“Galen will not be turned away,” said Eddis. “Gen is not the first Thief Galen has cared for.”

Neither Galen nor Petrus came out again for a while, and when they did, they both had that satisfied look of men who have met a challenge and overcome it. By then, the soldiers already awakened by the return of the king and the explosions in the Mede camp were well on their way to being ready for battle. Their officers were meeting in Attolia’s tent to discuss the plan for the day.

In the gray light of false dawn, the Medes were readying as well, but their war elephants were gone, their camp in disarray and many of their officers dead. They sent a messenger asking for a parley, stalling for time.

The king, in fresh clothes, his hair still wet from washing, climbed into the saddle of the horse they’d brought him. He pulled the reins experimentally, and the horse obediently turned in place. When Yorn Fordad approached, lifting his hand as if to lay it on the king’s knee in friendship, the horse danced aside, leaving the hand hovering in the air before the Brael gave up and let it drop.

Fordad said apologetically, “Please understand, Your Majesty, that I acted in obedience to my king.”

Eugenides laughed. “When I lie, Fordad, I don’t beg people to forgive me for it.”

Fordad bowed stiffly and said, “I will pray for your victory on the field, Your Majesty.”

“Pray that I triumph today, Fordad, or that I die,” said Eugenides, bending from the back of the horse to look the Braeling in the eye. “If I live through this day and I am not king, then all that remains will be the Thief, and every sovereign of the Continent who betrayed me will wake choking on their own blood, I swear it. Your king in his innermost chamber, with his rune stones laid out on the table and his ship lamps by his bed and his curtains trimmed in beads of carved jet, he will not be the first one to die, but the last. I say it three times, Fordad. It will be so. It will be so. It will be so.”

As Fordad staggered back, the king jerked at the reins of his horse and rode to the parley. In the confusion that followed, the Braeling took a horse and rode for Stinos and was not seen in Attolia again.

For the first time, Eddis and Sounis as well as Attolia and Eugenides rode down to the parley with the remaining Mede generals and Nahuseresh, who had taken charge of them. Uneasily, the Mede officers stood behind their self-proclaimed leader. They knew the cost of failing their emperor, and none of them had wanted to be in command, afraid their careers and perhaps their lives might already be over.

Arriving in front of them, the king smiled. “But where is Erondites?” he asked.

“I am in command here,” Nahuseresh announced.

Eugenides ignored him. “We can hardly negotiate without the man in charge.” He raised his voice. “Erondites!” he called toward the scattered tents in the distance. Standing in the stirrups, he called again, roaring at the top of his lungs, “Erondites!” And a bolt of lightning cracked the sky. It struck a tent in the Mede camp. Canvas blossomed into black smoke and red flame. As the tent burned, Eugenides said to the stunned Mede, “That is all the parley that happens today.”

In eerie silence, unbroken by any sound from either army, the king rode back across the empty battlefield. When he pulled up outside the council tent, his father dismounted and approached, laying a hand on the king’s leg. Feeling the tremor in it, he opened his arms to catch the king as he fell.

Interregnum

Eugenides was standing in the dark, alone.

He blinked, held his hand before his face, saw nothing. He rubbed his eyes and swung around, careful to keep his balance, but there was no light anywhere. The ground was hard under his feet, but not a floor. Small stones stuck beneath his boots made a scraping noise. Soft at first, there was a sound of voices in the distance, but their words and the direction from which they came were unclear.

He stretched one foot forward, accustomed to moving in darkness, and paused. There was a light as he waited, growing from a pinprick to the size of a candle flame. It was a candle flame, held in the hand of a man he recognized.

Lader, said Eugenides.

Indeed, said Lader. Exactly as you made me.

I did not make you, said Eugenides.

You made me dead. Stopped all change at this moment, made me this man forever.

You made yourself. I did not make that man that you were when you died.

Lader dismissed the objection with a shrug. It doesn’t change your responsibility for killing all the men that I might have become.

I am not a judge to know if you would be a better man if you had lived. You broke the laws and offended the gods. I kept the laws and killed you.

Did you? asked Lader. Did you strike because I had offended the gods, or because you hated me?

Because you offended the gods.

Speak truth, Eugenides, Lader compelled him.

Because I hated you.

Lader stepped forward, holding the candle higher, its flame casting brighter light and deeper shadows. The candle burned, but Eugenides could feel no heat from it. He did not take his eyes off Lader’s face.

Here is a message from the gods, Thief. Beware the house of Erondites. What an Erondites knows will destroy you. Beware, Eugenides. Your greatest danger will come from the tongueless one, if you allow it. You know I speak the truth. No one lies here.

The candle flame guttered and went out. Eugenides was alone again.

Chapter Ten

The tent walls were glowing in the light of the afternoon sun when the king rolled over on his bed and opened his eyes. Attolia was on a chair beside him, her lap desk balanced across her knees, only functional because she’d had a supporting leg added to the underside. Reaching out, the king touched her very gently, as if she might be a dream. “Are you well?” he asked.

“Of course I am well,” she said. “Are you?”

“I am. I was someplace—dark—I can’t remember. The Medes?” he asked, waking more fully.

“Routed after the death of Erondites,” Attolia reassured him. “For three days we’ve driven them back.”

“Erondites is dead, then?”

“Yes. It was his tent that burned, and they have identified his body.”

“Three days?” he said, taking note of the unusual quiet all around the tent.

“We are some distance behind the battle line. Nahuseresh has failed to rally his army and Eddis has pushed the Medes deep into the narrow part of the Pinosh Valley. We have captured a great many prisoners, including . . .” She paused, savoring the moment.

“Tell me,” said the king, impatient.

“Three elephants,” she said with the barest hint of smugness, “and two of their handlers.”

“My queen,” said the king, raising himself on his elbows. “My excellent queen.”

“The handlers’ uniforms were distinctive,” said Attolia. “We saw them at the first parley. I offered a bounty for any prisoners in those uniforms brought to me alive, and they, in turn, helped capture their animals. If you are feeling well enough, I will send Pheris with a message to break our camp here. What is it?” I heard her ask.

Sitting on stools outside the door of the tent, Chloe and I were the only attendants waiting on Attolia and the king. I was hanging on every word; Chloe, very prim, was trying to look as if she wasn’t.