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attention — and he took his position seriously.
    “If they offer an alliance through their embassies, majister, they are in need of assistance, one against the other. It would be well to seek to know to what degree and amount they are willing to pay for such an alliance. Opaz knows, the treasury is bone dry.”
    “A shrewd thought, Archolax.”
    “Anyway,” said Barty, a little mollified and once again able to meet Delia’s eye. “Let them wait a while.” He handed me a plate heaped with sandwiches and with a cup perched on the side. We habitually stood to talk and eat during these sessions, although comfortable seats, brought from all over the ruins of the palace, were available.
    I started to eat, and, wolfing down a bamber sandwich, said, “I’ll keep ’em waiting just as long as protocol demands.”
    In the event I gulped down the rest of the meal and wiped my hands on a yellow cloth and went away to the Second Enrobing Chamber, determined to let chance arrange which embassy I saw first. Garfon the Staff had left that from the Racters there, and had shown that from Layco Jhansi to the Samphron Hall’s anteroom. The Samphron Hall no longer existed, being a mere maze of foundations, and the anteroom still persisted in smelling of smoke.
    The party from the Racters numbered four, and they were led by a man I knew, Strom Luthien.
    His thin shrewd face with the bright sharp eyes and the permanently hungry expression did not betray his thoughts as I entered. Guards stood at the door. I wore a rapier, picked up from Emder on the way. We regarded each other for a space.
    Finally, with an ironical bow, he said: “Majister.” With a sweep of his hand he indicated his companions and named them. Each one wore the black and white favors of the Racters, flaunting those colors here in Vondium from whence all the known Racters had fled.
    Luthien was a Strom — that is roughly equivalent to an Earthly count — by title alone, for he no longer owned lands. He was the perfect agent for the Racters, and knew it and acted the part well. His insolence was veiled just enough so that no offense might be taken — at least, not by me, who was not an emperor in the mold of emperors of the past.
    The offer was as we had expected. Alliance between our two forces, first against Layco Jhansi, and then against the Hamalese and the mercenaries and all the other vermin who had flooded into Vallia to pillage. He made no mention of the embassy from Jhansi. I forbore to bring up what was clearly a prickly subject. I kept a graven and serious look on my face — not a difficult task, by Krun! — and heard him out.
    The clothes these four Racters wore were the usual decent Vallian buff coats and breeches. Their wide Vallian hats with the black and white feathers lay on a side table. They bore no arms. My guards would have seen to that, and relieved them of their rapiers and main gauches long before they were conducted here. I studied the clothes and discreet insignia. Nothing out of the way there.
    Memory of the golden image of the grascent, that leaping scaled risslaca with the powerful hind legs and wedge-shaped head of destruction, worn by the Chulik who had attempted to slay us under the Gate of Voxyri, made me wonder if Phu-Si-Yantong had infiltrated the ranks of the Racters. It was most unlikely that he had not. But he would scarcely parade that kind of hidden exercise of power openly.
    When that particular Wizard of Loh struck, he struck from the shadows.
    Well, of course, they all do. But Yantong’s menace held a special brand of cunning and absolute conviction of superiority. I still fancied I could find something in him of admiration to ordinary folk; but I had to acknowledge that it would be damned hard to unearth.
    “What answer shall we carry back, majister?”
    I let them hang a space before I replied.
    “I must ponder on this,” I said, at last, keeping a straight face. “It is not a light matter.”
    “It touches the