ld him. Tears glistened in her eyes. "Bram Forest," she said
tremulously. "Now that I've found you, I don't want you to be
hurt--ever again."

Bram Forest responded: "Don't worry, Ylia. If Portox hadn't known I'd
be more than a match for the boar, he never would have established its
conquest as proof of my identity."

"But ... but don't you see, you've been regenerated, as Bylanus said.
You may not be as strong as you were."

Bram Forest looked at Bylanus, who shrugged. Bylanus lifted them when
Bram Forest nodded. The park-like terrain flashed by. A dark forest
loomed. The Kranuian Wood....

Close at hand, an animal screamed.

* * * * *

"How do I look, Prokliam?" Volna asked her seneschal.

He bowed before her. "You are lovely, O My Queen."

Volna smiled. She wore the royal purple of Nadia in a gown which fell,
clinging as if sentient and voluptuous, to the wonderful curves of her
body. "I'm not your Queen yet," she said, laughing.

"A mere formality, My Queen."

"I am Volna, Virgin Princess of Nadia, sister to Bontarc the King."

"Huh!" snorted the old man. "That is your official title. But what do
titles matter? When this day ends you will rule all Tarth side by side
with Retoc the Abarian."

Yes, Volna thought. With Retoc the Abarian. But how long would _that_
alliance last? Would either of them be content to share power with the
other? Wouldn't there come a day when she would give the nod to
Prokliam and the legions would march against those of Abaria chanting,
"All power to Volna! All power to Volna the Beautiful!" The thought of
power, power over strong men, over leaders of nations, made her giddy
with desire.

All the royal blood of Tarth was gathered in Nadia City now, for the
funeral games. She knew Retoc's plan: her spies had confirmed it.
Retoc's legions would slay the rulers of the multiple nations and
clans of Tarth and one by one, stunned, leaderless, the small nations
would flock to the banners of Abaria and Nadia. If, then, Retoc had in
mind to betray her and claim all power for himself, her own legions
would be rested and ready. And Bontarc? she thought. What of Bontarc,
her brother?

As if he could read her thoughts, Prokliam said, "I have arranged the
lists for the dueling which will end the games, majesty. Bontarc, as
you know, expects a duel to the first blood with some competent
whip-swordsman." Prokliam licked his thin, dry lips. "He will be
confr