No, it was a ring. He read.