A courier arrived, and hurried to whisper in Andruth’s ear. The old warrior said, “Your Majesty, there is news from the east-a messenger from the governor of Caergoth!”

The messenger came forward. Although exhausted and still covered by the dust of his journey, he saluted his emperor smartly.

“Wornoth, by Your Majesty’s grace Governor of Caergoth and Marshal of the Plains Hundred, sends you greetings,” the messenger declaimed.

He then described rather grim conditions in Caergoth. The city was strongly held by eleven hordes, but food was in short supply as marauding nomads had cut off incoming supplies.

The emperor appeared bored by another litany of trouble, but the courier’s final piece of news pierced his disinterest.

“There is good news Your Majesty! We have word of a victory over the plainsmen!” Surprise rippled through the council. “Lord Wornoth has it on good authority that the raiding tribes of Chief Tokasin were defeated near the razed town of Juramona.”

The name of Tol’s hometown made Valaran’s pulse quicken.

“Who has done this? What general? What hordes?” Ackal V queried sharply.

The courier flushed. “Nothing more is known, Your Majesty. Foragers from Caergoth caught some nomads fleeing south. Lord Wornoth had them questioned. Under torture the savages admitted that their chief, Tokasin, had led some four or five thousand plainsmen to Juramona to destroy a band of Ergothians. Instead, he was himself destroyed!”

“Andruth, what imperial troops remain in the vicinity?” the emperor asked.

The old general, lately come to his post, plainly didn’t know. “They could he remnants of Lord Bessian’s men.”

The courier shook his head. “Forgive me, Majesty, great lords, but the nomads said the Ergothians were not Riders of the Great Horde. They fought on foot.”

Astonishment gusted through the audience hall. Valaran, found her husband glaring at her. His thoughts were plainly the same as hers, only far less kindly intended.

“Where’s Winath?” Ackal shouted. “Send the Mistress of the White Robes forward!”

Steady old Winath slipped through the press of armored warlords. She looked small among such company, but carried herself with great poise.

“Old woman,” Ackal said, “scry for me what’s happening at Juramona. Put all your sages to work on this. Nothing else is important right now.”

“Yes, Majesty.” After a brief pause, she added, “We’ve not had much success scrying the distant provinces, sire. An unknown power obscures every scene, like a wall of fog.”

The emperor’s eyes were hard. “Your failures interest me not at all, White Robe. Find out what I want to know, or give way to someone who can.”

Winath understood him perfectly. If she did not succeed, she would face the same gruesome death as her predecessor, Oropash.

As the wizard departed, Valaran, claiming fatigue, excused herself. She exited slowly and with all decorum, but outside the audience hall, she dismissed her escorts and hurried up a small, hidden staircase that led to the rear of the imperial library.

A male scribe working within uttered a startled squeak as he beheld the empress’s entrance. He fled as the law required, and the other scribes likewise abandoned the library. As the main doors banged shut behind them, she knew she need not fear interruption.

She flipped her veil back over her head. Heart hammering, hands shaking, she took down the cedarwood chest that held the Ergothinia and quickly freed the magic mirror from its hiding place. She lifted its lid, but only her own wide, shadowed eyes stared back at her from the mirror’s perfect surface.

“Where are you, wizard?” she hissed. “I must speak with you!”

She continued her attempts to contact him until the lamp’s oil was exhausted and the smoky yellow flame went out. Helbin never appeared. Valaran slammed the mirror box shut, all but cracking the precious glass with the force of her frustration.

Where was Helbin? He was supposed to remain at Tuva’s Blockhouse on the Plucked Path, keeping watch on the advancing bakali, while waiting for Lord Tolandruth to appear from the east. Valaran had no doubt the victory at Juramona was Tol’s doing. Only he could lead foot soldiers successfully against swarms of horsemen. But where in Chaos’s name was Helbin?

Valaran took a deep breath, mastering her emotions. She had to maintain her poise, or Ackal V would know his suspicions were correct. He would know Tol was back in the empire. There could be any number of innocent reasons for Helbin’s silence. He might be involved in an incantation, or perhaps he’d left the blockhouse for a short time and not taken his mirror.

Or perhaps he’d been detected! The wizards in the Tower of High Sorcery had not gained their places by being foolish. Winath’s people might have found Helbin and neutralized his activities. He might even have fallen victim to random brigands or nomads.

She returned the mirror box to the cedar case, and the case to its place on the shelf. Her fears were pointless. Whether Helbin was lost, she certainly was not. She had many resources, her design would go forward. As long as there was breath in her body, she would not give up.

And what of Zala? The half-breed had had plenty of time to find Tol, and perhaps she had succeeded. Valaran could easily imagine Tol, upon learning of his hometown’s fall, rushing there to rally the survivors in the province. It would be a logical step, and an honorable one, just like him. It also would explain both Zala’s tardiness and the unexpected victory over Tokasin’s rampaging tribesmen.

For the first time in weeks, Valaran smiled. Even now Tol might be on his way to her.

She seated herself at a nearby table. Taking a fresh page of vellum and a sharp quill from the small store on the table, she unfastened the pendant from around her neck.

The pendant was a rose, wrought in silver, three finger-widths wide. Hollow, it was actually a tiny flask. Such trinkets were nothing out of the ordinary-two other intricately worked pendants had been made for the empress, to hold the scents she preferred. Valaran had chosen the innocuous silver rose to hold not perfume but a special ink. She’d learned of this unique fluid while reading the private memoirs of the Empress Yetai, chief consort of Emperor Ackal III.

She opened the tiny concealed cap and dipped a nib in the ink. On touching the page, the colorless ink turned pale lavender. Valaran wrote swiftly. As the ink dried, it faded from sight, and would become visible again only when the letter was held in steam containing certain herbs. Empress Yetai had used the vanishing ink to communicate with her lover, Lord Gonz Hellmann, as they plotted the murder of her husband.

Valaran preferred not to dwell upon the final fate of Yetai: betrayed by her lover to save his own life, the long-ago empress had been found guilty of treason and executed by her husband.

The note was addressed to her chief agent in the city. The plan is progressing, she wrote. The Wolves are coming, but do not fear. Proceed as you have been doing. Our reward comes soon.

Even with the concealment of Yetai’s ink, she kept her words vague. After adding some coded details about money and arms, she turned the parchment over and wrote on the other side, in normal ink, an innocent order for writing supplies for the imperial library. The order would be delivered to the Scriveners’ Hall today, where her minion would pass it along to its true recipient, who knew how to uncover the secret message.

Valaran tucked the sealed missive into the sleeve of her gown. In the corridor outside the library she encountered the chief White Robe, Winath.

The wizard greeted her. “Seeking a palimpsest?” Valaran asked.

“No, Majesty, I seek you.”

Valaran offered her chilliest royal smile-lips firmly together, eyes half-closed-as she looked down at the older woman. “Yes?”