The last words of the Wath-Ranata echoed over the green hills. Tylocost scattered green leaves and flower petals on the linen shapes nestled in the earth, then took up the spade the diggers had left for him. By the time the hole was filled, he was sweating and dirty.

His final act was to plant a seedling tree on the grave. Every Silvanesti wanted to rest beneath the boughs of a living tree. He’d chosen an apple tree because he liked the idea that Zala would one day bear fruit to all passersby.

The unsightly gardener tied his floppy hat on his head and shouldered his spade like a weapon. The urge to salute, although long-ingrained by decades of military service, did not intrude here.

Tylocost had not buried a comrade. He’d said good-bye to the woman he loved.

Ackal V stepped out of his bath. His arms, legs, and chest were mottled with bruises, some already yellowing as they healed. The blows he’d sustained from the bakali might not have brought him down, but they’d certainly made a bold impression. He hadn’t availed himself of the imperial healers, and rarely did. He had little faith in their spells and nostrums, and feared enemies might use the opportunity to hex him.

From her marble bench a few steps away, Empress Valaran kept her eyes averted, studying the mosaic pattern around her feet. She was all too familiar with the sight of her husband unclothed. It was not a view she cared for. Dalar played at her feet, humming to himself as he pushed wooden warriors on horseback across the floor. Some of the toy soldiers were painted red, others gray.

A lackey held up a gray silk robe. Ackal V slipped his arms in and tied the sash with a savage yank. Equal pique marked his movements as he took a golden cup of wine offered by another servant.

Valaran had brought him the unwelcome news of Caergoth’s fall to Tol and the landed hordes. Ackal V cursed Wornoth in between gulps of wine, damning the governor for his lack of backbone. For squeezing taxes from peasants and keeping the high-nosed residents of Caergoth in line Wornoth was adequate, but faced with real opposition, he wilted instantly.

“How was it done?” he asked.

Valaran replied, “Accounts differ, sire, but it seems some or all of the Caergoth garrison went willingly over to the other side.”

“I want their names, all of them! Their families will suffer for this treachery!”

Valaran nodded, but vowed to herself that none of the families would face the emperor’s vengeance.

The emperor asked about troop strength. “According to my spies, he has twenty to thirty hordes,” she replied. “If every man in the Caergoth garrison joins him, he will have fifty-four hordes.”

In fact, the information she had received by messenger pigeon that evening gave the total figure of forty-four hordes. Valaran exaggerated for Tol’s benefit.

Ackal flung the empty cup at the wine steward. The man wasn’t nimble enough and failed to catch the heavy golden vessel. It clanged loudly on the tiles. The steward cringed, knowing he’d just earned a flogging.

“Even if he had a hundred fifty hordes, he couldn’t break into Daltigoth!” Ackal V declared.

Their conversation was interrupted by Prince Dalar. He suddenly began hammering away at the ranks of toy soldiers with a brass rod. Red and gray riders alike went down under his blows, some of the figures splintering.

He’d never been violent with his toys before, and his mother spoke sharply to him. Ackal V laughed.

. “That’s the way, boy,” he said. “In ten years you can do that to real enemies!”

Valaran stood abruptly. “Is that all you require, Majesty?”

“Yes, go. And send Tathman to me.”

She wanted Dalar to come with her, but Ackal V told her to leave the boy where he was.

“I’ll not have the crown prince subjected to the company of that vile mercenary!” Valaran said.

“That vile mercenary is utterly loyal-unlike you, lady.”

She protested, but he stepped closer and took her chin a painful grip. “I know you would like nothing better than to see me dead, and the pig farmer standing here in my place,” he murmured. “You can consign that dream to the vale of night. It’s the farmer who’ll be dead, and that handy trinket he carries will be mine. As you are, lady. Forever.”

She pulled free of him, eyes flashing in anger, then the import of his words sank in. He knew about the Irda millstone? How could that be? How long had he known? Awful thoughts formed in her mind. Was it possible he had known of her plot to bring Tol to Daltigoth, but had done nothing to interfere, just so he could get his hands on the nullstone?

He laughed and kicked Dalar lightly on the rump. “Go with your mother, boy,” he said. “Tathman may not have eaten yet and I’d hate to see him dine on you!”

The five-year-old scampered after his mother, sending toy soldiers skittering over the tiles.

In the corridor outside, several lackeys awaited the emperor’s pleasure. Valaran gestured to one, a lower chamberlain named Fudosh. She relayed the emperor’s summons of the Wolf captain. Fudosh paled, but bowed and hurried to find Tathman.

When Tathman arrived, the emperor was seated at a stone table in his bath chamber, his head resting on his folded arms. His youngest wife, Lady Halie, was anointing his many bruises with a soothing unguent. She could apply the balm as well as a healer, and was far prettier than any acolyte of Mishas.

Ackal V did not look up until Tathman cleared his throat. Coming from a man his size, the sound was like a panther growling.

“Captain,” the emperor said without moving. “Farmer Tol is in Caergoth.”

“Shall I go there and kill him?”

Ackal’s shoulders shook with mirth. “That’s the spirit! No, that won’t he necessary. He’s coming here-with forty thousand warriors.”

The leader of the Wolves regarded his master stolidly. “Better to kill him far away,” he rumbled.

Ackal V glanced at his young wife. Halie knew Tolandruth only as a name. She wouldn’t betray her husband.

He said, “I want this army of traitors to come as close to Daltigoth as they dare. I want them to think success is in their grasp. Then, and only then, I want the farmer captured and brought before me. I will make such a lesson of him that all those country lords will take up priest’s robes!”

Tathman bowed his head, the long braid of his hair falling forward. “Your Majesty is most wise.”

“When the time comes, I may ask you to do things you won’t like,” Ackal V warned.

“If Your Majesty commands, I will pluck out an eye and eat it.”

This declaration, spoken with such conviction, made young Halie pause in her labors. The emperor shrugged his shoulders, signaling her to continue.

“Patience, Tathman. Your time approaches. The prospect of facing the legendary Lord Tol worries you?”

The question was a half-joking one, but Tathman’s reply was deadly serious. “No, Majesty. He bleeds like any man.”

The emperor smiled. Yes, he did bleed. Ackal V had seen Tol bleed. It was a memory he relished.

He ordered the Wolves back to the Inner City to receive instructions, training, and new equipment. When he explained his idea, Captain Tathman finally showed surprise.

“Objections?” asked the emperor.

“No, Majesty.”

Once Tathman had withdrawn, Halie paused her ministrations to renew the balm on her hands.

“Is Your Majesty in danger?” she asked diffidently.

“No.” Ackal put his head down again on his folded arms.

“But if you speak of what you’ve heard here, I’d have to cut off your head.”

His young consort smoothed the white unguent across his hare shoulders.

“I would never speak of it, sire. Better my tongue should be cut out!”

Now there was a possibility, Ackal mused. And Valaran liked to believe she was the smartest of his wives.