“My lord,” she purred. “Are you ready to learn the night?”

“Yes,” he said, his pulse quickening. She bowed again and turned, running lightly along the bricks of the cornice. He swallowed and shrugged his cloak off of his shoulders. Exhaling, he-followed, the rooftop and the buildings fading into a blur as they flashed past. At the end of the house, Alais sprang forward off the ledge, her hair flying out behind her as she vaulted over the dark canyon of the alleyway that separated the house from the next building.

Maxian, too, leapt out into darkness, hitting the end of the ledge at a flat-out run. Wind rushed past, and then there was a sharp thudding under his feet as he landed on the warehouse roof. A flicker of liquid light flared away from his boots and his knees flexed with the impact. His blood seemed afire with delight. The blond woman ran on ahead, her laughter floating back to him in the wind of her passage. The Prince picked himself up and sprinted after her. At the far edge of the warehouse roof she sprang up into the air. Maxian’s breath hissed between clenched teeth, seeing her vault up onto the side of the next building.

“O lucky cat,” he snarled, gathering himself for his own leap.

“How long have your people been in the city?” Maxian’s voice was a little raspy. His legs and arms were leaden weights from the effort of following Alais across the rooftops. He leaned back against the legs of a great bronze statue, his head in shadow. Moonlight fell across the valleys and mountains of the city that lay below them. Alais sat close by, her arms wrapped around her knees, which were drawn up to her chin. At their backs, the summit of the towers that adorned the Temple of Apollo formed the highest point in the city. Only a bronze of the god rose above them, his crown of gold gleaming even in the near-dawn darkness. Broad expanses of tiled roof and more statues ornamented the temple below. The entire city slept.

“Long?” she said dreamily. “No, I suppose not. I have only been here for seven years. The Matron, she has always been here. Even when crude men first put stone upon stone for shelter, I think she was watching with her cold eyes from the darkness. This is why she rules, she is the oldest.”

Alais flexed her hands, seeing the long nails flash in the moonlight. “I am quicker, and stronger, fleet of foot. But she is the oldest and she rules here.”

“Where did you come from?” Absently he reached out and ran his hand across her smooth back. She stretched under his touch, arching her back, and slid closer to him.

Under the silk, her skin was hot, warming him in the cold night air.

“I came,” she said, leaning her head on hands, wrapped around his knee, “from the north. From high mountains crowned with ice and snow, from highland valleys filled with bright flowers and deep stands of great green trees. My family lived in the high places, above the abodes of men, hunting as we have always done. The air is so clear there, free of the stink of fires and so many men. It was a delicious time. I miss it.”

“Why did you leave?” Maxian rubbed the skin behind her ear and she turned her head, making a low rumbling sound at the back of her throat.

“War came. The night Kings and their blood-drinkers came up the long valleys with bright spears and fire. My people fought and lost, even when the humans in the villages rallied to us. The Dragon-lord and his crimson banner could not be defeated. All of my brothers and sisters died, fighting at Srenu fort. The humans thought it was our one chance for victory-but it was only a trap and a feast for the Dragon.” •

Alais looked up at him, her pupils expanded in the darkness to fill her whole eye. “My people did not have someone like you, my lord. There was no one to lead us, to command us, to understand that victory must be paid for in blood.”

“Do you think,” he said, his voice raw with doubt, “that it is worth it, to pay for victory in blood, to spend the lives of some so that some greater purpose might be achieved?”

She sat up, turning to face him, her hand on his thigh. “Listen to me, my lord. You are a Prince of your people, not some common man. It is the duty of a Prince, or a King, or a chieftain, to see the greater good for his whole people. The lives of individuals must be weighed against the lives of a whole people.” Her voice was strong and sure. “In desperate times, some must be spent to save the tribe.”

“Have I done that?” Maxian’s voice was distant, his face troubled by evil memories. “Have I saved anyone? Everything that I have touched, trying to save, has died so far, and those who remain are so close to death with each day…”

“You will save them,” she said, digging her claws into his leg. “You will save the world. You are strong enough, my Prince, to pay the cost.”

Alais stood, her hair swinging out behind her shoulders. She took the Prince’s hand in her own, pulling him up. “Come, my lord, the sun will rise soon. Time for one more race.”

THE VALLEY OF THE ARAXES, PERSIAN ARMENIA

H

Dwyrin bent close over the surface of the stream, the round disk of the sun glittering up from the waters into his eyes. The water was cold, born in high mountain springs and melted snow. He was stripped to his waist, his pale freckled skin dewed with sweat. Each hand he held just above the water, drifting this way and that like the shadows of the few clouds that marred the otherwise perfect blue bowl of the sky. Around him, spreading out on either side of the stream, was the army of the Emperors. A camp was rising on either bank, the armies segregated not by race or nation but by the order of their march.

Soon, within days, the Romans would meet their allies for the first time. At the moment, however, Dwyrin shut out the sound of axes on wood, the shouting of centurions eager to see their men complete the raising of their tents, and the preparation of cleared lanes among the brush and stands of trees. He focused on the flickering shadows of fish in the stream. Old experience, from when he was only a lad, taken in hand by the great paw of his father, told him that fat-bellied fish, their flanks stippled with pink and gray and black, were waiting.

His hand dipped into the water slowly, without making even a ripple on the fast-moving surface. He ignored the chill in his feet, clammy dampness of his trousers. His hands nestled between a pair of rocks, matching the current. He waited, his breathing steady and even. A fine fat trout swam into the channel among the rocks, brushing over his hand with its supple skin of tiny scales. A grin flickered for a moment on his features, and his fingers moved gently, caressing the flanks of the fish. It shivered at his light touch, but he continued to tickle it gently.

Then Dwyrin’s hand darted and the fish thrashed in his grip, but it was too late. The Hibernian laughed and strung it on a line of cord that hung from his waist, sliding an arrow of bone through its gills. It joined six of its fellows on his belt. Dwyrin turned at a sound.

On the bank, clad in a simple white gown and half cloak of pale green, a young woman was clapping her hands in delight.

“Oh, well done!” she called out, shading her eyes with one pale white hand. Dwyrin flushed and, remembering his manners, bowed. The woman bowed back but then sat down heavily. Dwyrin splashed through the stream, weaving his way among the rocks, to the bank. The lady, for the quality of her bracelets and hairpins marked her as one-, was a little pale. The Hibernian could see, too, that she was very pregnant.

“Domina,” he said, his voice concerned, “are you all right? Should I call your servants?” ‘

“No!” she said, though she was short of breath. “They cosset me to death. Here it is, a gorgeous late-summer day-the sky like the sea, the air freshened by wind. I refuse to sit inside and listen to the natterings of my maids. We are in uncharted lands, filled with savages and Persian spies-I should like to see something of the land I travel through.“