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  In the late afternoon, when shadows lengthened along the streets, horns began to blow at the harbour gate to indicate that ships of importance were sailing towards the docks. Pellaz rode Peridot down to the sea and walked him along the right arm of the great curving quay. The tide was high and the sea gates at the mouth of the quay stood open. The message had said 'fleet', but did five ships comprise a fleet? All the same, they were impressive, as Caeru had guessed. They were like something out of ancient history, Viking longboats with stylised snarling wolves at their prows. As they passed through the sea gate, and alongside the quay, so the rowers raised their oars and water poured down from the paddles, glittering in the mellow light. Pellaz rode alongside them for some minutes. He presumed the largest ship, whose sail bore the heraldic device of the tribe, carried the Freyhellan leader. He would be a proud and vain barbarian, Pellaz thought. Somehar to be appeased yet in some way curbed. This could make for lively debate in the Hegalion: a way to vent anger, to exorcise feeling in the swordplay of words. The emblem of the Freyhella was symbolic: strange mythical creatures intertwined, which in some ways reflected ancient art, while in others were completely new.

  The hara onboard the ships were mostly brown-skinned yet pale-haired. Pellaz fought a rising sense of discomfort as he watched them at work; most of them were stripped to the waist. None of them appeared particularly interested in the sights around them. Perhaps they had decided not to be impressed by Immanion, which was ridiculous, given the way it rose so majestically and impossibly before them. On the largest ship, Pellaz noticed one har break away from his companions and go to the prow. Somehar at least, then, was curious. Perhaps the Tigron's attention was sensed, because the Freyhellan turned to stare at him. Pellaz asked Peridot to halt. He returned the stare, amused to think that if he had made any impression at all, it would be doubly compounded when the Freyhellan met him again and discovered who he was.

  The Hegemony was extremely interested in the Freyhellans, which at first Pellaz found somewhat puzzling. The Hegemony Chancellor, Tharmifex Calvel, came to Pell's apartments, shortly after the visitors had arrived. “You must meet with them tonight,” he said.

  “Why?” Pellaz asked. “Shouldn't they be made to wait? We shouldn't appear too eager. Also, I wonder why we should be eager anyway. Freyhella is hardly as useful an ally as, say, Maudrah, or any of the Jaddayoth tribes, for that matter.”

  “They are different,” Tharmifex said. “Most of us are pleased they've decided to listen to us. I wasn't the only one who was disappointed when they declined to have discussions over the current crisis.”

  “Different in what way?”

  “Eyra in particular feels they will be of immense help. They are deeply spiritual.”

  “As are many others. I don't understand it, Thar. From a distance, they do appear striking, true, and have a charismatic air to them. But appearances aren't everything.”

  Tharmifex fixed Pellaz with a stare. “I sense resistance in you. Is there any reason for that?” He didn't like the Tigron disapproving of any of his plans.

  “No. I'm just cautious. I like to form my own opinions.”

  “Tonight, then. At the Hegalion. We'll invite some of the other representatives. Just so we don't appear too accommodating.”

  Pellaz inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  The meeting was formal, everyhar sitting in ranks in the main chamber of the Hegalion, with Pellaz and other members of the Hegemony at the high table. Pellaz had dressed down, shunning any trappings of rank. He wanted to appear no different from his colleagues. Several of the Hegemony were missing, as they were involved in other business. This included Ashmael Aldebaran, who Pellaz wished was present. Ashmael would never accommodate anyhar if they didn't deserve it.

  Tharmifex had invited as many representatives as he could from tribes already present in the city. It made for quite a crowd, many of whom were eyeing each other suspiciously. They had all come to listen to the Freyhellans, to find out what had happened to make them abandon their staunch sense of independence from the Wraeththu world. Pellaz understood then some of what Tharmifex felt about the Freyhellans. If they were happy to ally with the Gelaming, then so would many others.

