Bethany smiled, nodding, and was about to return to the table when Kedryn took her elbow, discreetly propelling her through the door as he murmured, “In private.”

  “Of course.” Bethany’s keen eyes studied his face, alight with interest. “I am at your command.”

  Kedryn smiled his thanks and led her to a smaller room, where comfortable chairs were ranged before an empty hearth, a small table on which stood a bowl of sugared sweetmeats between them. He ushered the Sister to a chair and closed the door, his expression becoming serious again as he took a place hieing her. Bethany waited expectantly, sunlight glinting on her silvered hair.

  Kedryn said, “I would ask you about possession,” the statement bringing a frown to the Sister’s angular features.

  “Possession?” she queried.

  “Aye,” he nodded, marshaling half-formed thoughts. “The Messenger possessed Sister Thera, did he not? I saw her become him when I confronted Hattim Sethiyan.”

  Bethany ducked her head in agreement. “The Usurper had me under guard when you entered Audurel,” she reminded, “but that is what I have heard. Eyewitnesses told me of the transformation. ”

  “So what happened to Thera?” Kedryn asked.

  Bethany shrugged helplessly. “I cannot say for sure. I believe that the Messenger must have entered Audurel by dint of some gramarye and taken possession of poor Thera by the same thaumaturgical means, but what was, or is, her ultimate fate I cannot say.”

  “When I went into the netherworld with Wynett,” Kedryn said slowly, “I met the shade of the warrior who took my sight. It seemed he was condemned to wander in that limbo. At least until he gave me back my vision, for then I saw him whole again and he . . . disappeared. If Thera was tainted by the Messenger’s evil, might she, too, be condemned to that?”

  “Mayhap,” Bethany allowed, “or perhaps her faith in the Lady translated her elsewhere. I cannot believe she succumbed willingly to Ashar’s minion. I must admit that I have troubled myself less with thoughts of the afterlife than with the betterment of what we have now, but the teachings of the Lady tell us that those who believe—and seek to practice her work—shall enjoy serenity in whatever follows this mortal span.”

  “And Darr,” Kedryn asked thoughtfully, “did you not attend him at his death?”

  “After,” Bethany said, frowning her incomprehension. “I was summoned to the palace after his death. Why?”

  Kedryn gestured placatingly and asked, “Was he killed by natural causes? Or by Hattim? Or the Messenger?”

  “It seemed by natural cause,” Bethany murmured, “but I thought I detected the taint of fell sorcery before Hattim had me removed. And then poor Darr’s body was burned as is the custom here, so I could not ascertain the cause.”

  “Were you to decide it,” Kedryn asked, “which would you say?”

  “You ask me to choose between the bursting of his heart, some poison, or magic?” Bethany pursed her lips, staring at Kedryn’s solemn face. “And I cannot tell you for sure, but I would opt for magic.”

  “Another victim of the Messenger.” Kedryn’s voice was soft, but edged with anger. “How many others, I wonder? And are they condemned to the same limbo as held Borsus?”

  “That is not a thing I can answer,” Bethany told him, her eyes widening as she began to perceive the drift of his interrogation. “You may well find Estrevan better suited than I to resolve such matters.”

  Kedryn nodded without speaking and the Sister added, “Should Estrevan furnish you with answers, what can you do?”

  “I went into the netherworld once before,” he said, very quietly.

  “No!” Bethany leaned forward, her voice urgent as the hand that gripped Kedryn’s wrist. “You must not! Chosen One you may be, but you are still mortal. You would chance too much.”

  ‘The talisman protected me then—why not again?” Kedryn fingered the blue jewel that hung about his neck.

  ‘Then it was necessary that you regained your sight,” Bethany retorted, her voice harshened by anxiety. “Alaria’s Text spoke of that descent, and without your sight you could not have defeated the Messenger or Hattim. Do not seek to meddle now, Kedryn! The dead are dead, and if they inhabit that limbo you visited, it is through the agency of a power greater than we may understand.”

  “Darr was Wynett’s father,” he responded, “and though she does not speak of it, I know she mourns his passing.”

