ONE

      Conrig Wincantor, Prince Heritor of Cathra, Earl of Brent, and Lord Constable of the Realm, ate without much of an appetite, picking at the cold roast beef, eel pie, and fine white wastelbread. He had no stomach at all for the cress salad with scallions or the dessert of pears seethed in cranberry cordial. The prince’s only dining companion was his older brother Vra-Stergos, newly ordained Doctor Arcanorum in the Mystic Order of the Brothers of Zeth. No pages served them. They had come to Castle Vanguard on a secret mission and their presence was unknown to the ordinary inhabitants of the northern fortress.

      Their meal had been set out in a small chamber lit only by a glazed loophole, adjacent to the castle solar where the council of war was to take place. Neither of them said much, but the prince could not help but notice how Stergos’s eyes lost their focus from time to time, and how he would sometimes hold his head motionless as though listening, even though this arras-hung cubby where they supped was as quiet as winter midnight on Raven Moor.

      Finally Conrig said, ‘Gossy, is there something amiss?’

      The alchymist had been sitting like a man frozen, his winecup poised halfway to his lips. Now he gave a sudden start and set the drink down with a shaky hand. ‘I don’t know.’ His voice was fretful, but then Stergos had always been a worry-wart. ‘I think I sense a presence somewhere close by, someone possessed of the talent. I said nothing earlier so as not to spoil our dinner.’

      ‘Perhaps Snudge is watching us, trying to read our lips.’ Conrig flashed an exasperated smile. ‘Damn his impudence! But he means no harm. I’ll admonish him and box his ears later.’

      ‘I wish you’d left that boy behind at Brent Lodge,’ Stergos complained. ‘It was unwise to bring him along on this crucial mission. Wild talents aren’t to be trusted! He can’t be windwatched so I never know exactly what he’s up to. Deveron’s been badly spoiled by your overindulgence, Con. He needs discipline. At sixteen, he’s quite old enough to enter the novitiate at the abbey—’

      ‘No,’ said the prince with a firmness that brooked no argument. ‘Deveron Austrey is mine, not Saint Zeth’s, and I alone will command his loyalty, erratic though it sometimes may be. You must never tell your mystical brethren or anyone else that the lad is not a common man. Is that understood?’

      ‘Yes, but—’

      ‘I need my personal spy, my snudge. He sees things other talents do not — not even you, reverend brother. Folk are wary in the presence of a professed alchymist and windvoice, but who pays any attention to the youngest of the prince’s footmen?’

      ‘He still thinks of his aptitudes as playthings! One of these days he’ll make a slip and reveal what he is to the wrong person. I’m only trying to protect you, Con.’

      ‘I know, Gossy. Search the wind one last time for intruders, then you must leave me while I gather my wits for the council.’ The prince spoke evenly, hiding the concern that suddenly touched him. There was someone watching. He felt it, too. Drinking down the last of his watered wine in a single pull, he arose from the table. ‘This cramped room is depressing. Come. Let’s go into the solar. I’ll look at the scenery while you exert your magic.’

      They left the inner chamber and stood near the solar’s huge leaded-crystal window, a marvelous thing made of hundreds of polished small panes, each one perfectly transparent. It was Duke Tanaby Vanguard’s particular pride, facing westward so as to give an expansive view of Demon Seat and the lesser peaks in the Dextral Range, silhouetted now against a glaring sunset sky that struck jewel-bright reflections from the collection of silver wine ewers, gilt flasks of ardent spirits, and glass cordial bottles set out by the window for the council attendees.

      Stergos cupped both hands over his eyes and stood still, ranging outward. He had been shaved bald for his ordination a moon ago on his thirtieth birthday, and now his head had sprouted fine golden fuzz that gave him a childlike air, even in his imposing crimson robes. Slight of body and round-faced, he had always seemed younger than Conrig, although five years separated them. The two brothers were devoted to one another, in spite of the differences in their temperament.

      At length the doctor lowered his hands. ‘It can’t be that knave Deveron riding the wind. It’s another — a mind far more adept — but God knows who it is. It seems that all of the noble guests down in the great hall have done just as Duke Tanaby bade them. None of their retinues include alchymists, windvoices, or other folk of talent, and Vra-Doman Carmorton and the rest of the duke’s own magickers are temporarily exiled to the town. Their scrying powers are meager, and they’re much too far away to see into the castle. As far as I can tell, the only practitioners in all of Vanguard are the young intelligencer Deveron and myself. And yet I’m positive that someone oversees us!’ Stergos smote his brow in vexation. ‘Ah, if only I were not newly frocked, I might serve you more competently, Con. But overseeing is so much more difficult than windspeech—’

      ‘Never mind, Brother. All will be well.’ The prince paused, turning away to stare at the spectacular vista outside the window. ‘It may be that I know who could be watching. If I’m right, she has no evil intent.’

      The doctor’s face stiffened in dismay. ‘Of course! I didn’t think of her. God’s Breath! If only there were another way for us to—’

      ‘You must not even hint at such a thing, Gossy,’ Conrig chided him. ‘If we gain at last what we have sought for so long, it will be because of her help.’

      Vra-Stergos only shook his head, not daring to say more for fear of offending his brother by casting aspersions upon the coauthor of the great new scheme. The accursed woman might even be listening from a far distance as well as watching! Such a feat was alleged to be impossible, but who could tell with Mosslanders? The devilspawn were said to be part Salka, and might very well share the monsters’ inhumanly strong talent.

      ‘Everything is ready for the meeting,’ Conrig said. ‘I have the wafers secure in my purse and no one has meddled with the wine.’

      Stergos’s eyes flickered. ‘Is there no way I can dissuade you from using them?’

      ‘I respect your misgivings, but you know there was no alternative. Go now and wait with our Heart Companions in the tower. I’ll join you as soon as the council is over and tell you everything. Take the hidden stairs.’

      ‘May Saint Zeth guide you.’ Stergos touched the golden gammadion amulet of his order hanging at his breast and returned to the inner chamber.

      Conrig waited for several minutes and then followed. The latch that opened the concealed passageway was in the curtain wall next to the necessarium, beneath a stone shelf holding a lavabo, a crock of scented softsoap, and fine linen handtowels. He pressed a knob and a low doorway swung open. After listening for footfalls and hearing none, the prince ducked inside and closed the door behind him. Much of the castle and its six great towers could be stealthily accessed via these ‘tween-wall passages and cramped spiral stairways. The things were full of cobwebs and dead insects and rat turds, poorly lit by the occasional inward-looking peephole or narrow slits or oillets in the exterior masonry. Only the duke’s family and their most trusted retainers knew of the secret warren’s existence. Conrig and Stergos and their poor simple brother Tancoron and their sisters Therise and Milyna had used the passages as a playground when they were children visiting their godfather’s castle.

      The prince went quickly to the musicians’ gallery above the great hall, thinking to watch the diners at the high table without notice and