Could she blame anyone but herself? She had gotten them into that situation….

The sun pushed through the pillar of darkness. She glanced up. It was beginning to dissipate. The woman in white was now no more than a twitch in the air, like heat rising off bare stone. The coruscation where Ethrian had fallen was losing its color, turning milky, threatening to go watery.

She glanced toward the city. The chunky little Tervola had outdistanced everyone. He was at the gate already. Bragi and Mist were ambling along, apparently talking. Bragi’s gestures looked dispirited.

Varthlokkur had stopped. He faced her from two hundred yards, waiting. The Unborn floated above his head. She stared back at him. There lay the new life. The last vestige of an old life lay dead at her feet. The end of an era was written….

The coruscation died. And there lay the body of her son. “But…” she murmured. “I saw him explode. I did.” Frantically, she beckoned Varthlokkur.

The wizard approached reluctantly. Too many sharp words had been exchanged. Their relationship was severely wounded.

Ethrian groaned.

“Oh! Damnit, hurry up!” Nepanthe shrieked. “Varth, please!”

The wizard sensed the quickening in the boy. He ran.

Ethrian’s eyes opened a crack. “Momma?” he croaked.

Nepanthe flung herself on him and wept.

The orders from the Princess were terse but explicit. Shih-ka’i reported as directed. Like his brethren, he had remained in quarters while Ragnarson and Varthlokkur remained in Lioantung. The two meant less to him than they did to most Tervola, but he had gone along in the interest of morale and solidarity. He had a good team here. He had to stand with them as they had stood with him against the Deliverer.

“Mistress?” he inquired, standing at attention in the wreckage of what had been his headquarters.

“They’ve departed. Cancel the games.”

“As you command, Mistress.”

“I wanted to commend you, Lord Ssu-ma. And reward you. I have a new task for you, if you’re willing to undertake it.”

“I’m a soldier, Mistress. I am the empire’s to command.” What new task? The Matayangan front? He wouldn’t relish being tossed into that bloody cauldron.

Mist smiled. “No. Not Southern Army. The command every Tervola wants: Western Army.”

Shih-ka’i’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. Western Army? A plum, certainly. The glamor command. He was blunt. “Why? What of Lord Hsung?”

“I want a western commander who’ll keep his mind on business. Not one who’ll be plotting against me or taking off on his own. Someone who isn’t foaming at the mouth for revenge.” Softly, with humor, she added, “Besides, I can’t stand Lord Hsung.”

Shih-ka’i had only a passing acquaintance with the man. Nevertheless, he nodded. The one favorable thing he knew of Lord Hsung was that he could be a very good commander—when forced to concentrate on his calling.

He asked, “When would you want me?”

“Moving him out will be ticklish. But before the end of the year. Take the intervening time off. My friend Lord Ch’ien will take over here.”