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ride in all directions for news of dy Jironal s movements. And then we ll see
what new information we have by tomorrow night, and take a final decision
then.
The two men bowed, and hurried out; Iselle bade Cazaril stay a moment.
 I did not wish to argue with my uncle, she said to him in a tone of doubt,
 but I think Valenda is a distraction. What do you think, Cazaril?
 From the point of view of the roya and royina of Chalion-Ibra . . . it does
not command a position of geographic importance. Whoever may hold it.
 Then let it be a sink for dy Jironal s forces instead of our own. But I
suspect my uncle will be difficult about it.
Bergon cleared his throat.  The road to Valenda and the road to Cardegoss run
together for the first stage. We could put it about that we were making for
Valenda, but then strike for Cardegoss instead at the fork.
 Put it about to who?
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 Everyone. Pretty nearly. Then whatever spies dy Jironal has among us will
send him haring off in the wrong direction.
Yes, actually, this was the son of the Fox of Ibra . . . Cazaril s brows
twitched up in approval.
Iselle thought it over, then frowned.  It works only if my uncle s men will
follow us.
 If we lead, they ll have no choice but to follow us, I think.
 My hope is to avoid a war, not start one, said Iselle.
 Then not marching up to a town full of the chancellor s forces makes sense,
don t you think? said
Bergon.
Iselle smiled mistily, leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek; he touched
the spot in mild wonder.
 We shall both take thought until tomorrow, she announced.  Cazaril, start
that letter toward my brother
Orico all the same, as if we meant to sit tight here in Taryoon. Perchance we
shall overtake it on the road and deliver it ourselves.
WITH DYBAOCIA S AND THE ARCHDIVINE S GUIDANCE, Cazaril found no lack of eager
volunteers in town or temple to take the royesse s letter to Cardegoss. Men
seemed to be flocking to the royal couple s side. Those who d missed the
wedding itself were now pouring into town for the
Daughter s Day celebration tomorrow. All that youth and beauty acted as a
powerful talisman upon men
s hearts; the Lady of Spring s season of renewal was being strongly identified
with Iselle s impending reign. The trick would be to get the governance of
Chalion on a more even footing while the mood held, so that it might still
stand strong in less happy hours. Surely no witness here in Taryoon would ever
quite forget this time of hope; it would still linger in their eyes when they
looked at an older Iselle and Bergon.
Thus Cazaril oversaw a party of a dozen grave men climb into their saddles at
a time of night when most men were climbing into their beds. He gave the
official documents into the hands of a senior divine, a sober lord who had
risen high in the Order of the Father. The March dy Sould rode with them, as
Bergon s witness and spokesman. The earnest ambassadors clattered out of the
temple plaza, and Palli walked Cazaril back to dy Baocia s palace and wished
him good night.
The little distracting flurry of action fading in his mind, Cazaril s steps
grew heavy again as he climbed the stairs of his courtyard gallery. The weight
of the curse was a secret burden dragging down all bright hopes. A younger
Orico had started out his reign just as eager and willing as Iselle, a dozen
years ago. As if he d believed then that if only he applied enough effort,
goodwill, steady virtue, he could overcome the black blight. But it had all
gone wrong. . . .
There were worse fates than becoming Iselle s dy Lutez, Cazaril reflected. He
might become Iselle s dy Jironal
. How much frustration, how much corrosion could a loyal man endure before
going mad, watching such a long slow drain of youth and hope into age and
despair? And yet, whatever Orico had been, he had held on long enough for the
next generation to gain its chance. Like some doomed little hero holding back
a dike of woe, and drowning while the others escaped the tide.
Cazaril readied himself for bed, and his nightly attack, but Dondo was
surprisingly quiescent.
Exhausted? Recouping his forces? Waiting . . . Despite that malevolent
presence and promise, Cazaril slept at last.
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