"It is no laughing matter. If so flagrant a violation of the Faerlonnish heavy-arms restriction is directed to the governor's attention, he will have no choice but to-"

"Close his eyes, else lose the most generous of friends," Aureste concluded. "Don't concern yourself; Uffrigo doesn't wish to trouble me in that particular fashion. In any case, it's a risk I'm willing to undertake."

"Speaking of risk, have you considered the danger of launching a direct assault upon a stronghouse containing Jianna? If the cannon fire doesn't kill her, the defenders might. You would do well to proceed by way of negotiation."

"Excellent advice. When I reach the stronghouse, I'll send word to the inhabitants that their lives stand upon my daughter's health and safety. If they harm her-if she suffers the slightest injury, even so much as a bruise-then I will execute every man, woman, and child that I find within those walls. How do you like my diplomacy?"

"An empty threat, I assume. You would not commit such an atrocity." His brother smiled chillingly and Innesq suggested, "You hazard all, if you drive them to desperation."

"They've clearly striven to do as much to me. But come, enough of this. You must trust me to manage this affair competently, as I trust you to manage Belandor House in my absence. Keep the accounts up to date, no matter how they bore you. Maintain discipline among the Sishmindris and resist your own inclination to indulge them. Don't let Nalio do anything too overwhelmingly stupid. Keep your workroom door shut and try not to loose any forces apt to tear the place apart."

"I think it unlikely that you will return to find our home in ruins."

"Humor my vanity, brother. I choose to regard myself as indispensable."

"Am I mistaken, or are you not in a remarkably good humor, all things considered?"

"You're not mistaken. I am in a good humor. For longer than I care to recall I've waited here, knowing that Jianna needs my help but powerless to assist her. I've loitered, I've fretted, I've scoured taverns, I've waited upon that malignity of a Taerleezi governor's pleasure. Have you the slightest inkling how galling it's been?"

"An inkling. Probably not more."

"I've roasted like a pig on a spit. Now it's over, the paralysis has broken, and I'm free to move again."

"You will join this squadron you have bought somewhere beyond the city walls, I suppose."

"Yes, at Strevorri Field. The Viper demands discretion. My tavern scum is already on the move, shepherded along by the best among my bodyguards. The remainder of the household crew, their livery cloaked, ride for the city gates singly or in pairs. I myself travel in a plain little unmarked carriage, fit for a tradesman, accompanied only by the driver and a single armed retainer. I'll be more than anonymous, I'll be next to invisible."

"Any Sishmindris in your force?"

"I've no use for the frogs. Those amiable creatures I leave to you."

"And then?"

"And then we proceed along the VitrOrezzi Bond as far as Abona, where we leave the main road and take to the hillside trails. If we maintain a smart pace and our guide is worth his price, we reach the stronghouse late tomorrow night. The residents will wake to cannon fire."

"The residents. You've not been particularly communicative, but I gather that we are dealing with the former Magnifico Belandor's people."

"How did you discover that?"

"Better for you that you do not know. Have you the stomach to confront Onarto Belandor in person?"

"If he is still in this world," Aureste returned smoothly. "Why should I not?"

"There was a wife and a couple of children, I remember. You'll not wage war on the helpless?"

"If they survived, the sons grew to manhood long ago. As for the wife, I remember her well, and trust me, she was anything but helpless. As far as waging war on them goes, I've no such inclination. If my daughter is restored to me uninjured, I'll spare the lives of all, but there must be punishment."

"To what end? So long as Jianna is safe, what else matters?"

"Justice. Future safety and peace of mind. These outlaws have dared to strike at my family."

"These outlaws are your family."

"An attack upon myself signifies little, I'm inured to such things. But to aim at my nearest kin-my innocent daughter, my only child-"

"And your sister. Remember Flonoria."

"Always." The infinitesimal widening of Aureste's deep eyes suggested belated recollection of Flonoria's forgotten existence. "It must never happen again. These criminals will learn the consequences of such villainy. They will learn well."

"What will you do?"

"I'll know when I do it."

"Perhaps you should consider, when you are busy meting out punishment, that this attack has not been launched without cause."

"Indeed. Jealousy and bitterness are sharp spurs."

"What hand sharpened them?"

"My own, you'd say? No doubt these people hate me for accepting the title of magnifico, but what was the alternative? Should House Belandor, one of the Six of the Veiled Isles, have faded and failed for want of a master? Should every Belandor among us have followed the fugitive Onarto into the wilderness? Evidently Jianna's abductors believe so."

