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  It was a subdued but angry meeting which eventually reassembled. NailBiter and IceFire had the roof to themselves and were unrepentantly preening each other. The wild eagle, Shadow now learned, had remarked that The-one-who-came-through-the-dark had obviously been eating batmeat. NailBiter had taken action which might seem reasonable to a man but was not correct eagle behavior. Karaman looked more shaken than anyone.

  "I must have taught him bad habits," Shadow said, regarding NailBiter affectionately. He found the episode amusing.Big mutt!

  Karaman shook his head. "Or driven him crazy. First he spared you in Dead Man's Pass, now he's going around picking fights like a human being. It isn't allowed, Shadow!"

  "What do you mean, 'isn't allowed'?"

  "The High Ones have banished them," Karaman said. "NailBiter and IceFire. As soon as they've taken us home, they have to leave Allaban." He nodded at Shadow's astonishment. "Yes, they even had a trial already, after their fashion."

  The president called the meeting to order. Shadow strutted over to him, turned his back, and addressed Vindax.

  "King," he said loudly, "I can give you your justice--I can put you on your throne. But I would need the help of the republic, so you must waive claim to Allaban. I would need the help of the eagles, so you must swear to free all the birds in Rantorra. Are you willing to pay the price?"

  The mask regarded him steadily, unreadably.

  "Yes," Vindax said. "I agree to those terms."

  Shadow swung around and looked up at the president. "I shall need an army. It won't matter if they're not very good--there won't be much fighting, but I must have men to seize the palace. Will you permit King Vindax to raise a force? With the help of the church, of course. He will need money, but you will gain security. You will never need to fear attack from Rantorra, ever."

  The spice merchant folded his arms. "How are you planning to work this miracle?" he asked, but his manner was cautious; money had been mentioned, and he was wary now of this puny youth whose displeasure had so aroused the eagles.

  Shadow grinned. He turned to Karaman, who had been translating for Eagle Speaker. "The birds can't keep a secret, can they? Anything we tell them here will be all over Allaban and then the Rand?"

  The circle of eyes was skeptical and impatient, but Karaman was giving Shadow a stare of shrewd appraisal. "They can't keep a secret," he said. "And I wouldn't keep that one. Think before you speak."

  "Come with me!" Shadow snapped. He almost dragged Karaman from his chair and led him off to the side, out of the shade and into the sunshine beside the pile of grindstones and cartwheels and old bicycles.

  And then he explained the obvious: The eagles could free themselves.

  "God the Pilot!" the old man exclaimed. "You sure? It doesn't make sense!"

  Shadow was aware that he was grinning like a monkey, and he couldn't help it. "What's the last time you ate with your feet?" he asked.

  Yes, he was sure this would work--and how simple it was! It wasn't a case of thinking from a different viewpoint. It was a case of putting it all together--what Karaman had taught him of the birds and what he knew as a skyman and what had happened in Dead Man's Pass. And NailBiter cleaning his talons.

  Karaman shook his head in wonderment. "You certain?"

  "Yes! How many skymen did you have on your side in the war?"

  The old man sniffed. "About two, more or less. I just can't believe it could be so easy!"

  "That's the problem," Shadow said. "If the word gets out, then Jarkadon could block it just as easily. We'll have to go like a stooping eagle, hit them so fast that they don't know and have no time to take countermeasures."

  Karaman was still skeptical. "Why has it never been done?"

  "Who cares? It'll work," Shadow said, "won't it?"

  "Yes, I think so," the old man said, and took hold of his arm. "But do you know what you're letting loose, lad?"

  Shadow hesitated. "Yes."

  A pair of sad old eyes regarded him from a face as brown and wrinkled as the Rand. "Do you? Life is not the same after, you know. And why? Why are you doing this?"

  Why? "To free the eagles? Is that not what you have always wanted?" Shadow asked.

  The silver mane waved in a nod. "Me, yes. But you? And I wanted to make a republic, as the First Ones had. You are putting another king on the throne."

