Idrilain's face darkened again as she compared the two letters. "I don't understand. If these are false, then they're masterpieces of forgery. Who would go to such lengths to discredit a person of such small importance? Forgive the bluntness of an old soldier, Nysander, but aside from his friendship with you and my children, what is Seregil but an exiled wastrel noble with a bit of trader's sense? He has no power at my court, no influence."

"True. Which leaves nothing of significance except his rather tenuous connection to you, or perhaps even to me. And who but the Lerans would find this of value?"

"The Lerans?" Idrilain said derisively. "A bunch of narrow-minded malcontents mouthing the empty threats even their great— grandparents didn't believe! By the Four, Nysander, the Lerans have been nothing more than a political bugbear since the time of Elani the Fair."

"So it is generally believed, my lady. Yet you must remember that I was a boy at the wedding of your ancestor and namesake, Idrilain the First, when she took the Aurлnfaie, Corruth, as her consort.

"Seven generations later, who but a handful of old wizards recall the shouts of anger outside the temple during the ceremony? Yet I tell you, my Queen, that at this moment I hear them as clearly as I did then. "A Skalan lord for the Skalan people!" they screamed as the Queen's Horse rode out with swords and clubs. And it was not only the rabble who protested, but nobles, as well, who felt their honor usurped by foreign blood. I saw these same nobles stand by Queen Lera through her oppressive reign. I watched the public protests when her half sister Corrathesthera took the throne after Lera's death."

"And yet my ancestor Corruthesthera reigned unchallenged by any revolution, and her descendants after her."

"And two of those queens died under questionable circumstances."

"Rumors! Elani died in the Great Plague, and Klia was poisoned by Plenimaran assassins."

"So history has decided, my Queen. Yet there was talk to the contrary at the time."

"Nothing was proven in either case. And without proof to the contrary, you're left standing on smoke," Idrilain asserted stubbornly. "Which brings us back to Seregil. Perhaps it would be to the Lerans' advantage to embarrass me through him. Sakor knows, I can't afford division among my own people with the threat of war hanging over us. Still, you realize that by giving me this second letter, you have doubly damned him unless you can produce proof that they're not genuine?"

"I do," replied Nysander. "And I give it to you as a pledge of my good faith, knowing I must prove him innocent or watch a man I love as my own son executed in the most horrible fashion. You have him in custody. Word will spread, just as the Lerans intend. All I ask of you is time to produce proof of his

innocence."

Pressing her palms together, Idrilain rested her forehead against her fingertips. "I can afford no show of leniency. Barien is planning to pursue the matter personally."

"And his loyalty to you is unclouded by any regard for Seregil?"

"Precisely."

Nysander hesitated an instant, then reached across the table and clasped her hands in his. "Grant me two days, Idrilain, I beseech you. Tell Barien whatever you wish, but give me time to save a man more loyal and valuable than you know."

Astonishment dawned on Idrilain's face as the implication struck home. "Seregil, a Watcher? Sakor's Flame, can I be that blind?"

"He is a master of his craft, my dear,"

Nysander said rather sadly. "Regardless of what I would have wished for him, Illior has set him a path all his own. With your permission, I would prefer to say no more, except that I gladly stake my own honor on his loyalty to Skala and to you."

Idrilain shook her head doubtfully. "I hope you never have cause to regret those words, my friend. He was a traitor once; we both know that. What you've just told me-that could be a double-edged thing."

"I stand by him, nonetheless."

"Very well, then. Two days. But I can't give you any longer, and your evidence must be irrefutable! I don't suppose I need to warn you that any interference in the due process of the law would be most unwise?"

Nysander rose and bowed deeply. "I understand perfectly, my lady."

Riding at once to the Cockerel, Nysander made no effort to hide his concern from the others waiting there.

"It is as we feared," he told them.

"A second forged letter has been delivered to the Viceregent, this one dated the sixth of Erasin. Ironically, the original was one that Seregil handed over to Ghemella as part of his scheme to entrap the forger."

"The sixth of Erasin?" Alec counted back.

"That's just after we met. We were still out on the Downs then."

"Bloody hell!" growled Micum. "Either the bastards know about Seregil's work or they struck lucky in the dark. Either way, they've fixed it so he either has to rig up some lie or reveal himself. And that could prove a death sentence in itself."

"I could say he was at Ivywell," Alec offered. "We've already set up the story that he brought me down from there. He was telling everyone at the party about it."

"I fear not," said Nysander. "That tale serves well enough in some circles, but would not bear up under the scrutiny of the Queen's inquisitors. At the very least, witnesses would be sent for from Mycena. When none appeared, you would find yourself as deeply implicated as Seregil. Besides, there is no time.

Idrilain has given us just two days' grace. I fear our best recourse is to pursue Seregil's original plan regarding Hind Street."

"I've been thinking about that," mused Micum. "It took Seregil a week to find Alben, and he's not even certain he's the right one. Assuming that we do find a cache-that there is one— what if he's not our man after all? It could take us weeks to run down information that Seregil could come up with in a few days' time."

Nysander spread his hands resignedly. "True. Yet at the moment I can think of no other option."

"If only he'd had another day," Alec exclaimed bitterly. "He was all smiles about it tonight, as if he had all the time in the world."

"It occurs to me," said There, who'd been quiet for some time, "that Alec's absence at Wheel Street this evening will surely have been remarked upon. Perhaps an appearance at the prison would not be out of place-expressions of outrage, bewilderment, and the like? While it would not be politic for Nysander to be seen there, who would question Lord Seregil's young ward bringing his protector a few necessities for the night? A blanket, perhaps, and some clean linen—"

"A lock pick!"

Thero spared Alec a withering glance. "Only if you want to guarantee your place on the gibbet beside him. My thought was that if they allowed you to see him, he might be able to pass along some helpful information. If not, what have we lost?"

"You've a bit of the spy in you after all," said Micum.

Thero looked slightly offended. "It's simple logic. My thinking is unclouded by emotion in this matter."

"Nonetheless, it is a fine idea," said Nysander, giving the young wizard an approving look. "Well done, Thero."

Alec rose and reached for his cloak. "I'll go right now! Are you coming, Micum?"

Nysander raised a warning hand. "A moment first, both of you. It is imperative that you recognize the magnitude of our actions. Should anything go awry, we will have forfeited any credibility we have left with the Queen. We could all find ourselves in the Red Tower, or worse."

Having said what was necessary, he was proud to see no signs of wavering in the others. "Very good. I must add that any misstep will reflect most disastrously on the Queen; that must be the final consideration in any decision. If this does stem back to the Lerans, any cock-up on our part would play right into their hands. Nothing would please them more, I am certain, than the appearance of a widespread conspiracy that includes myself. With that in mind, I pray for Illior's favor to grant us all luck in the shadows."