  “As she would mourn yours, should you essay so foolhardy a venture,” Bethany said fiercely. “And remember that she went with you then, wearing her half of the talisman, your defenses strengthened by that joining. Would you take her to that place again? Better, I think, to place your trust in the Lady and leave her to succor the dead.”

  “I would not ask Wynett to repeat that journey, yet I am reluctant to ignore such a plight.” Kedryn smiled thinly, recalling that dismal place.

  “You have other duties now,” Bethany reminded him. “You are to be crowned king, and even with this council of yours you will still be needed here. Would you ignore your responsibilities to the living?”

  “No.” Kedryn shook his head. “I would not. But I would still know Darr’s fate.”

  “Then ask Estrevan,” urged Bethany. “Gerat is Paramount Sister there and she is versed in such matters. There are scholars there who will advise you better than I am able—listen to them!”

  “1 had not intended to attempt such a venture without the guidance of the Sisterhood,” Kedryn murmured reassuringly. “But I would set Wynett’s mind at rest.”

  “Wynett is mayhap better able to understand—to accept— fete than you,” suggested the silver-haired woman. “Do not take too much upon yourself.”

  “No,” he assured her, “I shall not. In any event, it was the shamans of the Drott who gave me entry before and mayhap they would not agree again.”

  “Whether they would or not,” said Bethany, “I should counsel against it. That limbo is Ashar’s kingdom, and not a place for living flesh.”

  “No, it is not.” Memory sent a shudder through Kedryn’s body.

  “Then you will not act without the blessing of Estrevan?” asked the Sister.

  “My word on it,” Kedryn told her, smiling now, “and in return yours that you will not mention this conversation to Wynett, or any others here—they are already stirred enough by my notions.”

  “None here shall know of it from me,” Bethany promised.

  “Thank you.” Kedryn rose to his feet. “And now I had best find Wynett.”

  Bethany nodded and followed him to the door. There he left her, going in search of his bride, and she, mightily troubled, returned to the College, where she penned a report of the conversation and her fear that he might risk so foolhardy a venture. She had not, she told herself as she sealed the wax with the emblem of the Sisterhood, promised not to reveal his thoughts to Estrevan, only to those present in Audurel. She summoned a mehdri, entrusting the rider with the missive, instructing him that he was to deliver it into the hand of Gerat herself and no other, and watched the man depart, hurrying toward the docks. Gerat would dissuade Kedryn: Gerat was too sensible to bless such a wild adventure.

  Tam Lemal had no great love of night-sailing, but his task was urgent and he anticipated a bounty if he dispensed it with alacrity, so he shouted for the VendrelWs single squaresheet to stay up as the sun went down and overrode the objections of his crew. That was not too difficult as only three men rode the pitching boards with Tam, and they were his brothers and so would divide the bounty equally with the captain. They grumbled a little, but Tam’s assurance of reward quelled that and they settled to their task without further argument.

  It was a fine night, the first quarter of the moon that would see Kedryn Caitin crowned king riding graceful as a saber’s curve in a sky filled with stars. Rafts of underlit cloud were drifting in from the east, but the wind that propelled the barque hung steady behind them, billowing the pale green sail to send the VendreUe swift and smooth over the silver- traced surface of the Idre, her crimson-painted prow cutting a vee-shaped swathe that hung milky foam on the ripples of her passage. Tam lounged on the stemboards, the tiller in the crook of his arm, his eyes studying the dark water ahead. Nathan was crouched in the lookout position at the bow, his own eyes fixed warily on the river, ready to shout warning of flotsam or reefs, and Harl and Dervin were settling to sleep on the canvas-wrapped cargo that filled the scuppers.

  That was an added benefit. A hold filled with early fruit from Ust-Galich would fetch a fine price in Bayard, and the message Tam carried for Xendral, the Keshi landril, should earn the bounty he had promised himself and his brothers. The Lady alone knew how many boats, how many mehdri, were bringing word to the nobles of the Three Kingdoms of the impending coronation, or how grateful Xendral might be to receive his summons so swiftly. Tam had already received payment from the White Palace for carrying the document that now sat snug between his shirt and leathern jerkin, but there was never harm in hoping for more and so he had kept the Vendrelle moving through three nights now, docking only briefly to sample the thick, sweet beer the Keshis brewed and snatch a hurried meal when his brothers became overly insistent. Otherwise they had sailed relentlessly northward, holding to midstream, where the wind blew stronger and there were fewer vessels to impede their passage.

