He paused, then went on. “No, not that. They have no word to give. I don’t want that. But I have given them a symbol.” He reached into his breast and pulled out a white silk scarf. “They will follow this, and the man who carries it. And I will burn it one month from tonight, when I have led them home.”

“I don’t understand,” said Thanakar.

“Then it is too hard to explain to you.” Aspe turned to the commissar. “Old man,” he said. “It is a sin to try and break the unbreakable horse. So it is. But I found this horse shackled and bound, and I broke the chain and loosened the rope. Only, I must lead it for a time. I too have my obligations. But when King Argon’s head is on a pole and I have sent it to the emperor, then I ride north, and my family rides with me. They follow me because of a memory I gave them. I can make pictures in the air. Have you seen it?

No? Barbarians! No matter, it’s a trick I have. It is a magic that I learned long ago. I have given them a memory of freedom. Every night I have sung it in their ear. But I will not betray them, not this time.

North, north above Rang-river, where the grass grows, and there’s fish in the water and snow on the hill.

In the house where I was born, I will sing my music. I have pledged my word. I will not break it. One week from tonight I ride. And my people will ride with me.”

“The savior of his race,” muttered the commissar.

“Ah yes, a biter,” said Aspe, smiling viciously. “And maybe hoping is the sharpest bite of all. But there is beauty in the heart of ugliness—I learned that from your bishop. You know she has true power, that one.

All the rest are conjurers and charlatans—your priests are masters of illusion, as I am. But she has a true power. When I saw her in the center of that circle of old priests, it made me think that there was hope, for me and all of us, and that a man could change. It made me hope I had some beauty of my own. A biter, yes. But look you, Starbridge, look. We can’t all keep our fingers clean. Maybe I have been ambition’s slave, and worse than that, a slave to other people. But without me, my brothers and my sisters would still be stinking in your filthy slum, because sometimes it takes a man with dirt on his hands.”

“I don’t deny it,” said the commissar. “The hands don’t matter, nor the dirt, nor the man. Only if you keep this clean.” He pulled the white scarf from the colonel’s fist, and smoothed out its wrinkles. “Only if you never let it drop. But I believe you are what I would call a man of honor. Otherwise you would have broken them to your own will, and not to this.”