  "Vindax will be a good king!" Shadow protested. "I always thought so, and now he has seen poverty as no king of Rantorra ever has."

  Karaman turned and stared at the group of watchers, at the back of Vindax's head. He sighed. "You can't turn a straight furrow with a bent plow, lad."

  "Perhaps not!" Shadow snapped. "But good things can grow in crooked furrows!"

  The old man studied him in silence and then sighed. "Only if the soil is fertile. All right, if you're sure. Come along." He led the way back into the circle.

  "Yes, it will work," he announced. Astonishment swept the ring of faces. He started to sign to Eagle Speaker, translating as he went. "The-one-who-came-through-the-dark has shown me an updraft, and I follow him. He can free the eagles, if the eagles will do as he says. Not-many eagles will die and many-many-many eagles will be freed. But he cannot signal the way now--if he hatches the egg too soon, then the dark ones may kill the chick."

  Flicker. Pause. Flicker.

  Karaman nodded. "She says they will follow you if I vouch for you. As long as you do not start killing many-many eagles."

  "We want peace, though," Shadow said. "Will the eagles be merciful? We do not want many-many-many men killed, either. When a slave bird is freed, will it turn on its rider?"

  Fingers flickered; comb replied.

  "She says 'what would you do?'" Karaman asked grimly.

  Revenge?

  "The High Ones will ask the slaves to be merciful?" Shadow asked. "The birds of Allaban and the men live together without war. That's what we need in Rantorra, too."

  There was more flickering, then a pause for discussion in the sky. It was a long pause by bird standards. Was a big argument going on? Finally the birds replied.

  "She says they will try," Karaman said. "They can't sign contracts, Shadow--that's they best they can do."

  "Right!" Shadow said. He turned and grinned at Vindax. "What size crown do you take, King?"

  Teeth were bared in the inhuman face. "You will give me my revenge?" Vindax said.

  Not justice?

  "Yes!" Shadow said as confidently as he could.

  NailBiter was rocking with excitement. Shadow would have to negotiate that sentence of banishment.

  "What do we do about this letter from Ramo?" the president demanded.

  "Stuff it!" Shadow snapped. "They can't be sure you've even received it. I know Jarkadon! He's probably far more scared of you than you are of him."

  The spice merchant looked doubtful.

  "We're going to depose him anyway," Shadow said. "And I also know the Royal Guard. They're scattered all over the Range. They're great at evicting old ladies who can't pay taxes, but they can't put more than three hundred decent fighters in the air."

  Vindax raised his eyebrows but did not speak.

  Chapter 16

  "Rapture is a state of mind."

  --Anon.

  THE Range was everything Elosa had expected and a thousand times more. Its fertility amazed her after the barren lands of the Rand: vineyards and orchards and brilliant greenery. The slopes were crowded with hamlets and little towns; there were roads with traffic on them, and the distant birds in the sky were mounts being ridden, not dangerous wilds to avoid.

  But then, Ramo was a thousand times more again--she could hardly believe the size of the city floating endlessly below her, and when the palace itself came into view, she wondered if it was real. Surely it would have stretched from Ninar Foan to Vinok. She saw marble porticoes set amid flowers, palm trees and fountains, roofs of every hue, courtyards and lawns, cupolas and balconies and ornamental lakes...the place was huge! And it was beautiful
beyond imagining--paradise.

  The palace aerie alone was larger than her father's castle, with ten layers of roosting.Ten!And her guides took her to none of those but to yet another perch close to the ground, reserved for the arrival of honored guests. She was hardly out of the saddle before a groom had flown her mount away to be cared for.

  Her father was waiting, greatly handsome but hardly recognizable in splendid court dress. She rushed into his arms, and they hugged. "Father!"

  "Fledgling!"

  Yes, she had had a wonderful flight and it was all marvelous and the fairy-tale palace was amazing and she was ecstatically happy to be here.

