most of them do in the whole of their bodies."

"I could do with some sense myself," mused the King. "We're facing an invincible army and an impossible fight and stil I have absolutely no intention of surrendering. All right, send her in."

King Lagan rose to greet the tiny elderly noble who entered supporting herself on an ebony

walking stick.

"Lady Egret, it is a pleasure to see you," he said in a kindly tone, directing her to a chair. "How can I help you?"

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The old lady settled her black shawls comfortably and handed her stick to Lord Taris.

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"I have a confession to make, Your Majesty," she said briskly.

"Oh?" King Lagan smiled. He could not imagine this grandmotherly person having anything very shocking to say.

"Yes, and you will not be pleased with me. It is time I outed myself as a spy."

"A spy?" exclaimed Lord Taris. "For who?"

"For whom, dear, whom," she corrected him. "For the resistance movement in Brigard, of

course."

King Lagan relaxed. The resistance movement was no threat to Gerfal and he doubted very

much she had been in a position to pass them any vital information.

"I'm afraid I've kept them abreast of all council deliberations thanks to my sources in the

palace," she continued, oblivious to the reactions her words were causing in her two listeners.

"That, of course, will cease from this moment. I hope from now on our cooperation will be frank

and aboveboard, particularly when I give you this." She handed over a letter. "I received it this morning and only just decoded it."

Lagan took the paper in trembling fingers. "It's from Ramil," he said hoarsely, reading it through quickly. "He's escaped--as has the Princess--by Thorsin, I knew he had it in him!" He scanned it all the way to the bottom, absorbing the request for assistance for Duke Nerul. Overcome with

joy and relief, he knelt,

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seized the old lady's hand and kissed it fervently. "Lady Egret, you are a jewel."

She smiled fondly at him and tapped his head with her finger. "Tush, tush, Your Majesty, you'll

turn this poor woman's head if you go on in that fashion.

Your boy's well, that's the main thing. He and the lass have given Fergox something to cry about,

stealing his horse and everything." She chuckled.

"The girl's sent a message to her people too. I will deliver it immediately."

She cocked a quizzical eyebrow. "That's if you are not going to arrest me as a spy?"

"Arrest you, my dear lady? I want to marry you for bringing me that news!"

"Sorry, Your Majesty, but Lord Egret wouldn't be pleased if you did that."

Smiling, she rose and walked out, her stick clicking on the marble tiles.

Lord Taris had now read the letter through.

"I take it, Your Majesty, we intend to help the resistance?" he asked.

"Absolutely, we are fighting the same war after all." Lagan smiled and stretched his arms, feeling one of his heaviest burdens had fallen from his shoulders. He no longer had to tiptoe around

Fergox in fear of reprisals on his son. They now had a straight fight before them. Lagan rubbed

his hands together, beginning to see all sorts of possibilities with Nerul's men behind enemy

lines. "Find out what we can do, will you? Ramil mentions arms and support from the sea."

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"We could do with Blue Crescent aid for this, sir,"

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Taris said. "I wonder what Princess Taoshira has written in her communication."

"We should've asked the old girl. Track her down and see if she is at liberty to tell us, will you?

At the very least, I hope it means I will get my Briony back again. I know, I'll hold a party for her--

and take her on a pony ride--I think that will be quite in order, if I can be spared from my official

duties for the afternoon."

"You're the King," Taris reminded him with a smile.

"But you're my conscience, Taris, you know that."

"Then your conscience says we should keep his highness's current location secret, but an

announcement of his escape is most desirable. Therefore, a party is quite in order--if not

essential--for the morale of the nation."

"Excellent. I really should promote you, old friend. Only trouble is, there's nowhere to go but

down from your office."

"I am well aware of that, Your Majesty."

Lord Taris bowed and went out to spread the good news in the court.

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The wagon train was making heavy going of the road from Tigral to the furthest corner of

Fergox's empire where his armies were massing. The winter weather was no help, and the

soldiers had experienced endless trouble: broken bridges, badly signposted crossroads,

unexplained

diversions, poor workmanship from farriers, causing the cart horses to shed their shoes a mile

down

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the road. Anyone would think that the people of Brigard were trying to impede the work of the

army. Surely they hadn't forgotten so quickly the war that had crushed them and the bloody

public reprisals? The commander of the supply wagons made a mental note to suggest to Fergox

that the populace be reminded forcefully that they were under occupation and should give all

cooperation to their new masters.

"Can't wait to be back in Holt," complained the commander, riding his horse at the head of the procession. Twenty carts rumbled along behind him, full of food and arms for the Felixholt

garrison. "Got a nice little girl tucked away in the Dovemarket at Tigral. She thinks soldiering is all fighting and heroics and don't believe me when I tell her it's grunt work for idiots."

His second-in-command riding beside him nodded as he chewed on a piece of dried meat stolen

from the supplies.

"My boys are the same--all mad to be soldiers and won't listen to me," he remarked. "Still, we're nearly there now, sir. There're some good inns in Felixholt and the priests are allowing extra

fights to the death in the Wargod's ceremonies--soldiers against prisoners. Should be worth

seeing."

Just then the bridge on the road in front of them exploded in a cloud of dust and a deafening

report. Fragments of wood and stone rained down on the soldiers. Horses screamed and reared

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in panic.

"Draw your swords!" yelled the commander, mastering his mount and galloping back down the

line. His

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second was lying in the mud, struck through the eye by flying shrapnel.

Resistance fighters in green and brown emerged from the bushes on either side of the road.

Arrows flew out of the trees, picking off the men in the wagon driving seats. Soldiers fell to pike

and sword before they had time to raise their own weapons. The commander found himself face

to face with a dark-skinned rebel on a fearsome warhorse, far superior in height and skill to his

own. Their swords met but he knew within seconds he was out-classed.

He felt fear, then pain, then nothing.

The fight was short and bloody. Nerul had instructed that they should take no prisoners and

allow no one to escape to carry news of the attack to Felixholt.

The supplies and men were simply to vanish from the road. Melletin took command of the

wagons, ordering his men to roll them onto some rafts constructed for the purpose. They were

quickly poled away by the watermen into the reeds, their stores to be used to supply the