The gryphon's croon became a scream, drawn-out and deafening. She reared back and beat her wings, then dropped again.

Prospero scowled. "There's nothing for't but to find her myself," he said, covering concern with ill-humor.

Trixie squalled again and stamped all four feet impa-tiently. Prospero nodded. "Eat thou and rest," he said. "We'll go later."

He left the anima! there, telling two soldiers to see that the gryphon was not disturbed. "And do you shoo another pig to her, if she hungers still."

Freia was in trouble after all, and Prospero felt a sinking misgiving. He hoped it was something as painless to repair as a broken leg.

Ottaviano had come to respect his stubbornly silent hos-tage. He questioned her diligently under all the compulsions he knew which would not damage her permanently, and she resisted him with all her will. Shaking under the strain of holding silence, she would bite her lips b.l.o.o.d.y or grind her 358.

"EfizaBeth teeth, her face contorted, muscles locked, keeping herself from answering any questions. Golias favored breaking her, forcing her further than she would be able to resist, and Otto opposed him saying that their primary concern was to turn her over to the Emperor in good condition, else he might well dispute any concessions they wrung from him. Golias conceded grudgingly.

They had heard from the Emperor only that he weighed their offer, and Golias was impatient for results.

"He's had it for ten days," he said.

"That's not very long to consider a major rearrangement of the real estate in the contiguous realm," Otto replied.

"He's dragging his feet," Golias said. "Probably planning an attack: that's what I'd do."

"We're ready for it."

"It's been long enough for him to say something," Golias insisted. "We have to put the pressure on him." He sat on the edge of the table where Otto was eating lunch, playing with a dagger, throwing it and catching it.

Otto ignored the dagger flying up and down beside his head. "What did you have in mind?"

"You have a fast tongue. Go to Landuc and start d.i.c.kering. Take some of the Lys and Ascolet guys with you. A so-called honor guard. Let him know you're serious."

Otto shook his head. "If Prospero shows up here, you'll be defenseless."

"Neyphile can handle him."

Ottaviano set down his knife and spoon and stared at Golias. "I don't want her in on this."

"She's reliable, unlike your last sorcerer. And she's easy to deal with. Don't worry, it'd be on my tab," Golias said. He pared his left thumbnail with the knife. "If he shows up, anyway, and she takes him on, there may not be a tab to pay."

"Probably not. Prospero's got a lot of power at his fingertips." Otto thought. The girl was a hot property, unquestionably. Getting her out of their hands quickly was only to their advantage. Going to Landuc to negotiate the business Sorcerer and a (jentieman 359.

in person would force the Emperor to step one way or another, move things along.

He had to admit that Golias had the right of it: putting a little pressure on the Emperor now would work for them.

"If you're confident that you won't have any trouble you can't handle, I'll go," Otto said.

Golias grinned. "Don't sell me out."

"Of course not. Let's go through the list of fallbacks tonight."

"How many men will you take?"

"One company of Ascolet. No need for more: that's enough to show I mean business and to deal with any . . . difficulty there may be."

"I'm going to rearrange security a little," Golias said, tossing the knife and catching it by the point. He swung it back and forth, pendulum-like. "Just in case."

"Ariel!"

"Yes, Master!"

"My daughter's gone astray. Find her."

Ariel thought about it. "Where is she missing, Lord?"

"From here, my wisp-witted friend," Prospero said.

"My Lord, I mean-know you in which of the spheres she was last to be found?"

"Ah. That I know not. 'Tis likely to be the Fire's realm of Pheyarcet."

"Oh," said Ariel, and hesitated further.

"Begone, Ariel. This is no light matter. She may be wounded, ill, or lost."

Ariel rustled through the leaves of a book on the table. "I go, Master, but it will take some time . . ."

"I understand," Prospero said. "As thou understandest it had best not take too much." He gestured.

Ariel made a popping noise. "Yes, Master," he squeaked, "I fly, I fly . . ."

"Good Ariel. When hast found her, return here at once with such tidings of her state and place as canst a.s.semble."

360.

'EGzaBetfi "Yes, Master," sighed Ariel, and swished through the open cas.e.m.e.nt.

Prospero tapped at the open pages of his book with his wand.

