"No," he replied, closing the door behind him. "I come for no vengeance, but for your rescue. I am here to take you from the castle, Lord Daeghrefn. It has become unsafe here. There's a mutiny afoot."

"I know that." Daeghrefn's eyes were haunted, wretched.

Robert cleared his throat. "-Perhaps, then, you are also aware that your old . .. acquaintance, Lord Laca of East Borders, is on his way from Estwilde at the head of a thousand mounted soldiers."

Daeghrefn gripped his sword more tightly. In his mind's eye, he saw a burning plain, the South Moraine

smoldering and charred … saw Robert riding away into the smoke….

"Come with me, sir/' Robert urged. "I'll care for you."

"Very clever, Robert," Daeghrefn said with a sneer. "You could dupe a guardsman or a falconer with your soothing double-talk, but it's hardly clever enough for the lord of the castle. I shall stay here, thank you. And you shall depart my presence."

^.Robert studied his old master from across the shadowy chamber. I believe where you are going, I cannot help you, he thought. But I shall try, Lord Daeghrefn.

I shall try.

"You must come, sir," he entreated, his voice hushed and somber. "Verminaard has killed Aglaca, and who can tell what that will-"

Daeghrefn stood bolt upright, his gaze vacuous and distant. "The gebo-naud," he whispered, his voice cracking. " 'Truce for truth … and son for son.' "

"We must leave now, sir," Robert persisted.

Daeghrefn backed toward the balcony, shaking his head, his hands extended as though he tried to fend something off.

"The gebo-naud," he said, his voice cracking hysterically. "My son . . . 'And his hand will strike your name,' the druidess said."

Wheeling about with a shriek, he rushed onto the balcony, Robert trailing desperately behind him. "Laca! Abe-laard!" Daeghrefn screamed.

"AbelaardV

And he toppled headfirst from the railing, into a strange and dreadful silence, the dark cape flapping behind him like a broken wing.

Chapter 21

Judyth clutched the bundle tightly as she descended tbe steps of tbe western tower.

All of Aglaca's cherished belongings, wrapped in his good green cape, were scarcely enough to burden her as she made the sad descent from his quarters. She had found the naming ring Laca had given him, a book of .verse, and a locket that had been his mother's. All three he had brought to Nidus with him nine years ago, keeping them in a little pouch by his bedside.

She placed the dagger among them-the little blade he had given her on the night of the Minding. Once she had asked Aglaca where it had come from, for its gaudy handle-ebony embossed with golden claws, studded with

pearls and garnets in a replica of the summer night sky- seemed out of place with the tasteful simplicity of his other valuables.

Aglaca had answered her cryptically, repeating that it was a ward against evil, then changing the subject to insects-or flowers, she no longer remembered-and so the dagger remained a mystery. Judyth took the weapon anyway, on the off chance that someone would know of it and of the story that no doubt explained it. Or at least know it had been his.

As she collected Aglaca's belongings, she collected her memories. Perhaps someday she would go back to East Borders, and there present these things to Aglaca's father. Perhaps the gift would make amends for her miserable failure as Laca's spy. But as for now, Aglaca's belongings were hers-the book, the locket, the ring, and even the mysterious dagger.

Now, as she reached the bottom of the steps, she tucked the package under her arm, feeling the sharp prickle of the blade's edge through the cloak. She stepped toward the door of the keep, toward the moonlit bailey and the spot where Robert would be waiting with a fast horse to take them south.

And a sudden crash stopped her in her tracks.

"Lady Judyth!" the voice called. "Do not leave without a fond good-bye."

She turned and stared through the open archway into the great hall of the keep, where Verminaard sat alone at the banquet table, a plate of roast goose steaming in front of him, a bottle of wine in his left hand. The glass he had been drinking from lay in splinters beneath the arch where he had hurled it, and the slivers caught the torchlight and glittered like broken ice.

He motioned to her with^the bottle. "Come in! Oh, do come in, Judyth of Solanthus!"

His right hand remained beneath the table. Judyth

knew it clutched the mace.

Verminaard beckoned again, this time more insistently. Her hands shaking, Judyth stepped into the hall, the broken glass crackling beneath her riding boots.

"Where are you going?" Verminaard asked sternly. "I've not given you permission to leave, you know."

"I had no idea your permission was necessary, Lord Verminaard," Judyth replied evenly, pausing halfway to the edge of the table.

"Come closer," the new Lord of Nidus muttered hoarsely and set down the wine bottle. "Join me in a toast to my precipitate predecessor, Daeghrefn of Nidus. They're shoveling him under the bailey as we speak." He licked his fingers, one by one.

"I truly must be leaving, sir," Judyth said, backing toward the door. "I shall leave you to dinner with … your friends."

Verminaard gazed at her sullenly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Won't you join me, Judyth? Are you not my friend?"

Slowly he stood, the wine bottle again in hand, the mace in the other, leering at Judyth as though she were the final course, the dessert to his lonely meal.

"No, sir," Judyth replied. "Nor am I likely to be your friend. You have killed too many who are dear to me."

"I have killed but one," Verminaard said, with a cruel half-smile.

"One is quite enough," Judyth replied.

"Even so. Cerestes' knife did that work," Verminaard explained lightly. He staggered from behind the table, taking a wobbly step toward Judyth.

She had seen that look on faces before-in the leering eyes of the bandits when first they brought her to the Pen in Neraka.

"But you blinded him first," she whispered, the slightest quaver in her voice. "So they tell me."

The wine bottle crashed to the floor, and the big man, incredibly quick, lurched toward her. Judyth turned and ran for the door, but Verminaard grabbed her, his thick fingers greasy and groping. She pulled away from him, holding the bundle to her breast, the hem of her gown smudged by his rough hands.