  Aye, Tarn thought, we should reach Bayard by late morning. The fruit can be off-loaded and I can leave Nathan to negotiate the sale for he’s skillful enough to command the best price, while I take this message to Xendral. He patted his chest, hearing the stiff parchment rustle comfortingly, the sound equating in his mind with the clatter of coins falling into his palm.

  It augured well for rivermen such as the Lemal brothers that the reign of this new king should commence with so profitable a journey, not only in terms of the pecuniary rewards, but also in the honor to be won from carrying his summons. Tarn smiled at the thought, seeing himself as a royal messenger, even though his employment had come not from Kedryn Caitin himself, but a palace orderly who had appeared with a bag well-stuffed with coin and in urgent need of honest boatmen willing to supplement the ranks of the mehdri, who were overstretched by the sheer numbers of notables deemed worthy of invitation. The Lady knew it could do no harm to gather the gentry of the Kingdoms to Audurel, for the past months had left the land confused and the folk would be reassured to have word of their new king from the lips of other than passing traders. The war with the barbarians had been bad enough, but to find that followed by alarming rumors of King Darr’s death and the assumption of Hattim Sethiyan, aided, it was said, by Ashar’s foul magics, produced a state of near-panic in the far- flung reaches of the Kingdoms. No doubt Xendral would set his people’s minds at rest before traveling south, and doubtless return with further comfort for them after Kedryn had assumed the High Throne.

  Tam nodded complacently, thinking that with the Chosen One in the White Palace the Three Kingdoms must surely enjoy a time of peace and prosperity that would benefit all.

  Then his peace of mind was disrupted by a shout from Nathan and he rose to his feet, gripping the tiller in both his powerful hands as his eyes strained to follow his brother s pointing finger.

  “Ware flotsam!" Nathan bellowed, the shout waking Harl and Dervin. “Hard aport!”

  Tam put the tiller over and the Vendrelle swung leftward, Harl and Dervin cursing as the motion rolled them from the stacked cargo into the scuppers.

  “Blood of the Lady!” Tam heard his brother shout from the prow, then echoed the oath as he saw the object Nathan had spotted. He was not sure what it was—could not be for it seemed to have no distinct shape—seeing only the vast bulk of green tinged blue-black that humped from the water on his right. A floating hulk? A turtled vessel? He was not certain. No eyots were charted on this part of the river, yet the Vendrelle might have beached on that indistinct mass. Or grounded and sunk had he not acted so promptly! Anger stoked his tongue as he shouted at Nathan.

  “Do you sleep up there, brother? How could you miss that?”

  “It was not there!” Nathan’s answer was tinged with disbelief and more than a little fear. “I swear it on the Lady—it was not there!”

  Tam snorted, turning about as the Vendrelle passed the thing to study it. It was, without doubt, curious, for it seemed not to reflect the stars or the moon that lit the night sky well enough, and he knew Nathan to be the keenest-eyed of them all. He opened his mouth to say, “It must have been,” but the words became a gargle of incredulity as he saw the shape slide beneath the water, leaving behind a swirling pool of light- speckled disturbance.

  “What goes?” Harl demanded surlily. “Do you deny us sleep?”

  “Starboard and astern!” Tam bellowed. “Mark the river! What do you see?”

  Harl scampered over the cargo to peer downriver, shaking his head. Dervin, who had landed in the scuppers beneath his brother, struggled upright cursing with all the fluency of a bom riverman. Harl called, “I see nothing.”

  Tam screamed, “Dervin! Beware!”

  Dervin looked to the stem, the rank terror that he saw etched on Tam’s features communicating so that his mouth gaped open and he turned slowly about to follow the direction of his brother’s bulging eyes, his own growing to great owlish circles as he found himself staring into a vast, fang-edged maw about which writhed greasy tendrils seemingly equipped with a life of their own. His jaw dropped and he staggered back, stark fear slowing his movements as he raised ineffectual hands against a creature of nightmarish delineament.

