The doors to the emperor’s rooms stood wide open.

Surprisingly, the opening was flanked by two ordinary soldiers, members of the Household Guard. Ackal V had relied on his Wolves so long Valaran scarcely saw regular Householders anymore. One of the soldiers escorted the empress and her ladies within.

Even from a distance, Valaran could feel the absence of the stifling heat Ackal usually maintained in his chambers. The cavernous hypostyle hall was rapidly cooling to normal. She walked a little faster.

The fire had been allowed to die out in the enormous fireplace. The emperor, wearing nothing but a soldier’s white loincloth, stood before it. He was drinking wine straight from a tall silver urn. Piled on the floor around him and on his bed were the furs, gloves, and heavy clothing he usually wore. The lamplight showed how emaciated he’d become. His ribs were easily visible, and the knobs of his collarbone stuck out like doorknobs at the base of his hollow throat.

Paralyzed by the sight of their nearly naked sovereign, the empress’s escort fell back in disarray. At Valaran’s command, the warrior escorted them out and she found herself alone with her husband.

“Lady, what day is it?”

Taken aback, Valaran regarded the emperor in silent confusion. He repeated the question, and she stammered, “Day four of the Quarter Moon of Luin, Your Majesty. Year Seven of your reign.”

“I did not ask the year!” His temper was unchanged, at least.

He picked up his discarded trews and used them to wipe sweat from his face and chest. “I feel as though I’ve come out of a fever. It was hot as dragon’s breath in here!” he exclaimed, drinking again from the urn.

Valaran’s thoughts were racing. A symptom of Ackal V’s madness, as far back as when Mandes was still alive, was an extreme sensitivity to cold. Obviously something was amiss. Had his madness veered onto another course?

“Helbin,” said Ackal V, lowering the pitcher of wine.

Thank the gods she wore a veil. Hearing that name made Valaran’s face flame with alarm. Her hands, tucked into her sleeves, gripped her forearms tightly. “Who, sire?” she stammered.

“The Red Robe. You know who I mean. I want Helbin found and arrested.”

Was he toying with her? She cleared her throat and asked, “For what charge, Your Majesty?”

“Treason. This business of our seers not being able to observe the bakali-they must have some magical aid.” He waved a hand. “Any idiot could see it. Helbin disappears, then our search for the invaders is stymied. And the Red Robe’s expertise?” The emperor grinned, showing long teeth. “Protective wards and veils of obscurity! He’s aiding the lizards the same way that Mandes did decades ago. I want him dragged back here in chains. Then we’ll find out what the bakali are doing.”

He swept the debris of clothing and furs from his wide bed and climbed into it, dismissing her.

Cautiously, she asked, “You Majesty, why do you give me this order? Such matters are not usually my responsibility.”

“I can’t find Tathman at the moment. He must be in the city somewhere.”

Yes, somewhere in the city killing people. “I will convey your wishes to the warlords, sire.”

“Ignorant, worthless fools, the lot of them,” he muttered, closing his eyes to sleep. “I shall take personal command of the Great Horde. It all falls to me. I will wipe the bakali from the face of Krynn!”

When she was safely out of his sight, in the darkness of the far end of the hall, Valaran was seized with a violent shaking. Mandes’s spell was broken! There could be no doubt. The emperor had recovered his wits. As cruel and unfeeling as ever, his reason was returning-and that made him even more dangerous.

She must relay his order for Helbin’s capture. Ackal V would know if she disregarded his command. But that wouldn’t stop her from trying to warn the Red Robe that his part in her plot was now known. He must not be captured. If he should be made to divulge what he knew-contemplating that disaster made Valaran’s heart shrink to a small, frantic knot.

She fought her rising panic, bracing herself against a column. If the blood of the Ackals ran strong in her husband, the blood of their rivals, the Pakins, flowed with equal strength in her. The Ackals had always been savages; the Pakins ruled by their wits. Cold, at times harsh, to be sure, the Pakins were the intelligent strain in the dynasty. She must call upon that acumen now to save herself and, even more importantly, to save her son. She had to out-think the emperor.

Let Ackal V lead his army into battle. Maybe the bakali would accomplish for her what Mandes, Helbin, and even Lord Tolandruth thus far had not.

Chapter 15

Lacking the time to procure wagons, Tol decided to transport the nomads’ plunder by horse. The loot was distributed among the herd of captured animals, with especially bulky items loaded onto travois. Strung out in single file, the caravan was quite long. Tylocost’s foot soldiers trudged close alongside the column, while Riders patrolled at a distance. Two thousand men made a formidable escort for the treasure train, but it was a long way to Caergoth.

“Tempting target,” observed Queen Casberry, swaying along in her sedan chair.

“For whom?” asked Tylocost, walking at her side. He considered the kender more of a danger to the treasure than any nomads.

She ignored him and spoke to Tol, who rode on her other side. “It’s a good thing you have us here, my lord.”

“I am grateful for Your Majesty’s help,” Tol replied gravely.

“Grateful. Mmm, yes. About that-your lofty wife made certain promises to us, certain offers. I’d like to take this matter up with you now, my lord.”

Tylocost snorted. Kiya was on the far side of the column, leading the Juramona Militia, and could hardly speak for herself.

“Beware, my lord!” Tylocost warned. “Tiny fingers are reaching for your purse!”

“Tiny fingers soon will be reaching for your eyes, elf!” Gasberry snapped.

Tol suppressed a smile. “Speak your mind, Majesty.”

She launched into a long, rambling address about how long she had lived, how many places she’d visited, and what a good friend to the empire Hylo had always been. She made it sound as though Ergoth and Hylo had been allies and equals for decades, although it was her husband, King Lucklyn the First, who had signed treaties that reduced Hylo to Ergoth’s vassal.

“When the monster XimXim infested our country, the empire sent you to defeat him,” she said. “We won’t dwell on the many years it to took for Ergoth to aid us in our battle against the dreadful creature.”

“Yes, don’t dwell.”

She gritted her teeth at Tylocost’s interruption, but continued, “It’s only fitting that now, when the empire faces its most harrowing moment, Hylo returns the favor. However-”

“Here it comes!”

Casberry lashed out with her fly whisk, made from the severed tail of a donkey. Tylocost ducked the blow.

Annoyed, the queen declared with unkenderlike brevity, “We were promised one gold piece per day, per blade!”

Tylocost exclaimed, “That’s double the going rate for mercenaries! And for what? Them?” He waved a hand at the Royal Loyals, most of whom were dragging their scabbards just to see the patterns of dust that arose.

“A generous offer,” Tol remarked. A good portion of the kender army’s wages, he knew, were kicked back to Casberry. That was simply how business was done in Hylo. “Is Your Majesty not satisfied with it?”

Casberry stared. “You mean, you’ll pay?”

“If Kiya proposed it and you accepted, I must hold to the agreement.”

She sank back against her cushions, beaming. “You’re a prince, Lord Tolandruth. A true prince among humans!” Tylocost sighed, and shook his head.