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was full of examples of technology changing the world faster than peoples' ability to adapt to those changes.
    He was going to make mistakes, of course. Probably already had, but only because he'd been running hard on his feet ever since he'd arrived. Maybe when—if—this Styphon menace were ended, he'd have time to think of ways to help his subjects adjust to the changing world around them better than the people he'd been snatched away from had done. Regardless, even uncontrolled social upheaval was better than the nasty type of theocratic despotism Styphon's House was using to enslave the peoples of the Five Kingdoms—well, Six Kingdoms now. Much more of that, and the people here would be worse off than the Chinese under Mao!
    Right now he knew more than anyone else here-and-now. So he had to be out in front, leading the battle against Styphon's tyranny, even if he barely knew what to do himself.
    There wasn't anybody else who knew it at all.
    Kalvan was glad to turn his mind from that thought, to concentrate on getting his horse down the hill without its stumbling and rejoin his escort.
     
     
II
    In the flickering torchlight Archpriest Anaxthenes, First Speaker of the Inner Circle of Styphon's House, searched the faces of his fellow conspirators to see if they shared his growing anxiety. Only Archpriests Cimon and Roxthar looked comfortable in the white robes of village underpriests; if caught, their disguises would mark them as conspirators fit only for burning.
    Archpriest Neamenestros was more than a candle overdue, and the atmosphere in the cellar of the abandoned winery in Old Balph was damp and oppressive. At least they were away from the chilling wind that tore through the cheap robes like daggers. At any moment Anaxthenes expected to hear the tramping feet of Temple Guardsmen coming to arrest them. He knew that half the Inner Circle would have smiled to see visible discomfort written on his usually expressionless face.
    "How much longer do we wait?" Archpriest Euriphocles asked, a trace of hysteria raising his already high-pitched voice.
    "Another quarter," he replied, pointing to the notched candle flickering in a niche within the rock wall. We must know if we can count on Archpriest Heraclestros' support."
    As Highpriest of the Great Temple of Hos-Agrys far in the north, Heraclestros was a man of some influence within the Inner Circle, especially among the uncommitted moderates—the group the conspirators needed most to court if they were to save Styphon's House from the winds of change banging on the Temple's doors. Archpriest Dracar already saw himself in the flame-colored robe of Primacy, as Supreme Priest Sesklos voice grew weaker. Dracar! He wanted to spit out the name so foul was its taste in his mouth. Were Dracar to become Styphon's Own Voice, he would quibble and quiver until the Usurper Kalvan had the Temple drawn and ready to quarter.
    It was the mistaken belief of Dracar, and too many others among the Inner Circle, that King Kaiphranos the Timid should be the principal agent of Kalvan's destruction. Witless fools! Didn't they realize that Kalvan was a warlord of the stature of King Simocles the Great, who had led the Zarthani people to victory over the Ruthani Confederation of the Northern Lands. They would have to scourge the Hostigi heresy with fire and sword as Simocles had the Northern Ruthani—until as a people they were exterminated.
    Were it not that Kaiphranos employed so many food tasters, Anaxthenes would have solved this problem long ago with one of Thessamona's little vials. Not that Great King Kaiphranos' sons were any improvement; the elder was too rash, while the younger was a debauched witling! Grand Duke Lysandros, the old king's brother, was the only man in the dynasty with any mettle.
    Suddenly the candle flared brightly and there was the squeal of a door opening upstairs. Anaxthenes began to rise from the barrel he'd been using as a seat when he heard the sound of footsteps