It was the fastest way he knew of to find anything: send a Sylph. Ariel was thorough and trustworthy, if a little distractable. There was nothing more to be done, now. He couldn't Summon her back, which was the simplest way of dealing with it; he could not Summon beyond the area dominated by the cool, liquid flow of the Spring-even as he could not Summon from Landuc's Pheyarcet to Phesao-tois-and he had performed a Summoning within his Spring's realm. There had been nothing. She did not know how to shield herself, so therefore she was dead or not in range.

He preferred to think her not in range. Moreover, were she dead, Trixie would not have returned alive. The gryphon would have done anything to kill Freia's killer.

Prospero paced. Light-minded wench, he thought. He'd settle her somehow. Flouting his most plainly patent command! He muttered, "d.a.m.nation, Freia, I'll pack thee off to-nay, in sooth Pd not do that; I'd liever keep ttiee here where I can ward thee. Nay, no idle threat for thee. Should marry thee off. Give thee fitting matter to engage thee, hah. Scudamor's fond of thee; so's Utrachet, but I cannot quite see wedding thee, apple-daughter, to a man I know full well was a long-clawed burrowing eskor or a wildcat."

He snorted at the joke.

"Nay, 'twouldn't do," he tutted to himself, and stopped pacing to stare out the ungtazed window at the stars. He must ground her, but not basely. For Freia, the mate must be a peer, and strong-minded. Had Avril found out about Ottaviano yet, or vice-versa? Twould be a handsome touch. Foolish Cecilie. Pull a bag over Avril's head and tie it at his neck. Twas ill wind that blew no good, though. Prospero would have to track Ottaviano down. See what sort of fellow he was, what use might be made of him: friendly with Dewar, could be a recommendation-apprenticed with Neyphile, though he seemed not to have surpa.s.sed her Sorcerer and a Qentteman 361.

teaching or ability, nor to have learned anything from Dewar. A procedural, not an original, sorcerer.

Prospero stopped pacing and stood over his golden scrying-bowl. Dewar, he thought, and shivered. Odile's son crackled with power and anger. Yes, he had better settle Freia ere he settled with the boy.

Freia slept as much as she could, curled in a ball on the wooden bench which was her bed. There were beetles in one end of the bench, which was crumbling slowly, and she kept her feet away from them. The cell was relatively free of vermin, and relatively warm, and all she had to do, she thought, was wait until Prospero realized he'd left her behind.

The time she had fallen in the canyon and broken her leg, Prospero had brought her home hours later, with his sorcery. Where was he now?

Surely, she thought, somebody had seen her and Trixie.

Surely, she thought, Dewar would tell Prospero she had been left behind.

But it seemed to be taking a long time.

Ottaviano rode into Landuc thinking of Lunete, his wife of a year and a half's standing with whom he'd had but few days of postmarital pleasure. He wanted to see her again. Their last meeting but one-well, that had been Otto's fault, really, he'd been angry at her furious reception, had said some stupid things, had behaved like a pantomime caricature of jealousy, and he knew she'd never take a lover, she was too straitly made for philandering. Of course she was antsy, closed up in that claustrophobic castle, and she was right when she said he hadn't spent much time with her. He thought he'd made up a great deal when she'd let him come to her on his return a half-month later. He smiled, thinking of it.

He made plans to buy some peace-offerings here in the city and send them to Lys. Rubies. A tiara. Something fashionable like that. Summer silk and pictures of the newest styles.

362.

'E&za&etk Itfittey Behind him, beside him, his men checked their weapons. They had been permitted through the Gate of Winds, inside the city walls; it remained to be seen how things would go at the Palace.

At the Palace, things were progressing rapidly. The Emperor had been informed of Otto's approach by a fast runner from the city gate. The Emperor had Summoned Prince Herne and the Prince Marshal and ordered them to tighten up Palace security. The troop of men might enter the first courtyard, under the arrows of Herne's archers. Gaston was to meet and disarm Otto and escort him to the Emperor.

"He is not come to yield, Avril," Gaston pointed out. "See the green branch."

"Parley, hah. He's come to bargain. We knew he would. He is an impatient young fool," and the Emperor grinned ferociously. "We shall have him now."

Gaston bowed slightly and went out. He had not ceased to express doubts of the truth of Otto's and Golias's claim that they had Prospero's very daughter in custody. And he misliked the idea more when he thought of Lady Miranda of Valgalant. Gaston rarely followed his hunches, preferring his reason, but in this case his reason and his hunches both indicated that some evil must come of bartering a niece (if niece she were) for victory. It was no clear conquest.

