Vorax squinted sidelong at the Soumanië, feeling the urge to battle quicken his blood. “You’re handy with that, Counselor,” he observed. “Makes me pity my countrymen, those you led into betrayal. I trust you found them waiting, as promised. Doubtless Haomane is pleased.” Bloodlust thickened his tongue, and he nodded at the gem. “Have a care. I come to bargain in good faith.”

“And yet you perceive your weakness,” Malthus said gently.

“Mine, aye.” With an effort, Vorax tore his gaze from the Soumanië. “Funny thing, Counselor. Seems your pretty brooch doesn’t work on the Dreamspinner.” He forced his lips into a smile. “Something in his nature renders him proof against its folly, and he’s right eager to see the Lady Cerelinde dead, is Ushahin Dreamspinner. He doesn’t mind defying Lord Satoris to do it. He’s quite mad, you know.”

Aracus Altorus swore; Malthus passed his hand over the Soumanië, quenching its light.

Ingolin of the Rivenlost, who had sat motionless in the saddle, stirred. “You touch upon my fears, Vorax of Staccia. You are quick to use the Lady Cerelinde’s life as a bargaining chip, yet it is in my heart that the Sunderer has little reason to have spared it to date.”

“Oh, aye, she lives.” Breathing easier, Vorax laughed. “For now, Ellyl lordling. His Lordship,” he added contemptuously, “has staked his honor upon it.”

Ingolin’s melodious voice deepened. “I put no trust in the honor of Satoris Banewreaker. Let her be brought forth, if you would have me believe. Let us see with our own eyes that the Lady Cerelinde lives!”

“See, I thought you might ask that.” Vorax scratched at his beard. “Problem is, Ingolin my friend, she’s our safeguard. I don’t put a great deal of trust in your word.” He gave the Lord of the Rivenlost a friendly smile. “Why, you might break it, if you reckoned it were for the greater good!”

“I would not,” the Ellyl Lord said stiffly. “The Ellylon do not lie.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Vorax shrugged. “Someone else might break it for you, eh? The Lady stays in Darkhaven. But I asked her for a token, whereby you might know she lives. She asked me if you were in the field. When I said you were, she said, ‘Tell them Meronil must have rung with the sound of horns this morning.’ Does that suffice?”

Ingolin bowed his head, silver hair hiding his features. “Cerelinde,” he whispered.

“Cerelinde,” Vorax agreed. “Whose life hangs by this bargain, and your ability to honor it to the word. Shall we strike it?”

“How do we know you will keep your word?” Aracus Altorus’ eyes blazed. “Perhaps this bargain is but a mockery. What safeguard do you offer, Glutton?”

Vorax glanced around, his gaze falling on the Midlander. “Speros of Haimhault.” He beckoned. “Are you willing to serve?”

“My lord!” The Midlander looked ill. “Aye, my lord.”