"Is that all of it, brother? Have they no other grievance or injury?"

"What do you suggest?" Aureste stood very still.

"Aureste, I am not quite the otherworldly dreamer that you take me for. I am crippled, but neither blind nor deaf, and even I, mewed up here within my workroom, have heard the rumors. It is widely suspected that you engineered the Magnifico Onarto's downfall. It is even said that you personally denounced him to the Taerleezis."

"And you choose to believe this slander?"

"I have carefully avoided choosing."

"There's a neat thrust. How long have you been nursing dire suspicions, my brother? And who are you to accuse me?" Aureste radiated righteous indignation. "You know nothing of these matters. You were little more than a boy when Onarto fell. You weren't even in Vitrisi at the time, but off drudging as apprentice to some foreign adept or other."

"Quess Orlazzu, of the Six, emigrated from Faerlonne after the war."

"Very well. The point is, you weren't here to see for yourself, yet you don't hesitate to believe the worst of me."

"I hesitate often. Listen, it is neither my place nor my desire to judge you, particularly now. I only ask that you keep the past in mind when you meet our kinsmen, and choose your course accordingly."

"The treatment that Jianna has received shapes their fate. There's nothing more to be said. If we continue, we'll quarrel, and that's the last thing I want."

"Or I. Go then, and bring her home safe."

"I will." All rancor forgotten, Aureste clasped his brother's hand, then turned and departed the workroom. His long, buoyant strides bore him through corridors unusually depleted of able-bodied guards and sentries. Presently he crossed the gleaming vestibule and passed through the front door. A humble little unmarked carriage waited at the foot of the marble stairs. He took his place within, signaled the driver, and the vehicle moved off. Seconds later the great gilded gates at the foot of the drive swung wide, permitting exit into Summit Street.

Through the Clouds the carriage clattered, as far as the White Incline whose steep grade descended from the exalted realms of wealth down into the heart of Vitrisi. There, as predicted, the commonplace conveyance attracted little attention, and its unpopular passenger went unnoticed. There were no flying rocks, no insults riding on the breeze, and it came to him that he had all but forgotten how pleasant it could be to travel as a normal citizen, object of nobody's detestation.

The passage to the northeast gate was exceptionally circuitous, as several of the thoroughfares offering the shortest route were blocked off with tall wooden stockades bearing the red X of the quarantine. A couple of the neighborhoods so confined were surprisingly prosperous, yet their smoky air, redolent of the mass funeral pyres, might have wafted straight from the Spidery slums.

The detours were navigated in time, and the sun was still at its highest, almost directly overhead, as Aureste's carriage departed Vitrisi along the VitrOrezzi Bond, en route to Strevorri Field and a rendezvous with a squadron of ruinously expensive Taerleezi guards.

Vinz Corvestri tried hard to concentrate on the words. The epic Journey of the Zoviriae, one of the classics of Faerlonnish literature, had always been one of his favorites. As a boy he had gloried in the huge tale of war, adventure, and heroism, identifying himself with the character of Soliastrus, powerful and benevolent arcanist. When fully caught up in the story, he had not infrequently forgotten to feed himself. Today he sought no such profound immersion, but only brief distraction; sought and failed to find it. The rhythm of the verses was as stirring as ever, the deeds of the characters as inspirational, but none of it had the power to tear his thoughts for a single instant from the prospect of the night's activities. The sneak attack upon Belandor House. The preemptive strike, he reminded himself. A project dear to the heart of the Faerlonnish resistance movement. A very necessary act of self-defense on the part of Vinz Corvestri. The plan was complete, he was inescapably committed, and there was no sense in agonizing over it.

Vinz fixed his eyes on the quarto page before him: Grey Soliastrus raised his staff aloft And called upon the power of his mind To catch the lightning bolt midway between The sky and mountaintop; to hold it fast Suspended motionless across the vault Of night. The lucent beacon overhead, Its flight arrested and its glory chained, Proclaimed the mage's triumph to the world.

Halt a lightning bolt in midair and hold it there? An impressive feat indeed, and certainly exceeding Vinz's own capabilities. Not that he would do it if he could. The poem never seemed to address the issue of the ultimate explosive liberation of all that pent energy. Sooner or later the lightning bolt would find release, complete its interrupted flight, and when it finally hit the ground, the gigantic discharge would probably incinerate all living creatures within a radius of miles. There would be fire everywhere ... There would be fire at Belandor House tonight. There would be screams, glinting steel, blood, groans ...