  Tam reacted faster: he hauled the tiller over, sending the barque hard to starboard, trusting in his brothers’ riverblood to lay hands to lines and hold their position as the Vendrelle leaned perilously over, knowing only that he must bring his craft away from that awful leviathan.

  The barque was a dancer, built for speed, and she responded eagerly, surging away from the creature as if her insensate boards knew the peril that threatened. But the monster was faster still and Tarn saw a massive, wedge-shaped head thrust forward on serpentine neck to snatch Dervin from his place. For an instant he saw one huge, red-orbed eye, but then he could see nothing save the kicking legs of his brother as the jaws closed and cut off Dervin’s scream.

  Blood spurted in thick gushes from between the oily-looking lips, visible only in the moonlight and the fluorescence of the river, for the skin of the thing seemed to absorb light, only the glowing eyes and the jagged ivory fangs clearly discernible. Tam heard a ghastly crunching sound, and Dervin’s legs disappeared into the maw.

  “Lady preserve us!” he heard Nathan yell and screamed back, “Set the foresail!” hoping they might outrun whatever demon the Idre had conjured up to assail them.

  He crouched by the tiller, unaware of the liquid that fear sent spilling into his breeks as he mouthed a prayer that the Lady grant them the speed to outpace the creature, instinct governing his actions as he put his helm over in a desperate attempt to reach the too-distant shore. At the prow, Nathan hauled the sheets that brought the triangular foresail to position and forced his trembling fingers to lash them fast. Then he snatched a knife from his belt and flailed the blade wildly at the head swooping toward him. The whetted edge hacked against a tendril as effectively as if he sought to carve granite, and the writhing, vermicular thing fastened about his arm, others securing his legs so that he found himself lifted from the deck of the barque and swung aloft, for all the world like some tidbit the monster dangled above its hideous mouth. Tam screamed imprecations as he saw that the behemoth paced his craft as easily as a Keshi charger might pace a plow horse, then closed his eyes, unwilling to witness his brother’s descent into that gaping pit of teeth.

  Unlike Dervin, Nathan did not scream as the leviathan released its tentacular grip and dropped him between its rows of serrated fangs. Harl, however, did, and flung himself into the Idre, striking for the far shore with a strength bom of pure terror. He was gone before Tam opened his eyes, unaware that he was now alone.

  Harl swam furiously, easing his pace only when straining lungs warned his near-mad mind that he would weaken too rapidly should he continue at such speed, and that the fury of his actions might attract the beast. He turned onto his back, frog-kicking in the direction of Kesh with his gaze fixed on the two shapes outlined against the river. One was clear enough, the pale green sails near-luminous in the starry night; the Other was a blur, a hulking darkness that seemed formless, immaterial, save that he had witnessed its very material solidity. He saw it swallow Nathan and arch its undulating neck, the wedge of the head driving hard into the water, seeming to drag the great, indistinct bulk of the body behind it. For an instant he thought that it was gone, Tam and the Vendrelle safe, and he opened his mouth to shout, to call his brother back to pick him up. Then his mouth snapped shut, cutting off the cry, for blackness loomed from the river ahead of the barque, an enormous, impossible blackness that climbed up and up until it hid the stars like some vast storm cloud.

  It came down directly onto the Vendrelle, snapping both masts as if they were no more than sticks of kindling, splintering the sturdy planks, sending Tam screaming into the air as the vessel broke in two. For long, fear-filled moments, Harl watched the behemoth flail among the wreckage, hearing the sound of its teeth on oak boards, the mighty splashing of its flukes, the whiplash crack of a tail that rose and fell in sparkling sprays, than he turned on his face again and began to swim with a strength he had not known he possessed, intent only on putting as much distance between himself and the leviathan as possible.

  While his brother swam, Tam Lemal found himself tossed helplessly in the midst of the creature’s destructive fury. The sundering of his barque had thrown him high in the air, still clutching the tiller, which the sheer force of that awful descent had tom loose from its mountings, and he clung to the painted wood as he saw the Vendrelle reduced to splintered, fang- marked chunks of random timber. He did not attempt to swim clear, for he knew that he could not escape that ghastly thing, and hoped that it would vent its rage on his vessel, forgetting his presence.