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as he was. The chief factor’s face slowly turned red, then redder, then blue. Only when Kharl could feel the emptiness of death did he dissolve the barriers.
    Guillam toppled forward, hitting the floor with a sickening dull thud. He did not move. Kharl knew he never would.
    The stillness in the chamber stretched out.
    “What . . . what did you do, ser mage?” Ghrant’s voice was thin.
    “I did nothing out of the ordinary,” Kharl said. “I merely commanded him to speak the truth or to choke on his untruths. He could not bear to speak the truth. He died, rather than speak the truth.” Kharl had to struggle to keep his voice steady. His entire body seemed ready to shake, and his knees felt watery. He’d forgotten how much effort magery of that sort took, and he’d done almost none since the battle at Dykaru—four eightdays earlier.
    Ghrant turned slightly, his eyes fixing on a darker-skinned individual in crimson-and-gold silks, standing in the group of envoys on the south side of the audience. “Lord Joharak . . . apparently, there are times when the truth must out—if one is to live.”
    “So it might seem, your lordship. Yet one man’s truth is another’s traitor. All rulers who have succeeded have come to understand that.”
    “That is most true, Lord Joharak, and the truth that must be in Austra is that which serves Austra.” Ghrant stood. “Chamberlain . . .” He gave the slightest nod to the body sprawled at the foot of the steps from the dais. “The audience is over.” Ghrant turned and departed.
    The moment Ghrant vanished into the one archway, Hagen turned. “This way,” he murmured.
    Kharl followed.
    Hagen said nothing until the two were alone in the lord-chancellor’s chamber. “Do I wish to know what you did to Guillam?”
    “Every word he spoke was a lie,” Kharl replied. “He had no intention of being loyal. He knew Fostak and knew him well. He had also ordered my death and the serving girl’s.”
    “You realize that you have now become a danger to most of the lords and merchants?” asked Hagen dryly. “They have all lied to Lord Ghrant, in more ways than one. I imagine that many of them will have urgent reasons to leave Valmurl before tomorrow.”
    “I’m sure Lyras could do what I did.”
    “He probably could tell who was lying, but he couldn’t do what you did about it, and he has no magery capable of protecting himself. You will have to be most careful in the days ahead.”
    “It might be best if I returned to Cantyl, at least for a time,” Kharl suggested.
    “Not quite yet. We will have to act quickly.”
    Kharl raised his eyebrows.
    “There will be more than one attempt to kill Ghrant within days, if not sooner, or a revolt in his personal guard, or one by the regular guard. Perhaps all three.” Hagen shook his head.
    “Because I can tell if someone is lying?”
    Hagen nodded slowly.
    Kharl had thought he was resolving Ghrant’s problem with Guillam, as well as getting rid of a man who had tried to kill him twice—and now Hagen was telling him that he’d made the situation worse. “I’m sorry. I’d thought—”
    Hagen raised his hand. “Don’t worry about it. There would have been problems either way. If Guillam had walked out of the audience hall, everyone would be claiming that Ghrant was afraid to act. If Ghrant had ordered his execution, without any proof, then there might well have been something else.”
    “You make it sound like ruling fairly is impossible.”
    “It is. Everyone has a different idea of what fairness is.” Hagen walked to the bellpull and gave it three measured tugs. “We’ll start with Vatoran, Casolan, and Norgen. You know Vatoran. Casolan is the commander of the western district, and Norgen commands Ghrant’s personal guards.” Hagen looked mildly at Kharl. “This time, just let me know if someone is lying.”
    “While they’re here, or after they leave?”
    “While they’re here. We don’t have time for indirection.