  The Freyhellans, perhaps to make a pointed gesture, turned up late, after Tharmifex had made the formal introductions of the Hegemony. When they finally arrived, Pellaz registered a stir at the back of the chamber. The new arrivals, five of them, sat down in one of the far rows of seats.

  Once everyhar was settled, Tharmifex stood up. “I would like to introduce Galdra har Freyhella.” He gestured towards the Freyhellan party. “Tiahaar, if you would come forward. You may speak to this assembly.”

  Pellaz watched as a pale-haired har stood up and came towards the high table. It took some time because his party was sitting so far back. He was, perhaps no coincidence, the one Pellaz had noticed on the leading ship that afternoon. The Freyhellan wore leather and fur, and his thick pale hair was loose over his chest, whereas most of his companions wore braids, but he did not appear particularly barbaric. It was clear he was very sure of himself, however.

  Galdra executed a slight and rather insolent bow to the Hegemony. “Thank you, tiahaar.” His gaze flickered over Pellaz, who gave no sign of having noticed it, although his skin prickled. This was the tribe that should have incepted Cal. He was like them in appearance. What would life have been like if that had ever happened?

  “We recognise no authority but our own,” Galdra began, addressing the hara before him rather than the Hegemony. His accent was heavy, yet musical. “Events have occurred recently, which have touched every harish soul. Nohar knew their origin, or how much threat they posed. After much discussion, Freyhella saw no reason to concur with Immanion's initial summons to a conclave of tribes. We are capable of defending our own boundaries, and many of us believed that the Gelaming would use this crisis to gain control over tribes who might panic and believe they need help, when in fact the problem might be of short duration and easily overcome.”

  He paused for effect. Pellaz was astounded the Freyhellan dared to speak so openly. He glanced at his colleagues and found an amusing array of impenetrable expressions on their faces. “Something happened to change your mind,” Pellaz said, in his most ringing tone.

  Galdra glanced at him for a moment. “Yes. It is why we're here now. Freyhella no longer believes the threat is small or of short duration.”

  'Enlighten us,” Pellaz said.

  “Our leader was murdered,” Galdra said, “along with the crew of his ship, on a routine inspection of our outlying coastal towns. His ship was returned to Freygard in flames. Tyr was...” Galdra clearly fought to remain composed. “His body was nailed to the mast. We never found... He had been decapitated.”

  A ripple of subdued murmurs swept round the chamber.

  “I'm sorry,” Pellaz said, and hoped that sounded genuine.

  Galdra nodded thoughtfully. “We were chesna. Freyhella desired me to take his seat in our Council. This I have done, in his honour.”

  “We are pleased to have you with us,” Tharmifex said, “though sad it is under such distressing circumstances.”

  “We don't know what took him,” Galdra said, “or why. There was no sign, other than the ship coming out of the mist to our shore in flames. The crew had vanished; there were no bodies. It sailed into dock as if guided by unseen hands, and everyhar could see the body of Tyr, still wearing his chains of office, upon the mast. As the ship came to dock, the flames died down. We don't know how. It seemed to be a taunt. No other tribe on this continent has – to our knowledge – suffered such an attack. We are curious to learn why we were singled out, and also why no follow-up attack occurred. We have decided, not without reservation, to learn whether the Gelaming can assist us in this matter.”

  “We will do all that we can,” Pellaz said, and found that he meant it. As Galdra has spoken, albeit in quite brief terms, Pellaz had imagined Cal being returned to him in that way
, headless upon a flaming ship. He could smell smoke and burning meat. He felt paralysed by loss.

  Galdra stared at him for some moments. “Thank you,” he said. “I can see you are sincere.”

  Pellaz raised he was on the brink of succumbing to emotions he'd held in check for months. He stood up. “All we can tell you is that we believe Ponclast, erstwhile leader of the Varrs, is behind recent attacks and otherlane dysfunction. We believe also he has access to powers we are as yet unable to fathom. But our finest minds are working on it, and now we hope the finest minds of other tribes will join with us. It is time to put aside all fears of conquest and power games. Only by uniting can we move on and learn how to protect ourselves from threat. We have much to learn. We should do it together.”