  His hug was warm, but his face was strained. She looked again and saw that he had aged. There were worry lines there that she did not remember and gray on the temples, and he had certainly lost a lot of weight. She inquired anxiously how he was, and he said he was fine and now she must meet her welcoming party.

  They were a dozen or more--a couple of men but mostly ladies, some young, some old--and her head started to spin madly with the effort of trying to remember so many names. Yet the first face of all was familiar--the very beautiful woman she had been told was called Feysa, the spurious lady's maid who had been Shadow's mistress on the journey. Her name was not really Feysa, and she was a marchioness, no less.

  The whirling dream sensation grew stronger and stronger. She was swept out to a landau with two white horses and driven off before she had remembered that she ought to thank those who had brought her so far. Feysa was beside her and her father behind, so she could not speak to him, but in any case she was too entranced by all the sights of the palace as the carriage jingled along to have said much to anyone. The extent of it overwhelmed her--the beauty, the crowds of gorgeously dressed people, the innumerable servants who seemed to spring out of nowhere as soon as anything was needed, the stupendous staircase of onyx and marble, the tapestries and the ankle-deep rugs, the enormous silk-draped bedroom that she was told was to be hers, with its adjoining bathroom. There were gold taps on a tub large enough to drown an eagle.

  Her father had disappeared, and obviously Feysa--Marchioness who?--had taken her in charge. Women who were to be her maids, all dressed in finer clothes than she had ever owned, were curtsying to her. They bathed her, and she was too dream-struck to be embarrassed at all. They dried her in towels of lamb's wool and massaged her and rubbed her with scented oils. They dressed her in silk underclothes. They measured her for dresses, and they coiffed her hair and varnished her nails and painted her face...

  And suddenly she was standing before a mirror, admiring a lady who had a vague facial resemblance to herself but whose gown and jewels and elegant coiffure were totally strange. The gown! Ocher silk, it was open down the front almost to her navel, yet tight enough to show off her admirably fashionable flat chest. The maids had politely raved about her figure and her complexion. From her hips the gown sprang out in a great wide crinoline of foamy lace. She sparkled with jewels.

  "There," Feysa said. "I think that will do to begin with. How do you feel?"

  "Stunned," Elosa said.

  The marchioness was very beautiful and very gracious, and obviously in charge. She smiled. "Wait till tomorrow--you have twenty-two gowns to try on after breakfast."

  Elosa gasped. Feysa laughed and brought in the duke to inspect. He was very complimentary, although she noticed again the deep lines of anxiety.

  "Perhaps I may have a word with my most beautiful daughter?" he said with a warm smile at Feysa.

  He was asking permission? No, that was ridiculous.

  The Feysa lady hesitated. "Make it quick," she replied in a whisper. She made a fast nod toward the balcony and turned to shout at all the maids to get the place in order.

  The duke led Elosa out to the balcony.

  "A little fast advice, fledgling," he said. "No, face the rail while we talk. Don't trust anyone..."

  Really! She felt her face start to burn under the paint.

  "Father, I may be inexperienced, but I am not a child!" No silky-tongued courtier was going to take advantage ofher.Kings must marry virgins--and she already suspected that she might be the only virgin in the whole court. She was going to stay that way, certainly.

  Now her father went red. He placed a hand over hers where it rested on the balustrade. "I did not mean that, fledgling. I am sure you will be sensible. But this is a court--everyone is conspiring against everyone else, all the time. Try to keep out of it. Be polite and gracious and noncommittal. The marchioness will be giving you guidance, but don't trust her, either. We are invited to dine with the king in just a few minutes."

  The king! Her legs started to shake.

  Her father nodded unhappily. "I did try to explain that you had come a long way and needed a day or so to adjust to palace life, but the king wants to meet you." His voice became quieter yet and more urgent. "Remember, he is God here. His smallest wish is absolute law. His slightest whim! You understand?"

  She nodded, frightened. "Father, is something wrong?"

