The review stand was flanked by honor guards. Immediately in front of it stood Sisters of high rank. To one side of them stood the Guards band.

When the spectators were in place, the band began playing, sounding vaguely oriental. A short line of people entered the square, Macurdy one of them, and strode down an aisle through the crowd, more or less in time with the music. The other twelve were the highest-ranking people in the Sisterhood, administrative and military. When they reached the stand, they climbed the five steps to the top.

Vulkan watched them form a shallow backswept vee, so the crowd at the sides could see the dynast when she took her place. Then the band changed tempo and volume, the trumpets leading a fanfare. Litter bearers entered the square, carrying the dynast on a litter. Leading and flanking them were Guardsmen in dress uniforms-bright blue trimmed with white and red. Drawn sabers glinted silver at their shoulders, competing with the polished gold of plumed ceremonial helmets.

Even at a distance, Vulkan could feel the crowd's reverence. The dynast was far older than anyone else of ylvin lineage had ever been. She was a granddaughter of the Sisterhood's founder, and had led it herself for more than two centuries. Against all odds, through magicks and strength of will, she'd brought it- driven it-through the bloodbath and terrors of the Quaie Incursion, escaping both ylver and Kormehri. Had engineered the agreement with the Silver Mountain dwarves. Had made an unlikely alliance with the Lion of Farside, contributing to the punishment of the ylver, and indirectly to the death of the elder Quaie.

Starting with a camp of tents and crude shelters, at first without even a palisade, she'd created the present Cloister. And even suffering decline, had formed and driven a whole new foreign policy and economy. The Sisters were still somewhat less numerous than during their final century at Ferny Cove, but they were secure and increasing.

Or feel more secure, Vulkan told himself watching. The rank and file knew little about the voitik invasion, which at any rate was hundreds of miles away.

The litter bearers had practiced by carrying a large bowl of water on the litter, until they'd done it without spilling, even while negotiating the stairs. He did not doubt they'd perform as smoothly now.

While the crowd expected an announcement of the succession, Macurdy and Amnevi knew better. After all, Amnevi had planned this ceremony, which was to name Macurdy as the Sisterhood's military high commander. On the stand, he stood one position left of the vee's point, beside Amnevi. To his own left was General Grimval, commandant of the Guards. On Amnevi's right, stood Idri, her pregnancy beginning to show, and on Idri's right, Colonel Bolzar, the Tiger commandant. The vee was completed by executive Sisters whom Macurdy didn't know.

With minimal head movement, he examined everything. Sarkia and Amnevi believed it was here, at this ceremony, that Idri would make her move, but Macurdy gave Idri no particular attention. Her first move, he suspected, would be to have Sarkia killed, but someone else would do it for her.

The question was who. It seemed unlikely to be someone in the crowd, before the dynast reached the stand. Her escort took their duty seriously-two of them were his sons-and they had their sabers in their hands. It seemed to him it would be after her pronouncement.

As the litter reached the stand, the fanfare bridged into a quieter movement. The litter and its retinue turned, and started around the stand to the steps. As the litter passed by the band, Macurdy spotted Koslovi Rillor playing an end-blown flute. Rillor! Macurdy almost jumped.

Smoothly and carefully, the litter bearers mounted the steps. There was a small rack near the front of the stand. They engaged the litter on an elevated crosspiece, then lowered the foot to a piece sixteen inches lower. Macurdy was aware of them, but his attention was on Rillor. With the litter secured on the rack, the bearers stepped sharply back, moving to the ends of the vee, where they waited at attention. At that point the music ended, and the musicians lowered their instruments to a sort of present arms.

A single attendant, Omara, remained by Sarkia, standing behind her and to the left. Now General Grimval stepped forward, to stand just behind the litter on the right.

"Sisters! Guardsmen! Tigers!" Grimval's big voice boomed, a voice trained to bellow commands. "The dynast will now address you. Because she is frail, she will say a sentence and pause, while I repeat it for the more distant of you."

The more distant, Macurdy thought. As weak as she is, that means anyone farther than the front row. Turning his head a few degrees, he watched Rillor from the corner of his eyes. His ears, however, were tuned to the dynast.

"Sisters, Guardsmen, Tigers," she said. Her voice was weaker than it had been that spring, but it carried a sense of authority and rationality. What will! Macurdy thought.

Unobtrusively, Rillor tucked his flute in its case, freeing his hands of it. The dynast continued.

"I have few days more of life… It is time to turn over the dynast's throne to someone else… I have pondered long on who it should be."

She spoke without notes, Grimval repeating each sentence or phrase verbatim. "It must be someone strong-willed and fearless… Someone who can deal effectively with the factions in our Sisterhood… Someone respected by other rulers…"

Rillor had undone a single button on his tunic, reaching inside. Macurdy's body vibrated with readiness.

"Someone powerfully charismatic… Someone who can make war but is not truculent…"

"My God!" The whisper came from Amnevi, just off Macurdy's shoulder. "That's not…" She cut off, as if realizing she was thinking out loud.

Macurdy knew who Sarkia was about to name as dynast. His scalp crawled.

"Someone who does not want the job… but will do it wisely, forcefully, successfully… Someone with the strength to turn it over to someone else, when the time of trial is past."

Every mind, it seemed, was intent on the dynast's words. Every mind but Rillor's, and half of Macurdy's.

Rillor drew from his tunic what might have been a flute, fumbled with it, raised it to his lips. At the same moment, Macurdy realized it was no flute. Beside Rillor, another flutist had become aware of Rillor's actions, and had turned toward him, mouth opening as if to ask what in hell he was doing. In a flash, Macurdy's right hand reached across his body for his heavy belt knife-

"As our new dynast, I name Macurdy, the Lion…"

Macurdy's arm flashed back, then forward, as Rillor's chest and cheeks inflated. The heavy blade slammed into and through his breastbone as he forcibly exhaled. There was a scream, and in two strides Macurdy was off the platform, leaping to the ground, hitting it in a forward landing roll. His momentum and two long strides brought him to the fallen Rillor, over whom the other flutist was kneeling. The head of the heavy knife told Macurdy where he'd hit Rillor, and that the man was dead.

Macurdy turned to the stunned band director. "Play!" he barked. The word broke the director's paralysis, and calling an order of his own, he began to direct. Several instruments responded at once, raggedly, others picking it up. Then Macurdy bounded back onto the platform.

The dart had struck Idri, of all people, its shaft sticking out of her shoulder. She'd sunk at once to the platform, more the result of realization and shock than of the poison. Colonel Bolzar knelt over her, pulled the dart free, and stared at it.

"Put it down, Colonel," Macurdy snapped. Bolzar turned to stare at him. "Down!" Macurdy repeated. Slowly the colonel began to straighten, holding the dart like a small knife now, between thumb and forefinger. Macurdy slammed him between the eyes with the heel of his hand, and the colonel fell backward like a tree.