for more.

With Volna were, instead of her usual ladies in waiting, two discreet
palace guards. Grinning, she looked at their whip-swords. That was the
way to silence one such as B'ronth the Utalian.

"He may enter," Volna told the seneschal. Prokliam bowed out, saying:

"And Princess, you will not forget--"

"No, Prokliam, I won't forget. You hardly knew the Prince Jlomec at
all, did you? You certainly couldn't have been his favorite."

"Princess," breathed the seneschal tremulously as he withdrew.

A moment later, B'ronth the Utalian entered the royal chamber. He wore
a snow-cloak. He was all but invisible except for the snow-cloak. He
was, eerily, a disembodied cloak floating through air. Although,
noticed Volna, if you looked closely you could see the faintest
suggestion of a man's head above the cloak, as if you saw the rich
wall tapestries of the room through a transparent, head-shaped glass.
Likewise, the suggestion of arms and legs....

"You are B'ronth?" An unnecessary question, but Volna had not yet made
up her mind what must be done.

"Yes, majesty," the cloak said in a different but somehow unctuous
voice.

"You are alone?"

"No, majesty," said the cloak.

"Then--?"

"A girl. A wayfarer of the Plains of Ofrid. I accompany her."

"And the story you have to tell?"

"I realize, majesty, how the royal Princess must grieve at the loss of
her royal brother, the Prince. I realize...."

"To the point, man. Get to the point. Are you trying to say you know
how Prince Jlomec was slain? You know who killed him?"

"Yes," said the cloak boldly, eagerly.

Princess Volna smiled. Perhaps something in that smile warned B'ronth
the Utalian. But of course, the warning came too late. In a quick
jerky motion, the cloak retreated toward the doorway. "Princess...."
B'ronth said.

Princess Volna told her guards: "Kill him."

B'ronth the Utalian had time for one brief scream which, if a sound
could, seemed to embody all his frustrated dreams of wealth. Then one
of the guards moved swiftly, his arm streaking out. The whip-sword in
his hand lashed, blurring, toward the cloak. Bright red blood welled,
jetted.

B'ronth the Utalian's head, no longer invisible, rolled on the floor
at Volna's lovely feet. "Clean that up," she told one of the guards.
To the other she said: "Now fetch the girl."

* * * * *

"Mind, lord, I don't question you," Hultax the Abarian said. "But it's
just-