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By Root 1200 0

from the temple to the archon’s palace was only a couple of hundred yards, but to Jill it seemed to stretch forever. As they made their way through the afternoon crowds in a light bunch, with Rhodry in the middle for safety’s sake, she was sure that she saw assassins in every shadow and on every roof, all waiting for their chance to rob Aberwyn of its rightful heir. Her nerves grew even jumpier when they reached the palace and found that the archon had brought out his handful of armed guards. Two spearmen stood at the gates, and two more at the door of the magnificent stone house itself. At the sight of them Gwin froze, just for the briefest moment. Salamander laid a friendly hand on his shoulder and whispered.

“Is anyone here going to recognize you?”

“They shouldn’t. You never know.”

“Well, if there’s lying to be done, leave it to me. I’m a master of the craft.”

Gwin managed a smile at that and let himself be led along into the archon’s reception chamber, echoing and gaudy with purple and gold tile. Sitting on the floor below the dais were ten Deverry men, perched uncomfortably on cushions and sipping wine from unfamiliar cups. Jill caught Rhodry’s arm and squeezed it.

“All these men serve you. Act like you remember them. The blond with the scar over one eye is Amyr. Make sure you call him by name.”

Then she looked at the dais and all her good advice caught in her throat.

“Nevyn!”

She found herself running like a child down the long room with no thought of courtesy or protocol. With his creaky laugh the old man got up to meet her, climbing down from the dais just as she launched herself into his embrace.

“Oh, Nevyn, Nevyn, you can’t know how it gladdens my heart to see you!”

“I think I can guess, child. There, there, don’t weep. We’ll fight this thing out and win yet.”

In something like shock Jill realized that she was indeed weeping. When she wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve, Nevyn produced one of his usual horrid old rags from his brigga pocket for her to use as a handkerchief, a thing so familiar and common that it worked on her better than a mighty talisman, radiating sober sense and courage in the midst of dark magicks. She almost hated to hand it back.

“We’d best mind our formalities now,” he whispered.

Taking her arm he led her up to the dais, where the archon was standing, visibly puzzled. Rhodry’s men were on their feet too, but clustering round the gwerbret, all desperate to touch him and prove to themselves that he was real, alive, and there with them, some weeping openly, most keeping silent only by a great act of will. Yet even in the midst of the confusion Jill noticed Gwin, standing off to one side, and she would always remember the pain on his face, the stricken look of someone who realizes just what an outsider, what an outcast from all that’s decent and normal he is. Then the look was gone, swallowed into his usual blank lack of emotion, but at that moment she found it in her heart to pity him.

“Forgive me, sir,” Nevyn said to the archon. “This is my granddaughter and the gwerbret’s betrothed, and there, just behind her, is the gwerbret’s half-brother.”

When Graffaeo, a portly little man on the pale side, bowed to her in the Deverry manner, Jill managed to drop a curtsey. Salamander was smiling in such an arrogant way that she couldn’t begrudge the archon his sour scowl.

“I am well acquainted with this male personage, Lord Galrion,” Graffaeo rumbled. “But where is the gwerbret himself?”

“Here.” Rhodry strode to the dais, scorned the stairs, and leapt in one smooth motion three feet up. “So. I’ve heard your name often enough, honored one, over the past few weeks.”

Goaded beyond human limits his men began to cheer, a wordless yelp of sheer release. Caught up in the spirit of the thing the various slaves and servants joined in, applauding gracefully in their corners until Graffaeo threw both arms in the air for silence.

“I am pleased to welcome you to my humble house, Lord Rhodry of Aberwyn.” His smile was a flash of wolf in a pudgy face. “And I trust, since your servants are here to