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choked up, suffocated.
    She favored the lord Cedro with a look that should have melted him where he stood.
    Neither he nor his uncle the kov had spoken a single word about what had passed in the room where the dead chavonth and their two dead comrades spoke eloquently of great deeds. Not that she worried over that. It merely pointed out what these people were like.
    She’d sent little bandy-legged Lon the Knees off very smartly, swearing him to absolute silence about what he had seen. He had been only too tremblingly anxious to agree. She had a meeting with him later. She didn’t want the good Lon running off at the mouth. No, by Vox!
    The news of that unhanged villain the Kataki Strom beating Drak in a battle was grim and unpleasant. She knew Drak was safe because had he been killed or captured the news would have gone around like wildfire. That was the obvious common-sense reason she knew Drak was unharmed; the real reason she knew was that had Drak chanced on ill fortune, she would know at once and with the utmost certainty, know it in her heart.
    Standing here with these unpleasant people watching more reinforcements for their benighted army streaming ashore, she sighed. She thought of home. Her life had not so far turned out the way she would have wished. She had hoped that Drak’s sister, Lela the Princess Majister, known as Jaezila, would have married her brother, Drayseg, named for the emperor. But that had not happened. Lela was off somewhere in Hamal, enamored of a Prince of Hamal called Tyfar, and the pair of them circling around each other without the least clue how to come to grips with what fate had ordained for them.
    As for Drayseg, the last she’d heard of him he was a zhanpaktun somewhere in Balintol. All very distressing. And to cap it all this fat luxurious Queen Lush was openly going after Drak! It was unbearable!
    Silda Segutoria, known in these unhealthy parts as Lyss the Lone, returned her attention to where it belonged, as a dutiful little Jikai Vuvushi dancing attendance upon a damned traitorous kov — the bastard.

Chapter four
    In which Lyss the Lone keeps a straight face
    The complex series of ceremonies, rituals and religious observances that would transform Vodun Alloran, Kov of Kaldi, into King Vodun of Southwest Vallia, were planned to run for a whole six days. This, said the know-alls, was pitching it just about right. Any less amount of time would indicate faint-heartedness upon the part of the kov, a lack of certainty, even more probably, a lack of the wherewithal. To run longer than a Kregen week would smack of inflated ambition and ego beyond control, which would — inevitably said the wiseacres — bring down the just vengeance of the gods.
    A number of dissatisfactions gnawed at Alloran, among which he felt most resentment that he was not able to crown a queen. Mercenaries seldom marry in the nature of their employment, unless they settle down to a long-term bodyguard occupation. His plans to marry the Kovneva of Rahartdrin, and thus lend color to his claims upon the island, had failed to materialize.
    He slid his rapier up and down in its scabbard with his left fist wrapped into the fancy hilt. He scowled. The old biddy! Katrin Rashumin, Kovneva of Rahartdrin, had fought his armies from the hedges, from the ditches, had battled from the mountains, and had at the end escaped somewhere across the sea.
    All pursuit had failed to discover her.
    Well, one day she’d be found, dead or alive. When that day dawned, Alloran would think afresh how best to act. Possession — that was the key! He held Rahartdrin fast in his grip. Soon his armada would sail north for Tezpor.
    The other dissatisfaction lay all around him.
    He sat slumped back in a huge winged armchair, his feet in gleaming boots stuck arrogantly upon the polished table. Each time he rammed his rapier down, the chape hit the floor. Well, golden chapes would be no problem now, for the island was potentially enormously rich and