A/N: Here’s the new book, and the last of this pentad. It picks up a few days after the end of Fated To An Uncertain End, so you will definitely want to have read that one (and the first three of the pentad, too, of course) before this one.

Into the arms of Death and the bickering of great powers we go.

Prologue

Kymenos?

Kymenos said nothing, just sat looking into the night. Sometimes he shifted, but mainly for the purpose of scratching an itch. He gazed into the darkness and thought about nothing, to keep from thinking about the cairn he had left behind on the crest of a hill near Nafair.

Kymenos? Sykeen stepped closer to him and lowered his head, whuffling warm breath through his hair. I am still here, concerned and worried about you, and willing to travel beside you wherever you go. But I wish that you would you talk to me. Even your thoughts are mostly shut to me.

Kymenos stirred at last, and let himself lean back against the horse. Sykeen snorted in relief and stood firmly, as if he would let himself be a wall for as long as Kymenos needed him to be.

"I suppose it was unexpected," said Kymenos after a moment. "I feel no grief at parting with Talazh, since that was something I had thought up long before. But I assumed Norianna would be beside me."

He paused, thinking for a moment that Sykeen might be jealous of the notice he was giving the talking sword, but the horse only returned warmth and understanding. Reassured, Kymenos went on.

"She was a friend. Of course, if she hadn’t changed her mind about my feasibility as Heir, or if she had insisted that I take the throne even when she knew I didn’t want to, she wouldn’t have been nearly so good a friend. But she did change her mind." He stared into the distance again, absently noting the flicker of a fire in the direction he was looking. Someone camping, he thought, or a town burning. He didn’t care more about one than about the other. "And I miss her."

Sykeen made a little snort of surprise. It is well to admit that you miss her, Kymenos. Did you think I would snap at you for saying so?

"I wondered." Kymenos stood. "But we’ve spent most of the day here. Can you see well enough in the dark to get us down a few more hundred feet before we sleep?"

I’ve spent the time sleeping. You haven’t. Sykeen’s tail twitched. I think that we should rest here.

Kymenos shrugged. At the moment, he was far too occupied with other things to worry about carrying the argument. He curled up on as comfortable a bed as blankets and Sykeen’s side could make, and fell asleep almost at once.

******

Kymenos opened his eyes to shifting mist, and then the mist pulled back and revealed stone walls hung with torture implements. He turned at a growl behind him, and saw black dogs prowling towards him, as large as ponies. However, they had silver eyes, and by that, he knew them to be the hounds of Death, not the ghioutlin whose baying would usually summon their victims to a torture chamber. He stood and watched them come, not really caring what they did. This was a dream, and no doubt they meant it to be prophetic and doom-laden.

The nearest hound stopped and looked up at him. Kymenos looked silently back, expecting to die- but since he would die only in the dream, then what did it matter?

The hound flashed its teeth.

Kymenos yawned.

The dog barked, a bay terrible in its own right, and stepped back from him. The circle of hounds fanned out around him and began to bay, as a matter of fact, as if they wanted him to tremble and shake in fear.

Kymenos sighed, and stared at an instrument like a poker with a hook on the nearest wall, wondering what it was used for. That hook could be nasty in any number of places, and did one heat the iron or not?

The baying claimed his attention again when it changed into a human voice, and that voice spoke his name sharply, following it with the question, "Are you not afraid?"

Kymenos turned in surprise to look at the speaker. It was a slender, pale-skinned figure with a cloak of black fur draped over his shoulders, and he was looking at Kymenos as if he couldn’t understand lack of fear.

Kymenos shrugged. "I know it is only a dream. I don’t think that you can do anything to me here."

"Dreams can be terrible in their own way," said the man. "Nightmares."

"But they are not something that can pursue me into the real world," Kymenos pointed out patiently, wondering why a great power of the world- since he suspected this was Death- needed to hear that.

"You will be here someday."

Kymenos chuckled in spite of himself, the first real laughter he had given since Norianna died. And it didn’t make him fall apart into ashes, or feel as if he were spitting on her memory. Reluctantly, Kymenos admitted that he should probably start acting as if his life continued on after Norianna’s death. Yes, she had sacrificed herself for him, and it was sad, but she wouldn’t want to see him mooning around, not even able to respond to Death properly.

