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rather than you,and that's only natural. But you must give him the respect he deserves. God help you if you make mock of him when we reach the summit and he conjures the demons. This is a deadly serious business to him.'
    ‘Iknow. I'll do as you say. Only let go of me - he's coming.'
    Corodon tore loose from Bramlow's grip. He slid a short way downslope to greet his twin heartily and offer him wine. Orrion accepted the flask and drank a little for the sake of politeness. The two of them rejoined Bramlow and stood arm in arm.
    Both princes were eighteen, two years younger than the novice, short of their majority and the belt of knighthood, but old enough at last to fight at their royal father's side, should the Army of the Sovereignty ever snap out of its indecisive funk and attack the Salka invaders. Corodon was the younger by less than an hour's time, taller even than Conrig's six feet and with his father's striking good looks. He had the king's shining wheaten hair as well, which he wore over-long, and his mother's sapphire-bright eyes. His public demeanor was both charming and fearless, and he was well regarded by many of the important lords at court. But Prince Corodon conspicuously lacked the level-headedness of the other royal offspring, even including their solemn little sister, Princess Wylgana, at sixteen the youngest child of Conrig and Risalla and presumably the last. Corodon's brash and often foolhardy behavior had caused certain members of the Privy Council to secretly thank heaven that he had not emerged from his mother's womb ahead of his nonidentical twin.
    No such cloud hung over Orrion, although some suspected that his eventual reign would be competent rather than outstanding. The Prince Heritor was shrewd, well-read, and only slightly pompous, a plain-featured youth of middle stature, solidly muscled rather than overweight. His newlycultivated moustache and his hair were the indeterminate pale color of dry sand, and his eyes were more grey than blue. He had long since outgrown the bodily weaknesses that had blighted his early childhood and now enjoyed good health. His fighting prowess was much less flamboyant than Corodon's, but he wielded both the two-handed longsword and the lighter varg blade with acceptable skill - as an aspirant to Cathra's kingship was legally obligated to do.
    Vra-Bramlow said to the others, 'It's time we were going. We must reach the summit within a couple of hours, or give up hope of returning to the Heart Companions before nightfall. Sleeping rough on the mountainside tonight might be very disagreeable. See those mare's-tail clouds streaming out of the northwest? They mean that the weather could change for the worse.'
    So they resumed climbing, with Bramlow taking the lead and using his windsenses to search out the best route among the confusing masses of rock. None of them had spare breath now for conversation, so each labored alone, occupied by unquiet thoughts.
    There really was a Demon Seat.
    Orrion had insisted that it was his right to be the first to stand on the mountaintop and Bramlow agreed, so Corodon had no choice but to give in, muttering resentfully. While the others waited below, the Prince Heritor climbed the last few ells on all fours, then pulled himself upright on a kind of broken-walled natural terrace that comprised the summit. What he found caused him to shout in astonishment. 'Bazekoy's Bones! I don't believe this. Come up and see, lads!'
    Bramlow and Corodon scrambled to the top and the three of them stood huddled together in the brisk wind. The nearly level area was partially covered with a thin layer of snow. The most abundant variety of rock round about them wasgrey granite; but there was also a sizable outcropping of nearly translucent mineral, bluish-white in color. Some large chunks of this had broken apart and fallen in a heap that bore a rough resemblance to a chair or throne.
    Corodon gave a whoop of delight. Before the others could stop him, he