  Galdra narrowed his eyes a little. “You are the Tigron.”

  “Yes,” Pellaz said. “That is the office given to me. Now, it is late, and you have travelled far today. I think we should meet tomorrow. I have matters to attend to this night. You will all have to excuse me.” He could tell Tharmifex and the others at the high table were somewhat affronted that he intended to leave the meeting early, but he couldn't stay longer. He wasn't sure he could keep control of himself. A few more impassioned words and he'd be weeping in front of everyhar, and no matter how that might endear him or not to the tribal representatives, it was something Pellaz could not personally endure.

  As he made to leave the dais, heading for a side door, Galdra put a hand upon his arm. His expression was that of enquiry, but also sympathetic compassion. Pellaz could not speak, but pulled his arm free.

  “Until tomorrow, tiahaar,” Galdra said, and leaned forward to kiss Pellaz on the cheek.

  Pellaz fled the chamber, his vision a red mist. The Freyhellan's gesture had been disrespectful and over-familiar, but also spontaneous. Observation of formal protocol obviously played no great part in the Freyhellan psyche.

  Only when Pellaz was far from the room and the night air had claimed him could he release what he felt inside. It wasn't just weeping; it was like vomiting up his heart. He found his way to Caeru's apartments, almost witless with grief, although he'd managed to stop the tears by then. Long ago, Orien had advised him never to weep in front of others, and it was advice he'd always tried to heed.

  Caeru, sensitive as to what was wrong, shooed away the friends who were visiting him and planted a large glass of liquor in Pell's hands. “You don't know the reason Cal didn't come back here,” he said carefully.

  “I do,” Pellaz said. “That's the trouble. I am not Pellaz Cevarro. But he is still Cal. He is better than he was, whereas I am somehar completely different. He ran from me, Rue. I know it.”

  Caeru sighed and knelt by Pell's chair. He winced a little, for his body was still sore inside. “You don't know that.”

  “Damn Ponclast!” Pellaz snapped. “I should to go Galhea.”

  “But the Parasilians have already left there,” Caeru said softly. “I think you should be thankful you can't go.”

  Pellaz laughed bitterly. “I am supposed to be strong and dispassionate; to inspire hara in these troubled times. But I have a heart, Rue, and it's bleeding. I can't give myself the time to grieve.”

  Caeru curled his fingers over one of Pell's hands, which lay limply on the chair arm. “Pell, I don't know what to say to you. Your grief is a monster, it always has been. The love you and Cal have for each other is often destructive. I understand it now, but it also frightens me more.”

  “I don't think he loves me, Rue. He loves a dead har. It's so cruel. I wish I looked as different on the outside as I am within. Thiede should have taken it from me. Why didn't he? He could have done anything to me. He could have dissolved that love.”

  “Perhaps there was a reason he didn't.”

  Pellaz sighed and stroked Caeru's fingers. “Maybe. But I have to go on. I cannot let it consume me. I managed to control it before, I can do it again. Maybe Cal and I will be together, maybe not. I am Tigron. I haven't got the time to indulge myself wondering about it.”

  “It's not over, Pell. Trust me on that.”

  Pellaz kissed Caeru's hair. “I could never have imagined a day I could come to you like this. I am grateful, Rue.”

  “Cal gave us that,” Caeru said. “Stay here tonight. Talk as much as you want, so that tomorrow you can work with a clear head.”

  Pellaz nodded. “I will. Thank you.” He paused. “The Freyhellans are strange. Galdra, their leader, affected me. He made this emotional outburst happen, although it wasn't intentional.”

  “Tell me,” Caeru said. “Tell me everything in your heart.”

  The following day, Pellaz attended to the Hegalion once more as the tribe representatives applied themselves to devising some kind of strategy. Self-defence was of prime importance. What had happened in Freygard could happen anywhere. As in Megalithica, the strikes could be swift and devastating. The leader of the Sulh representatives, a tall, dark-haired har named Heron, said to Pellaz, “Even you might not be safe, tiahaar.”

