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turned at the shout and saw the Thane’s hand on the hilt of his vibro.
    And as suddenly as it had flared, the anger drained away and his hand moved to his side, away from his weapon, though his eyes were still held in sharp lines of flesh. He’s right, old man. He’s right, and that’s why you’re angry. Because he’s pricked the core of your uncertainty. Because you always considered your emotions too well-hidden to be fathomed. Fool. “You’ve had time to study Hoorka, scholar.” He stressed the last word slightly too much. “What do you think?”
    “ I don’t know. But I never get angry at my ignorance.”
    “Some things are too large to be angry with.” The Thane watched Cranmer slowly relax as the smaller man realized that the irritation was gone from the Thane’s voice. “I’m surprised you maintain your interest in us.”
    “I’ve been interested enough to have taken two extensions of my leave from Niffleheim Center.”
    The Thane shrugged. He watched Cranmer draw his cloak tighter around him, noting for the first time the man’s growing discomfort from the cold of the room.
    The Thane glanced a last time at the ippicator skeleton, shrugged again, and took a step toward the passage leading back to the Hoorka sector. “I’m tired of talk, and I’ve much to do back in Hoorka-home. If you’ve seen enough of our five-legged friend . . .”
    “Thane, I’m willing to listen more, if that’s what you need. The recorder’s off, and I keep secrets.”
    “I wouldn’t have shown you the ippicator if I hadn’t been sure of your discretion.” He shook his head and allowed his features to relax, his shoulders to sag. “No, I’ve tormented you with enough of my idiocy. But I thank you for the offer.” A pause. “Friend.”
    Cranmer got to his feet. The Thane leading, they followed the sounds of their footsteps back to familiar ground.

Chapter 3
    V INGI’S KEEP HUDDLED against the Port barrier, as if drawing comfort from its proximity to that demarcation line between Neweden and land that was officially Alliance territory. The keep was a massive building of local white stone. Turrets flowered unexpectedly from one side, while a row of thin caryatids masked the front facing the city. Like most Neweden estates, it had its gardens, though these were larger than most, with plants coaxed into geometric patterns around which the footpaths meandered. A brook threw foam as it made its way around the rocks lining its bed; ground birds preened in their iridescent plumage. As a symbol of Vingi’s wealth and power, it was more than effective: a pretty but useless display. Vingi would starve were he reduced to eating the produce of his gardens. Still, it flaunted his success in the face of the poor world in which it stood.
    The Thane, quite irrevocably, hated it.
    The Hoorka felt the habitual disgust the keep grounds always engendered in him. Standing before the gates (real metal, not a shield: more ostentation and non-utility) he could see the great contrast between the keep and the rest of Sterka—and Sterka was the richest of Neweden’s cities, thanks to the trade of the Port. The Thane, who had seen most of the other urban centers, knew that the Keep was far and away the most lavish display of wealth on Neweden, shadowing even the famous Temple of Khala built by the Guild of Artisans.
    And like any Neweden native, he knew that the wealth of Vingi derived not from Vingi but from his kin-father, a brilliant but cruel ruler who had leeched money from kin and kinless without a thought and built a base of power none had assailed. Vingi—now Li-Gallant, as his kin-father had been before him—had inherited that man’s cruelty but not his intelligence. It wasn’t a pleasant combination.
    But, the Thane mused as he showed his pass to the gate ward, Neweden seemed none the worse for it. Guilds still fought with guilds, and kinship of guilds mattered more than biological ancestry, and lassari were still