Vinz shuddered. He wanted no part of it. For two decades and more he had aided the resistance, giving freely of his time, his money, and his arcane skill. Had his involvement come to light, he would have suffered execution at Taerleezi hands, despite his rank and lineage. Throughout the years, however, he had always managed to hold himself aloof from violence. He was ill-suited by temperament, training, or physique to active physical endeavor; moreover, his talents were too valuable to risk in the field, or so he preferred to believe. Tonight, however, his cherished immunity lapsed. He would not only accompany the resistance attack force, he would actually walk at its forefront; unavoidably so, for he alone possessed the ability to overcome the assorted arcane safeguards doubtless reinforcing the mundane defenses of Belandor House. The commandos would never get in without him; there was no help for it.

The fury, the destruction, the wholesale slaughter ... He could see it all, he could almost hear and taste it. Horrible. And all the more horrible, he could not help but consider, should the blood that would flow within hours happen to include any of his own. Not impossible. The guards of Belandor House were trained fighters and well armed. He, the Magnifico Vinz Corvestri, arcanist of the first rank-well, high up in the second rank, at the very least-could be hideously wounded or even killed. Mere hours from now, he might be lying dead in a puddle of precious Corvestri blood.

And that would be that. He would never see his son again. Or his wife. Would she care? Would she even notice?

Vinz discovered that his mouth was dry and his forehead wet. Drawing a deep breath, he sat up straight and squared his shoulders. His fears were puerile. The simplest of arcane air-shields would easily ward off the primitive blades and missiles of Belandor House's guardians. Not so much as a drop of his own blood would be lost. The destruction of the household members, the Sishmindris, the mansion itself with its many treasures-all regrettable necessities. And at the end of it all, the prize of all prizes-Aureste Belandor would be gone forever. Aureste would die at the hands of his own countrymen, as he had so richly deserved for so many years, and then at last there would be peace. No more fear, loathing, jealousy, suspicion. Only peace.

Worth one ugly night, wasn't it?

A light tapping impinged upon his cogitation. The door of his study creaked open, and his wife stepped into the room. Surprised, Vinz stared at her. Attired in a simple, exquisitely cut gown of ash-grey silk, her autumnal hair wound into a heavy knot at the nape of her neck, Sonnetia embodied remote elegance. Often her graceful self-possession disconcerted him, even after half a lifetime of marriage. Not today, however. Today, she was the one with cause for discomfort.

"Magnifico, a moment of your time," Sonnetia requested in her low, well-modulated voice.

"You have disobeyed me, madam." Whatever discussion ensued, Vinz meant to command it from the outset, to command her. And high time. He had made a good beginning in the presence of Lousewort, three days earlier, and now he was determined to maintain his advantage. "I ordered you to your chamber, and that command has not been revoked. Yet here you are. I am displeased."

"I regret your dissatisfaction, sir. May our reconciliation restore your good humor."

"What reconciliation do you propose?"

"I've spent the last three days confined to my apartment. Whatever the nature of my offense, I've been sufficiently punished. I've come to ask for my liberty."

I'm sorry. Can you ever forgive me? The craven words trembled on the verge of utterance, but he managed to hold them in. He had played the weakling long enough, and things were changing now. She'll hate me forever. Another feeble fear. She wouldn't hate or blame him for asserting his rightful authority within his own home. Once she got over her initial shock, she would come to respect him, perhaps even admire him. For the first time. But the respect he wanted did not yet exist, as her attitude-despite the punctilious propriety-too clearly demonstrated. Vinz studied his wife. Her beautiful, closed face displayed no trace of uncertainty or trepidation. There was not the smallest doubt in her mind that her husband would yield to her will, as always. He was so compliant, so fair and reasonable, so amiable and predictable. So eager to please, so boring.

But not always.

"In demanding your liberty, you take far too great a liberty, madam," he informed her. "You might have sent me a written petition. Instead you've chosen to flout my commands and quit your chambers without my leave. Your disobedience is unmannerly and unwomanly. When you've learned how to conduct yourself, we'll discuss the restoration of your privileges. In the meantime, you will return to your chambers and await my pleasure."

She was staring at him impassively, but he had the distinct sensation that he had gone too far and a qualm of doubt unsteadied him. He came within a breath then of retracting his words, apologizing, crumbling, but once again succeeded in controlling the impulse.