  "Of course not."

  His eyes said that there was.

  "We should be moving, Your Grace," Feysa's voice said. It was so close to her back that Elosa jumped.

  Dining with the king, not--Feysa explained as they strolled in ladylike procession through the palace, did not involve eating. The king ate, and the others watched. There would be nobles serving him, of course, lords with the hereditary right to pour the royal wine, for example. The king would invite only two, or at the most three, persons to sit and actually eat with him--that was a tremendous honor--but the several dozen other guests would stand. Later the king would withdraw and they could have a hurried meal before joining him in whatever entertainment was planned for afterward. Today there was to be a masque.

  Elosa did not think she was very hungry, anyway.

  "One word of advice," the marchioness muttered between vivacious greetings to passing friends. "Don't make jokes. Not yet. When you know your way around, maybe. He likes humor...to a point."

  "I don't feel very humorous," Elosa said.

  She got a frown. "Be cheerful, though! Smile all the time. Enjoy yourself." Feysa dropped her voice to a whisper and covered her mouth with her fan. "One young man two nights ago topped one of the king's jests. The king had him taken out and flogged like a serf--Good sky to you, my lord!--and he is a viscount."

  Elosa did not feel humorous at all.

  The reception court was magnificent in its golds and colors and gleaming furniture. The courtiers waiting around were veritable peacocks. She was presented to this one and that one by Feysa or by her father, and they circulated and scintillated, and the dream sensation came pouring back like the hot wind. Either the rugs were even softer and thicker than they looked or her elegant shoes were not touching them at all.

  All her life she had waited for this--her arrival at court. It was vastly more magnificent than she had ever imagined.

  Then the great doors opened. The king entered with a small entourage of three older men, two of his own age, and four girls, all of them looking younger than Elosa and even more splendidly bejeweled and bedecked. The king began to circulate, greeting his guests.

  Dazzling in mauve and gold, he was about the height she had expected but broader and more muscular, with very fair hair hanging loose to his shoulders. His fingers glittered with treasure. Much handsomer than--she tried to remember Vindax and saw the face of Tuy Rorin.

  Jarkadon had bright blue eyes, she saw as she was presented and curtsied. Very bright and very blue.

  "It has been too long!" the king said. "We have been eager to meet you--and had we known what beauty we were missing, we should have been much, much more impatient."

  He was charming.

  In a moment or two, Elosa began to realize that she was being greatly honored. The royal procession around the room had stopped at her. He was ignoring the rest of the company. Charming--that was the only possible word. His blue eyes and his attentiv
e smile charmed her as he gave forth a stream of compliments about herself and her long journey and her faithful father and loyal family and on and on...

  Then she was sitting at his side and dinner was being served. The king and she were the only ones eating. Her father was there in the circle of onlookers around the table, and he smiled when she caught his eye and the conversation flickered to and fro. She thought she was managing to make sense. She made no jokes. She smiled.

  The marchioness had not mentioned the possibility of only one companion. Two or three, she had said. So this was very special, and she was getting some dark looks from the younger women.

  The king sent back the wine and demanded a better. The talk turned to wine. The king remarked on the excellent vintage produced by someone's estate, and the owner hastily offered to have several hogsheads sent at once and to fly a few bottles in daily until the carts could arrive.

  "I must say, Majesty," the duke remarked, "that almost any wine on the Range is better than the thin swill we produce at Ninar Foan."Warning: The wine is strong.

  Elosa agreed that she had never tasted...

  Her head was starting to ache.

  They were on the eighth or ninth course, and the food kept coming.

  Jarkadon was nibbling at some strange-looking meat. "You know what this is?" he inquired.

  No, she could not guess.

  "By law and ancient tradition," he said proudly, "it is a dish reserved for the king alone. Our father never cared for it, but we had the tradition revived. Taste some."

  He offered her a mouthful from his fork. It was highly spiced and rather tough. No, she still could not guess.