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and his voice dangerously curt.
Anskiere stayed utterly still, but something in his attitude seemed suddenly
defensive. Although at Cliffhaven his reply would be judged with no thought
for morality, he answered carefully. "I was betrayed."
The Kielmark blinked like a cat. "Only that? Nothing more?" When he received
no answer, he tried again. "Were you re-sponsible?"
Anskiere bent his head, and his long, expressive fingers clenched at his
sides. "Yes."
A murmur stirred the ranks of men at arms, silenced by the Kielmark's glare.
Tathagres' sorcerers fidgeted restlessly, dis-quieted by the turn the
interview had taken. Anskiere's request for sanctuary had initiated an
exchange whose outcome could not be controlled. And with lowered spears at
their back, they dared not intervene.
The Kielmark shifted in his chair, muscles relaxed beneath his swarthy skin.
"I accept that," he said, and abruptly reached a decision. "You are welcome to
what safety Cliffhaven can provide, if you will ward the weather in return."
Anskiere looked up. "There are limits to both." Without explaining how
severely his powers were curtailed, he added, "I will do all I can."
The Kielmark nodded, rubies flashing at his neck. "I un-derstand. You may
take back your staff. Now what would you suggest I do with the two who came
with you?"
"Nothing, Eminence." Anskiere retrieved the staff and straightened with an
expression of bland amusement. "For them I claim sole responsibility."
One sorcerer hissed in astonishment. The other whirled, openly affronted by
Anskiere's presumptuous boldness. And on the dais, the Kielmark awarded their
shattered composure a sharp bellow of laughter. "So. The hyenas have not
forgotten their spots," he observed. He sobered in the space of a second,
strong fingers twined in the leopard fur. "I will allow you their fate,
Stormwarden, but with one difference. I mistrust the in-tentions of anyone who
claims no convictions, be they sorcerers or men. I wish this pair gone from
Cliffhaven in three days' time."
The sorcerers settled in smug satisfaction. The Kielmark had cornered
Anskiere neatly; with his powers bound and the lives of two children at risk,
he could never complete such a promise. Eager as hounds on fresh scent, the
sorcerers waited for Anskiere to confess his helplessness, and appeal to the
Kielmark's mercy.
But to their surprise, Anskiere executed the bow he had refused the Kielmark
earlier. "Lordship, I give my word." No gap was discernible in his assurance,
but his gesture carried the haunted quality of a man who has just signed a
pact with death.
Confident Anskiere's lie would ruin him, the sorcerers stepped back in
anticipation of dismissal. But the Kielmark gestured and the men at arms
raised weapons, stopping their hasty retreat.
"Wait."
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Without moving from his chair, the Kielmark stretched and caught a sword from
its peg on the wall behind him. The basket hilt glittered in the sunlight as
he extended the weapon to Anskiere. "You may have need of this."
A startled twitch of one sorcerer's cheek immediately jus-tified his
impulsive action. And when Anskiere reached to grasp the hilt, his sleeve fell
back to expose a livid line where a fetter had recently circled his wrist.
Shaken by such blatant evidence of abuse, the Kielmark tugged gently on the
sword as Anskiere's hand closed over the grip. He spoke barely above a
whisper. "Come here."
Anskiere mounted the steps.
The Kielmark bent close, so no other could hear. "I see I did not misjudge,
old friend." He inclined his head toward the sorcerers who waited, rigid with
annoyance. "Could they ruin you?"
The Stormwarden drew a long breath. Through the weapon held commonly between
them, the Kielmark noted fine tremors of tension Anskiere's robes had
concealed until now. Yet the Stormwarden's eyes were untroubled when he spoke.
"I think not."
"Your difficulties are beyond me. I have no choice but to trust you." The
Kielmark's huge wrist flexed, twisting the sword against Anskiere's palm. With
greater clarity, he said, "Then you can rid us of this accursed heat?"
Anskiere smiled. "That would require violent methods, Em-inence."
Below the dais, the sorcerers twitched as though vexed.
"Koridan's Fires," swore the Kielmark, and he chuckled. "Your puppets seem
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