  They would all have heard rumours about the attack on Rue, and Cal's disappearance, of course, although Pellaz resolved to play it down. “Nohar is safe,” he said. “Status is irrelevant.”

  During a break for lunch, Pellaz sought out the Freyhellan leader. The Sulh appeared to have struck up quite a friendship with the Freyhellans, perhaps because of similarities in their spiritual outlook. When Galdra saw Pellaz heading over, he excused himself from his companions. “I understand I behaved inappropriately last night,” he said, before Pellaz could speak.

  “A little importunate maybe,” Pellaz replied. “Might I ask why you felt impelled to do that?”

  “You have suffered a loss,” Galdra said. “My words brought it back to you. Anyhar could see that.”

  “And anyhar can pick up gossip in the streets of Immanion,” Pellaz said. “My private life is not that private.”

  Galdra smiled. “It seems strange to be able to converse with you like this. I imagined we'd be commanded to prostrate ourselves before a statue in a temple, or something. I didn't for one minute imagine you as a har of flesh and blood, or one whose eyes would carry such pain. That is honest of you.”

  “Careless, more like,” Pellaz said.

  “Am I forgiven the indiscretion?”

  “Yes. I have already forgotten it.”

  “If you should ever want to talk, I can provide a friendly ear.”

  “And I thought a kiss was importunate? Really, tiahaar, you are presumptuous.”

  “So I've been told. I can't see the point of twisted words. I can't play the Gelaming game of intrigue and duplicity. It is part of the reason I was reluctant to come here.”

  “Then remember to whom you speak,” Pellaz said. He inclined his head and turned away, conscious of the Freyhellan's gaze even when he reached the other side of the room.

  It was two weeks later that Pellaz finally gave in to Caeru's suggestion for an informal evening reception in Phaonica for visitors to the city. In truth, he had quite enough of the tribal delegates during the day, when it seemed he spent most of his time smoothing ruffled feathers and nurturing fragile egos. He had no wish to continue that in a social setting. The discussions had brought home to him how much the other tribes saw the Gelaming as a threat. They seemed to need constant reassurance that they were regarded as important. This was not easy because, despite outward appearances, Pellaz was impatient with the way so many of them were easily offended, and in fact seemed to thrive on finding reasons to be affronted.

  They Freyhellans had acquired celebrity status among the delegates, but much as Pellaz strove to find it, there was no indication that Galdra, or any of his colleagues, were fomenting dissent among the others. The talks went back and forth, endlessly, yet all they were waiting for really was the ability to send sedim to Megalithica or for Ponclast to commit another atrocity nearer to home. Talk did nothing really. Pellaz wished the tribes would just agree that the Gelaming were most suited to comma
nding the situation and let them get on with it, but that was not going to happen.

  Caeru flittered around the edges of the Hegemony meetings, being a charming host and, along with the ever present Velaxis, entertaining who he referred to sarcastically as the 'VIH's (very important hara) in various hotels around the city. He was in his element, and Pellaz was amused when he realised that quite a few choice specimens of foreign harishness ended up in the Tigrina's bed. These distractions had succeeded in ridding Caeru of the last traces of illness, and he appeared to be in constant high spirits.

  One morning the Tigrina came to Pell's office and repeated his plea for a party in the palace. “Pellaz, you are becoming curmudgeonly,” Caeru said. “What happened to your desire for some sparring? Invite the Freyhellans here. You might not have noticed, but that Galdra has his eyes glued to your back. It's about time you brought a little light into your life.”

  Pellaz had indeed noticed Galdra's constant scrutiny, mainly because his eyes always tended to seek out the Freyhellan in any gathering. He usually found an excuse to talk to Galdra at formal meetings, even though part of him wished he could resist it. “If you are so keen to meet them informally,” he said, “invite them to your apartment.”