"Your majesty?" Hornkast asked, speaking in his richest, fullest tone. "Your majesty, do you hear me?

Close one eye if you hear me."

There was no response.

"I think, nevertheless, that you hear me, majesty. And I tell you this: we know what you suffer. We will not allow you much longer to endure it. That we pledge to you, majesty."

Silence. Stillness. Then:

"Life! Pain! Death!"

And then a moaning and a babbling and a whistling and a shrieking that was like a song from beyond the grave.

15

"—and that is the temple of the Lady," said Lord Mayor Sambigel, pointing far up the face of the astonishing vertical cliff that rose just east of his city. "The holiest of her shrines in the world, saving only the Isle itself, of course."

Valentine stared. The temple gleamed like a solitary white eye set in the dark forehead of the cliff.

It was the fourth month of the grand processional now, or the fifth, or perhaps the sixth: days and weeks, cities and provinces, everything had begun to blur and merge. This day he had arrived at the great port of Alaisor, far up the northwestern coast of Alhanroel. Behind him lay Treymone, Stoienzar, Vilimong, Estotilaup, Kimoise: city upon city, all flowing together in his mind into one vast metropolis that spread like some sluggish many-armed monster across the face of Majipoor.

Sambigel, a short swarthy man with a fringe of dense black beard around the edge of his face, droned on and on, bidding the Coronal welcome with his most sonorous platitudes. Valentine's eyes felt glazed; his mind wandered. He had heard all this before, in Kikil, in Steenorp, in Klai: never-to-be-forgotten occasion, love and gratitude of all the people, proud of this, honored by that. Yes. Yes. He found himself wondering which city it was that had shown him its famous vanishing lake. Was it Simbilfant? And the aerial ballet, that was Montepulsiane, or had it been Ghrav? The golden bees were surely Beilemoona, but the sky-chain? Arkilon? Sennamole?

Once more he looked toward the temple on the cliff. It beckoned powerfully to him. He yearned to be there at this very moment: to be caught on the fingertip of a gale; and swept like a dry leaf to that lofty summit.

— Mother, let me rest with you awhile!

There came a pause in the lord mayor's speech, or perhaps he was done. Valentine turned to Tunigorn and said, "Make arrangements for me to sleep at that temple tonight."

Sambigel seemed nonplussed. "It was my understanding, my lord, that you were to see the Tomb of Lord Stiamot this afternoon, and then to go to the Hall of Topaz for a reception, followed by a dinner at—"

"Lord Stiamot has waited eight thousand years for me to pay homage to him. He can wait one day more."

"Of course, my lord. So be it, my lord." Sambigel made a hasty flurry of starbursts. "I will notify the hierarch Ambargarde that you will be her guest tonight. And now, if you will permit, my lord, we have an entertainment to offer you—"