"I don’t think so, unless I am confronted by ghioutlin I cannot defeat," he said. "After all, the baying of your hounds does not bring me here."

"It might," said Death. "It could. The royal family was mine, and they betrayed me. I have claimed no one of the royal line since Queen Bel. But perhaps you could be the next."

Kymenos shrugged. "Some of my enemies in the past have tried to torture me, and found how little I liked it. You might speak to Nightstone and learn what happens when you put me in a torture chamber."

Death smiled. "I might, at that," he agreed. "Now, to business. I trust that you understand my threat?"

"Well enough."

Death shrugged. "If you do not understand it, then I cannot put it in clearer terms," he said. "Perhaps, though, you will consent to do me the pleasure of pretending that you are honored. I will not have to bring you to this torture chamber if you do one thing for me."

"Only one thing?" Kymenos asked. He didn’t think the great power noticed the mocking edge of his voice, given how seriously he nodded.

"Yes, just one thing."

"And what would that be? Bringing Serian back to your worship?"

Death blinked. "Perhaps you are more perceptive than I gave you credit for, or than members of the royal line have been in some time. Yes, that is exactly what I want you to do. Serian was my city at one time, and I want it back."

"I think the Crownkillers might have something to say about that," said Kymenos. "And the many other people who live there and worship Dark."

Death snarled softly, and around him, his hounds echoed him. Strangely, that made them less frightening and not more to Kymenos. The hounds were only puppets after all, though certainly formidable ones, with their teeth and size. "The Dark has enough other Kingdoms and people not to miss Dalzna. I was worshipped here once, and I will have it back."

"And why not use your own armies and worshippers to establish it for you?"

"Because you are royal," said Death. "And your Darkworkers have not been intelligent enough to pull the palace down."

"So?"

"There is magic in those walls that might help you." Death tried to look wise, though Kymenos thought it wasn’t far from an expression that a mortal would call constipated. "I have probably already said too much. But I thought that you should know this."

Kymenos laughed. "And what would happen if I did help to establish your worship? What would I get out of it?"

Death looked him in the eye. "The royal family never truly ruled Dalzna, but they worked in partnership with me. You could have that partnership back, and enough money and comfort to satisfy you for the rest of your life."

Kymenos paused thoughtfully. Then he said, "Of all the offers that the great powers and the gods have made me since this began, I think I like that one the best."

Death smiled at him.

"But there is one problem," said Kymenos.

"What is that?" snapped Death, and around him, his dogs snapped and growled, too.

"I don’t believe you," said Kymenos. "I don’t for one moment think that you’re going to keep your promise. They never do, the gods and the great powers. They get the mortals to do their work, the Destined King sits on his throne, and two years later he dies in some stupid war. I want proof, first, that you will actually make your promise to me and keep it."

"I must give you proof?" Death asked incredulously.

"That’s what I said, yes." Kymenos looked at him curiously. "Are you hard of hearing in this form?"

"You cannot force me to act against my will," said Death. "I hold the power here."

"It is just a dream," said Kymenos, and woke himself up.

He lay there for a moment, breathing and watching the stars. Not enough time had passed to make moving on feasible, but he wished he could. He would get no more sleep tonight. Luckily, he knew from a touch on his mind that Sykeen was too deeply asleep himself to wake up and worry about him.

Kymenos shook his head. He had hoped that this kind of nonsense would not begin when he discovered that his blood was indeed royal. But it was beginning, and he would have to deal with it. There was no one to travel with him and keep him from stupidity in the way that he had kept Talazh.

I resent that.

Sykeen was awake, after all. Kymenos twisted to look up at him, knowing the horse would already realize what had happened. Sometimes that telepathic bond came in useful. "You can try, but you couldn’t actually oppose my magic or tie me down. Norianna could."