"My incarceration serves no purpose," Sonnetia observed quietly. "Various household matters demand my attention, and it is best that I resume my duties. Pray you, Magnifico, favor me."

Impossible that he yield the upper hand upon demand. Assuming an attitude of chill disapproval, he inquired, "Will you oblige me to repeat my commands?"

"What-is-the-matter-with-you?" Her enunciation was achingly precise.

Vinz shifted his weight uneasily. She had not raised her voice in the least and her face remained expressionless, but it came to him, as it did from time to time, that her habitual composure was achieved only by means of constant self-control. Not unlike a lightning bolt caught midway between the sky and mountaintop. And sooner or later, the lightning bolt would find release, and he did not want to be in her vicinity when it did.

Intimidated by his own wife? No wonder she didn't respect him.

"Leave me, madam," he commanded.

She did not obey, but remained where she was, motionless and staring at him. Her analytical scrutiny was well nigh unbearable. When he thought he could stand no more, she spoke. "You are not yourself."

"I am very much myself, perhaps for the first time." He could not suppress a certain audibly defensive note.

"You've been speaking and behaving strangely. It began the evening I walked in on you and that man here in this study."

"Forget about him. My visitors are no concern of yours."

"That wasn't the first time he's been here."

"I said, he's no concern of yours!" He heard the shrillness in his own voice and deliberately lowered the pitch to admonish, "I won't have you meddling."

"Your discourtesy and petty tyranny date from that evening."

"You will not speak to me in that fashion! I forbid it, madam."

"You were ill-tempered, unpleasant, and unaccountably uneasy," Sonnetia recalled. "You very much wanted to know what I'd overheard, which amounted to no more than three words. Something about a military strike and the name Belandor. It meant nothing to me at the time, and indeed I'd never have given it a second thought, but for your peculiar behavior. I'm thinking about it now, however, and the implications are terrible. You are not-surely you can't mean to launch some sort of attack upon Belandor House?"

"How dare you interrogate me, madam? How dare you?" Vinz was doing his best to conceal his dismay. He had never confided in her, she had little if any significant information, and yet somehow she had guessed correctly. Was this the proverbial feminine intuition at work, or something more? Had she been spying on him? Relaying information to Belandor House by way of her maidservant, perhaps? Or was it simply a lucky hit, enabled by his own blunders? ... indeed I'd never have given it a second thought, but for your peculiar behavior. Whatever the explanation, he could not let her know that she was right, and he most certainly could not allow her communication with anyone outside Corvestri Mansion. He marshaled his forces and returned fire. "I have ordered you back to your chambers. Obey me, madam. Now!"

"I desire an answer."

"Are you defying me?"

"I'll return to my chambers when you've assured me that you are not involved in some sort of resistance plot. Only give me your promise that you won't take part in anything dangerous and destructive, and I'll gladly go."

"I'm hardly obliged to bargain with my own wife in my own house. I am the master here-a point you seem inclined to overlook."

"Your choices and their consequences directly affect the welfare and future of our son-a point you seem inclined to overlook."

"You don't seriously imagine that I'd jeopardize Vinzille in any way?"

"If involvement in resistance activities results in your arrest and execution, then Vinzille stands to lose his noble rank and his entire Corvestri fortune. Have you considered that?"

Her husband's safety did not concern her in the slightest, Vinz noted without surprise. Her care was for her son. His sense of resentment deepened, along with his determination to assert himself. Swiveling in his chair, he grasped the tapestry bellpull that hung behind his writing desk and yanked it hard. A big liveried Sishmindri answered the summons at once.

"Escort the magnifica back to her apartment," Vinz directed. "Station yourself at the door and see to it that she does not emerge."

Sishmindri faces rarely communicated anything, but Vinz fancied that he caught a brief flash of astonishment in the great golden eyes. The amphibian's head dipped in mute acquiescence.

"I do not deserve this." Sonnetia was standing stiff-spined, eyes stormy with incredulous anger, but her voice remained low and even. "It is unbelievable. What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I've recalled at last that I am the Magnifico Corvestri."

"I don't understand you. And you don't understand me if you expect me to accept insult and humiliation. I've been a dutiful wife to you for all these years, but there are limits. I'll not tolerate abuse."

"You'll tolerate the rightful authority of your husband, madam. It is a lesson you should have learned years ago, but I trust it is not too late to teach you." Vinz snapped his fingers, engaging the regard of the Sishmindri, whose house-name he did not recall and whose real name he had never known. "Remove her."