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and of bracing good health, gulls wheeled and screeched, the breeze blew amicably, and the crowds of folk gathered to watch the new arrivals and speculate upon the treasure brought with them.
    The argenters, ships of broad beam and comfortable lines, of plain sail configuration, could hold immense quantities of cargo. Already lines of slaves were shuffling to and fro along the narrow gangplanks, empty-handed outwards and massively burdened on the inward journey. The scent of the sea and the breeze did much to subdue their odors.
    The mercenaries came ashore, pretending to lurch about on dry land after their weeks at sea, skylarking, pleased to have arrived safely. Alloran eyed them meanly. Cedro provided the kov with his own telescope, and this Alloran employed to give himself a better idea of the quality of these warriors. He let fall an oath.
    “There any many women there — Jikai Vuvushis!”
    At the back of the two men, keeping out of the way yet ready instantly to step forward if his advice was sought, Kapt Lakelmi reflected that the Battle Maidens had served the kov well in the past. That view was shared by the entire group of women standing a few paces along the ramparts watching the bright scene spread out below.
    All the women’s faces turned to the kov, as though a flower-field came alive under the suns.
    Standing perfectly still, Lakelmi put his tongue into his cheek so that a bulge jutted above the line of his beard. His lips remained closed. He fancied he was about to enjoy himself.
    Chuktar Gilda Failsham, brusque, hard-bitten, her handsome face seasoned by experience, battle, and manipulating men and women, was clearly about to speak her mind. She was a member of the Order of Sisters of the Sword. As a chuktar, Gilda Failsham was in overall command of all the kov’s Warrior Maidens and was a well-trained and competent commander. She did not suffer fools gladly, and suffered men even less, although at times acknowledging that they had their uses.
    “My lord kov,” she called across the small intervening space along the rampart walk. “There are indeed a goodly number of Jikai Vuvushis. For that we should give thanks to the Invisible Twins — do you not agree?”
    Intemperate, hot-headed, consumed with self-pride and arrogant he might be: Kov Vodun was not a fool. He had lost much of that gravitas which had once clothed him in the aura of superiority and integrity so comforting to those he commanded. But he was still a man of substance. He could not manage the fulsome smile the situation might call for; he did say: “You are right, Gilda. Completely so. I am sure you are aware of the esteem in which I hold your girls.”
    Lakelmi sighed inwardly and took his tongue out of his cheek; he felt disappointed, cheated, even, of a spot of amusement.
    Among the small group of women, Lyss the Lone also sensed disappointment. How satisfying it would be if only Gilda Failsham — who was a splendid if misguided woman — should fall out with this rascally Kov Vodun! Among any collection of people forming a circle or a court around a great noble there were bound to be jealousies, rivalries, secret hatreds and plots hatching thicker than snow on the Mountains of the North. In her experience, which she would be the first to admit was hardly extensive, she had known precious few courts where intrigue did not flourish.
    Around the Emperor of Vallia had assembled people who made up what to her represented all that was best in the new Vallia. Even around the Prince Majister intrigue carried on in whispers and furtive glances. This saddened her. Here she was, risking her life with these Opaz-forsaken blots with Alloran, and for all she knew some loose-lipped bastard could blow away her cover and reveal her to the merciless interrogations of Kov Vodun Alloran and his damned sorcerer and their thrice-damned torturers.
    Despite the brilliance of the day, the streaming fires of Zim and Genodras, the cooling breeze, she felt