Sykeen snorted, but said nothing, just leaning his nose on Kymenos’s shoulder. Kymenos supposed that he might miss her, too, but he didn’t ask. At the moment, he was hardly equal to dealing with anybody’s pain but his own. He lay there until morning came, and looked up at the stars.

Just as the sun mounted over the peaks, Kymenos heard a loud jingle outside the cave. He sat up at once, one hand on the empty sheath at his belt. He grimaced a moment later and shook his head, calling on his magic instead. It would take him some time to get used to being without Norianna.

He stood and walked out, aware that a contingent of Crownkillers could be waiting for him with swords, but not able to see any better way of dealing with it, since he doubted they would announce their names.

He found nothing outside the caves but a large bag. Kymenos prodded it hard with his foot, and then grimaced. That had hurt. He thought he knew what the bag contained, but it seemed too incredible, and he glanced suspiciously around.

No one met his gaze. Kymenos shrugged and untied the bag, then used a knife to nudge it open, not wanting to risk his eyes by leaning over it. There could be a gout of acid in there, for all he knew.

Nothing splurted out. Of course, that could just mean the acid was waiting, but Kymenos had another idea now. This could be the proof that he had asked Death for.

And he was not wrong, if the glittering coins that flowed out when he upended the bag were any sign. Kymenos shook his head at the coins, and then turned and called into the cave, "It’s all right, Sykeen."

I knew that, said Sykeen, trotting out the cave entrance and trying to look as if he really did know what he was talking about. I knew that, of course, he added, when Kymenos looked doubtfully at him.

Kymenos shrugged. Both he and the horse knew Sykeen was lying, but Kymenos didn’t see any reason to press the point. "We have enough money to get to Serian, and in comfort," he said.

Comfort for you. Not for me. You’ll probably make me pull the carriage we hire, said Sykeen, sulking.

Kymenos glanced at him curiously. "You’ve never seen the way to get down into Serian? No, forgive me, you wouldn’t have. We flew over it on our way to the Lake of the Northern Winds."

Sykeen bobbed his head. So there’s another way to get down into the valley? Or even most of the way to Serian itself?

"Of course. The Gust mages of the Star Circle have to earn their keep somehow, since work like handling the smoke from wildfires doesn’t happen all that often. They use their magic to transport horses down the peaks into Serian, and even most of the way there if you can pay them well enough." Kymenos began gathering up the coins. "I think that this will pay them more than well enough."

Sykeen seemed to want to say something, but he was obviously dreaming of not walking, and a pleased snort interrupted him every time he started to finish his thought. Kymenos laughed. "To think," he teased the stallion, "that I didn’t need to threaten you with gelding after all to get you to shut up. I could have mentioned the lifts down into Serian, and you would have quieted."

You weren’t interested in doing anything to benefit me then, Sykeen pointed out, but he didn’t sound angry. He kept snorting as Kymenos gathered up the coins and slung them back into their bag, then went about tying the bag to the saddle. He wasn’t going to complain about the weight of the money, then, for which Kymenos was privately grateful. How much farther is it to the first of these stations where the kind Gust mages lift horses into the air?

"Not much further," Kymenos reassured him. "Probably a few miles, at this point."

You know the mountains that well? Sykeen asked curiously as he accepted the load of the coins. He barely waited until he was bridled and Kymenos in the saddle before beginning to trot. I thought you didn’t, or we would have managed a more direct route to Nafair.

"Not the mountains," said Kymenos. "I can feel where great concentrations of elemental magic are being used, sometimes, if the magic is constant and unvarying. I couldn’t feel a brief battle between a Scarlet and an Azure mage, but I can feel the Gust magic being used this way. It never varies, and most of the Gust mages never do anything else."

A useful life, Sykeen said contentedly.

"A boring one, I would have said."

Sykeen proceeded to bicker with him over whether or not the Gust mages were well-employed, and that kept them going down into the next valley. Kymenos was actually smiling by the time the next waystation came into sight, with horses lifting impressively from it into the air.

I will not forget you, Norianna. But I can only look back to your cairn for so long before I become as melodramatic and sobby as Talazh.

I trust that you would want me to spend Death’s money without the intention of ever paying it back instead of mooning over you, anyway.