“Yes, yes.” The general waved his calloused hand. “And you have done well to come here swiftly and without waiting. But as it happens, you have missed the Golden One by a matter of half a day.”

“What?” Vo seemed, for the first time, quite mortal. “I don’t understand…”

“He has gone in one of his swiftest ships, The Bright Falcon, leaving me behind to watch over the rest of the siege.” The polemarch grinned. “And leaving me as governor over Hierosol when it falls, as well. I shall have my hands full trying to keep the men—especially your comrades in the Hounds—from burning the place to the ground. They are fierce and hungry, and have waited a long time for this.”

Qinnitan was stunned. She done her best to prepare herself to see the autarch’s terrifying smile and she felt as though she had stepped off a cliff where she had expected to set her foot on hot coals. She didn’t know what to think, except that her torment would go on a little longer, her death would be a little delayed, and she had no idea what she felt about that.

The Overseer of the Armies slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. He was tall, and looked half again as heavy as Daikonas Vo. “Well, then, if you just pass the girl over to my servants we will keep her most safe until the autarch returns.”

“No.”

The polemarch, who had begun to turn away, pivoted slowly on his heel, surprised. “No? Did I hear you say no to me, soldier?”

“You did, Lord. Because the Golden One himself commanded me to bring him the girl with all dispatch—me and no one else. I will need your fastest ship.”

The high overseer looked from Vo to the rest of the courtiers and soldiers standing in the room. His mouth curled, but the smile did not hide his annoyance. “My fastest ship, eh? You are insolent, even for one of the Hounds.”

Vo had recovered his equilibrium. He stared back. “There is nothing insolent in serving the Golden One just as he commands—in every word. Our master was most insistent.”

The older man looked at Vo, and Qinnitan could almost believe they were staring at each other over a game board, a fierce bout of Shanat, perhaps, like the old men played in the marketplace, everyone talking except the two competing. At last Ikelis Johar shook his head.

“Very well,” he said. “We will find you a ship. You will tell the autarch, when you find him, that this was your own idea.”

“I will certainly do that, High Polemarch.” Vo turned. “I would like some food and drink while I wait for the new ship to be readied.”

The polemarch frowned heavily, but at last sat down in his chair again. “The servants will see to it. Now you will excuse me, Vo—I have some little work to do, after all.”

“Yes. One last question, Polemarch.” Vo almost seemed to be doing it on purpose now, poking Johar to see if he could make one of the world’s most powerful men lose his temper. “How long ago did the autarch leave for Xis?”