The far end of the hall was brighter than the rest of the cavernous room. The throne of Ergoth was flanked by flaming braziers. The seat was vacant.

“Dal! Dal!” Valaran called with quiet urgency.

A small boy emerged from behind the throne and ran to her, clutching her gowned legs.

She smiled^ laying a hand on the child’s thick mop of black hair. “This is my son, Crown Prince Dalar of Ergoth.”

The child had his father’s high forehead and sharp features. His eyes were Val’s, emerald green and enormous in his pale face.

Tol nodded awkwardly at the boy, then looked beyond him. Protruding from behind the throne was a foot clad in a crimson slipper. It twitched. Tol strode around the imperial seat to find the emperor lying on the floor. His robe of gold and imperial scarlet was twisted around his legs and torso, as if he’d been thrashing about on the floor. His eyes were half closed, his fingers twitched convulsively, and he was mumbling into the carpet.

Taken aback, Tol said, “What happened to him?”

“Drugged.” Valaran shrugged at his shocked expression, adding, “I put a sleeping draught in his wine. With the Wolves gone, and him so preoccupied, he didn’t notice until it was too late.”

Tol rolled the semiconscious man onto his side. Ackal V reeked of sweat and sour wine. A bloody dagger lay on the rug beneath him-the same blade, Valaran said, that he’d used to slay his unfortunate chamberlain.

He felt Valaran’s hand on his shoulder. “Everything is ready,” she murmured. “The Great Horde has forsaken him. The Household Guards are beaten and scattered. His Wolves are gone. I knew they couldn’t kill you! No one remains to defend him.”

Tol stood. Valaran put her arms around his waist from behind. She pressed the trembling length of her body against his.

“This is the reason I lived, for this moment! I tried to kill myself, but he stopped me. Then there was Dalar-another reason to live until you came back to me. I dreamt of this, Tol, awake and asleep, for nearly seven years! Only one deed remains. Just one act, and I am yours forever.”

He felt the feather-touch of her lips against his neck. “Kill him, Tol.”

Tol looked down at his enemy. There was no one in the world he hated more than this man. Haughty, cruel, vicious Prince Nazramin, who had murdered his own brother to steal his throne. No one deserved death more than the man who had worked such evil against Tol, from the moment they’d first met up to this night.

Yet Tol did not move.

To hear the woman he adored say, “Kill him, Tol,” as easily he had said, “I love you,” was more than Tol could bear. The touch of her lips had sent a wave of desire through him, but those words brought a nauseating rush of revulsion. His sword arm seemed turned to stone.

“Tol, my love, what are you waiting for? Kill him!” Valaran said, more loudly.

Prince Dalar was watching them, peering around the golden throne of Ergoth. What did the boy make of this? Tol wondered. What did he think of his mother, kissing this strange, savage-looking man and demanding that he kill Dalar’s father? The child’s wide-eyed gaze only deepened Tol’s revulsion. He shook off Valaran’s embrace, stalking away. She followed.

“Where are you going, Tol? This is the culmination of our dreams! We’ve waited so long for this night! Finish him! No one will weep for such a monster!”

The gods alone knew how much Tol wanted to kill Nazramin! When he’d been driven out of Daltigoth, broken inside and out, it was the hope of Valaran’s love and the dream of Nazramin’s death that had kept him alive. He had always imagined killing his enemy, but in some honorable fashion. Never once had he considered slitting the throat of a helpless, drooling drunkard.

Valaran circled the throne to stand by Dalar, who clung to her hand. The great chair stood between her and Tol. “Don’t be misled by pity!” she insisted. “Great men are not moved by such feelings. You are the finest warrior of the age! Look at what you’ve done: slain monsters, bested wizards, conquered nations! Your deeds will live forever! Only one challenge remains. You must complete the saga of Tolandruth of Juramona! Kill the emperor, and both my love and the throne of Ergoth will be yours!”

Valaran’s face was no longer pale, but suffused with blood and contorted by hate. The woman he loved was suddenly a stranger to him. Was this the woman of his dreams?

He had to clear his throat twice before words would come. “I never wanted that,” he told her. “The empire would be destroyed. Riders and nobles would never tolerate a peasant on the throne.”

She made an impatient sound and waved his objections aside. “Any who objected could be put down! You have an army, don’t you?”

Taking up her husband’s dagger, she offered it to Tol.

“Don’t worry, my love.” Her voice was soft, caressing. “You can rule as regent until my son is old enough to reign for himself. Teach him to be as honorable and forthright, as you are.” She extended the blade closer. “How else can we be together? I’ve lived half my life as wife to men I did not love, and lover to a man I could not have. Do you know what that’s done tome?”

Sadness welled inside Tol. Pity and regret were so strong that speech was difficult. “Yes, I can see,” he whispered.

The emperor’s mumbling grew louder and Valaran’s voice rose as well. “Take the dagger, Tol! Kill him! You must! Kill him, Toll!”

He took the heavy golden blade from her hands. It would be easily done. A simple thrust would end Ackal V’s life, as it had ended Egrin’s. A cold shock of pain hit Tol as he remembered: Egrin was dead, killed by Ackal as surely as if the emperor’s hand had held the poisoned blade.

“Egrin-” Tol’s voice broke, but he forced the words out. “Egrin died tonight, killed by Tathman with a poisoned dagger. And Zala, the half-elf huntress, she died in the fight for Caergoth.”

She blinked at him, not understanding, and he added, “Helbin was your ally, too. He has vanished, you know, and is probably dead.”

Valaran turned to stare at her husband. He was stirring more, his mumbled words becoming clearer. Raking her fingers through her long, loose hair, she said, “You’re a warrior, Tol. Haven’t you lost comrades before?”

The polished blade in Tol’s hand was stained with the blood of the slain chamberlain. Tol hadn’t known the man. He might’ve been a cowardly toady, like Wornoth, but he hadn’t deserved to die like that, his throat slit by the very master he served. No one deserved that. No one.

Enough! He threw the dagger to the floor. It skidded across the marble, coming to rest by Dalar’s foot. The prince picked it up.

“It’s done, Valaran. I’m done. And I’m going away. Far away from here.” He held out a hand. “Forget the emperor and come with me.”

Emerald eyes huge, she recoiled. “What are you saying? Go away? I am Empress of Ergoth!”

“All I care about now is you. Come with me, Val. You and your son.”

He could see her breast rise and fall with her rapid breathing. She stared at him, brows knotted in thought. “This is a test. The gods are testing me. That, or else you’re mad.” She gripped her throat with one hand and uttered a short, sharp laugh. “Worse, you’re a coward! Your enemy lies at your feet, and you won’t finish the job! What did all your friends die for? Why did you come here?”

“I’ve done everything I could to save the empire. I won’t stain my soul by killing a helpless man, Val. Not even for you.”

He walked around the prostrate emperor. He was halfway to the doors when Valaran acted. She snatched the dagger from her son’s hands and raced after Tol, white gown flying.

“You can’t leave!” she cried. “The emperor must die, don’t you see? Our lives are forfeit if he survives. He’ll hunt you down, torture you to death! And me! He’ll kill me, Tol! He’ll kill me with his own hands!”