So Otto and his troop were permitted into the first courtyard, which they saw perfectly well might be an ambush, and Otto alone was escorted by the courteous and close-mouthed Prince Gaston to Emperor Avril's smallest receiving-room, which had one chair, the Emperor's.

The Emperor looked him over, meeting him for the first time.

"Sebastiano's boy," the Emperor remarked.

Otto straightened from his bow with a certain chill in his glance. He was becoming irked at being called somebody's boy-first by Prospero, now the Emperor.

"You take after your distinguished grandfather," the Emperor observed, scrutinizing him. "Let us hope you have his wits. You realize, Baron, that if you do indeed have hostage Prospero's daughter, we can refuse to treat with you Sorcerer and a QentUman 363.

and point him to you when he arrives. And we daresay he will. We can let him kill you, or you kill him, and remove the victor at our leisure."

"You realize, Your Majesty, that if Prince Prospero approached me and demanded his daughter restored to him, I would instantly comply," Otto said, "and then we would, since we both have much to gain thereby, perhaps discuss matters of common interest."

The Emperor smiled slightly. "Your last sorcerous ally did not serve well," he said.

"Prospero is a known quant.i.ty, and an honorable man," Otto said, unwittingly p.r.i.c.king the Emperor.

"We are all honorable men, when our honor is worth it," the Emperor retorted. "What proof have you got that the woman is indeed his daughter?"

"Her own word, under Binding of truth."

"So at least she believes this to be true."

"There is a familial resemblance," Otto added, "which buoys the idea, and moreover she was certainly aiding him in his attack. I have no doubt whatsoever. If Your Majesty's doubts are so great, then of course we have no further need to speak." He smiled.

"You are young and your haste is unwise," the Emperor said. "We have much to discuss." He rose. "Prince Marshal, Count Pallgrave, Cremmin. Accompany us and our visitor to the White Conference Room."

Otto's visits had ceased. Freia found this disruption of routine worrying, and worry occupied her too-long waking hours. In their last encounter, she had asked him what he'd do if someone took his wife and imprisoned her like this, and he had been startled that she knew he had a wife. Dewar had mentioned it, but she didn't explain that to Otto.

That had been days ago.

When a rattle which was not that of the food-slot at the bottom of the door sounded, she sat up. It wasn't, as far as she could tell, the usual time for question-and-silence sessions.

Four armed men were outside, carrying lanterns. Freia's 364.

'LdzoBetd heart bounded and then sank. One was Golias, who had sat in on several of the sessions-the only ones when Otto had actually gotten any answers-and Freia feared him. His barely-restrained viciousness was clear to her; she smelled the reek of danger and hatred on him. She had seen him hurt Utrachet. Otto had not allowed Golias to interrogate her alone.

Golias grinned as two of the guards came in, and Freia didn't bother resisting them as they bound her hands too tightly behind her. Her wrists burned.

A veiled woman waited in the narrow, low stone corridor behind Golias. "So," she drawled, "this is the keystone of your plan."

"A hard stone."

The woman laughed softly. "We shall hammer it into shape," she said.

Golias took a dirty grey rag from his belt and shook it out-it was a sack. He put it over his prisoner's head and grabbed her elbow, dragging her along the corridor and up a flight of stairs. Freia stumbled and was shaken and hauled upright.

As they climbed, she heard sounds above the noise they made in the confined s.p.a.ce: shouts and the bang and thud of fighting. It grew louder.

Where was Otto? Freia wondered, beginning to feel more than fear.

They skirted the sounds of the fight; Freia tripped on thresholds and then on uneven cobblestones as she was taken outside. It was cold, but bright; the light leaked through the sack and made her squint. A breeze pushed the coa.r.s.e cloth against her face. It was dusty and smelled of dirt.

Golias lifted her up; someone grabbed her and dragged her bruisingly, then dropped her on wood which thumped hollow.

Wagon, Freia guessed.

More ropes were put around her, tying her legs and arms more tightly.

Sorcerer and a QentUman 365.

"The horses should be blindfolded," said the woman's voice.

The breeze brushed at her arms, her body, her legs, chilling her to the bone.

The wagon started to move. There was shouting; the woman cried something and there came a windrushing implosion, a grinding crash of stones like an avalanche. Freia's ears popped; as the air pressure returned, everything sounded dull and underwater. The fight seemed to have stopped.

"Good," Golias said, above her somewhere.

Someone screamed, a horrible pain sound. Freia whimpered in sympathy, inaudible in her sack.