"An act of great mercy, yes. But we have a different sort of enemy now—Shapeshifter filth, cruel vermin—"

"Sleet—!"

"That is what they are, my lord! Creatures that have vowed to destroy all that we have built on our world."

"On their world, Sleet," said Valentine. "Remember that: this is their world."

"Was, my lord. They lost it to us by default. A mere few million of them, on a planet large enough for—"

"And shall we have this tired dispute one more time, then?" Carabella burst out, making no effort to disguise her irritation. "Why? Is it not hard enough to breathe the blowtorch stuff that comes out of Suvrael, without straining our lungs in such futile talk as this?"

"I only mean to say, my lady, that the war of restoration was such a war as could be won by peaceful means, by open arms and a loving embrace. We have a different kind of enemy now. This Faraataa is consumed with hatred. He will not rest until we are all dead: and will he be won by love, do you think? Do you, my lord?"

Valentine looked away. "We will use whatever means are appropriate," he said, "to make Majipoor whole again."

"If you are sincere in what you say, then you must be prepared to destroy the enemy," replied Sleet darkly. "Not merely pen them up in the jungle as Lord Stiamot did, but to exterminate them, to eradicate them, to end forever the threat to our civilization that they—"

"Exterminate? Eradicate?" Valentine laughed. "You sound prehistoric, Sleet!"

"He does not mean it literally, my lord," Carabella said.

"Ah, he does, he does! Don't you, Sleet?"

With a shrug Sleet said, "You know that my loathing of Metamorphs is not entirely of my own making, but was laid upon me in a sending—a sending out of that very land that lies ahead of us. But apart from that: I think their lives are forfeit, yes, for the damage they have already done. I make no apology for believing that."

"And you would massacre millions of people for the crimes of our leaders? Sleet, Sleet, you are more than a threat to our civilization than ten thousand Metamorphs!"

Color surged to Sleet's pale fleshless cheeks, but he said nothing.

"You are offended by that," Valentine said. "I meant no offense."

In a low voice Sleet said, "The Coronal need not ask the pardon of the bloodthirsty barbarian who serves him, my lord."

"I had no desire to mock you. Only to disagree with you."

"Then let us disagree," said Sleet. "If I were Coronal, I would kill them all."

"But I am Coronal—at least in some parts of this world. And so long as I am, I will search for ways of winning this war that fall short of exterminations and eradications. Is that acceptable to you, Sleet?"

"Whatever the Coronal wishes is acceptable to me, and you know it, my lord. I tell you only what I would do if I were Coronal."