King Bifalt had to review his decisions with General Klamath. He also had to talk with the chief horse-warrior. And, perhaps, with Set Ungabwey. He needed their help to evaluate the prospects that shimmered in his mind like miracles or mirages.

If Klamath could do his part, and the el-Algreb were as good as their opinion of themselves, and the caravan-master was truly not done, Bifalt of Belleger might be able to keep more of his people alive than he would have believed less than a day ago.

FOURTEEN

TWO CRIMES

Queen Estie floated as if she were drowning. She drifted deep within herself, resting in a place as comfortable as a womb. Gentle currents may have shifted her from side to side, but they had no purpose except to soothe and coddle her. Here she had no regrets, and all of her hurts were gone.

Gradually, however, she began to remember. Fragments of the past seemed to rise around her like bubbles. A few of them burst. They urged her to recognize them.

Had she received a blow? Were people dead?

Did she need to awaken?

The currents rocked her more firmly. She felt pressure on her shoulder.

A voice she knew well said, “Majesty.” A voice she trusted. “You must awaken.” It had the power to compel her. “You have slept enough. Now you are needed.”

As she returned to herself, she gasped for breath.

But it was not air she needed. It was courage. The shock of recollection seemed to stop her heart.

Magister Marrow’s workroom.

I expect them to die.

A blast that tore apart wood and stone and bodies. A weight crushing her to the floor.

The force of her memories jerked her into a sitting position. Suddenly, her eyes were open. But in the first instants, she saw nothing except Commander Crayn crouching beside her bed, his hand on her shoulder. A lamp on a nightstand lit his face.

“Majesty,” he murmured. “Do not be afraid. You are safe. And healed, if the physicians are not mistaken.

“Here.”

Supporting her with one arm, he lifted a flagon of water toward her mouth.

As if by sorcery, the flagon evoked an instant thirst. Trembling, she took it in both hands and drank.

The water was bliss and agony. She had never been so thirsty. Water soothed her distress. Slowly, its freshness restored what she had forgotten. With every swallow, she recalled more pain.

The librarian was dead. One of the Farsighted. Others. She would have died under the rubble of the broken ceiling, but Lylin and then Crayn had covered her with their bodies. Crayn had taken damage that would have ended her.

“Good, Majesty,” said the Commander. “Drink it all. I have more.”

She did not know why she was so thirsty.