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deaths.'
    'My friend Vra-Hundig at Castle Vanguard told me that the trail up the mountain is not especially difficult,' Bramlow said. 'What usually makes the summit inacessible is the heavy snow - which has melted this year.'
    Orrion could feel his opposition weakening. 'Bram, tell me true: do you seriously believe these so-called demons might exist and be willing to help me?'
    Vra-Bramlow took hold of the silver novice's gammadion,emblem of the Zeth Order, that hung on a chain around his neck. 'By my halidom, I do. Dearest brother, we all know other improbable myths of this island that have a basis in truth. I admit that this one strains credulity to the bursting point - but recall our dying grandsire and the oracle of Bazekoy's Head. It seemed ludicrous that the oracle should have spoken the truth: yet it did. So what say you? Shall we dare the demons? Decide now, for it will take us at least a day to reach the mountain's foot, and another to make the climb. We have not a moment to waste.'
    And here I am, Prince Heritor Orrion thought sadly. Grasping at the most puny of straws, putting my two brothers at risk, ready to commit a horrendous sin. But I would do anything, even forfeit my life, if I might thereby wed my darling Nyla, rather than the barbarian princess chosen for me by my heartless sire -
    'Orry! We're waiting for you. Stop gawking at the sceneryand get moving!'
    He felt resentment at the sound of his twin brother's strident voice echoing among the crags. It was not Coro's place to give orders to the Heritor. Nevertheless Orrion rose to his feet, adjusted the baldric that supported his leather fardel of food and drink, picked up his iron-shod staff, and resumed his ascent of the steep, zigzag trail.
    A couple of hundred ells above him, Corodon and Vra-Bramlow stood side by side, watching the toiling figure.
    'He's finally coming,' the younger prince said in exasperation. 'Too bad Orry's legs aren't as long as ours. The climb's been hard on him. If nothing else, this day's work might pare a few pounds from his belly and let him cut a better figure in his court raiment. Then we won't have wasted our time scaling this rockpile, even if the poor wight fails to conjure his impossible miracle.'
    'Don't tell me you're skeptical about magic!' Bramlow lifted a teasing eyebrow. 'You, of all people? Orry would be disappointed to hear it.'
    Corodon turned about and seized his older brother's shoulders. 'Bram, you promised! Never even hint of what you know about me to Orry or to any other person. If you do, I swear I'll cut your tripes out, even though it be sacrilege to harm a Brother of Zeth!'
    Chuckling, Bramlow pried the clutching fingers away easily and took tight hold of Corodon's wrists, rendering him helpless. The brawny young alchymist used no talent in the subduing, only main strength. His features were pleasant and bland, as usual.
    'I said I'd never betray you, Coro, and I won't. Not unless you do deliberate harm to Orrion. But your mean-spirited insults are becoming tedious.'
    Corodon relaxed and gave a nervous laugh. 'You know I was only joking. I love my twin with all my heart! But if he found me out, his bloody great sense of honor would make him spill the beans to Father. I'd have to join you as a celibate in the Order - and living such a life would kill me.'
    'It's not so bad. We have spells to calm the urgings of the flesh.'
    'Oh, wonderful.' Corodon rolled his eyes. 'And many simple joys of wizardhood to take their place, no doubt! But I'd never become a mighty Doctor Arcanorum as you will. My talent is so piss-poor that the alchymists can't even detect it. I curse the day I let slip my stupid jumping coin trick and betrayed myself to you. If you turn me in to the Order, I'd be lucky to be nominated to the Brother Caretakers! Do you want me to spend my life mopping abbey floors or raking chickenshite?'
    'Then learn to control your spiteful tongue and stop teasing Orry. You resent that he's Prince Heritor,