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"No. Someone beat me to him."

"Damn! According to Grail here most of the soldiers we've been killing were Marwitz's men, in the middle of their own coup attempt. But maybe it's not too late to join forces. Whip over to the communications section—north side, third floor— and tell McDodd to call for a parley."

"Join forces with Marwitz's butchers? Are you crazy? They'd stab us in the back first chance they got."

"I didn't ask your opinion," Phelan snapped. "Get moving. We can use their help."

Grail laughed, a short bark that sounded almost like a cough. "Such shortsighted naivete—and you really believe you can govern Rosette? You're a fool."

"The people will govern Rosette," Phelan corrected.

"The people aren't ready," Grail said flatly. "Democracy isn't something you learn overnight. And even if it were, even if you had every man in Rosette behind you, you couldn't keep the Easterlings from immediately pulling the whole thing out from under you. Only the dragons—and their master—have enough power to protect Rosette. Or haven't you been listening?"

"Damn you!" Phelan's temper was very near the breaking point. "Your damn dragons and your damn dragon pax don't mean a single thing to me. You're no different from anyone else, and if you can control those animals, then so can I."

"As I said, a fool." Grail's voice fairly dripped with contempt. Reaching up, he pulled the amulet from around his neck and tossed it to Phelan, who automatically reached out and caught it. "There—that's the key to controlling my dragons. Go ahead. See what good it does you."

Phelan stared at Grail, opened his mouth and closed it again, and then peered down at the amulet in his hand. For a minute he squinted hard at it. Finally, he looked up.

"You see?" Grail said. "You have no more chance of controlling my pets than you have of swimming around Troas. Any of the rest of you want to try it? Go ahead, try it. The sooner you're convinced Rosette's survival depends on me, the sooner you'll surrender and we can put an end to this nonsense."

"Don't listen to him," Phelan said grimly. "He's bluffing."

"Yeah, maybe," someone muttered. "But what if he's not?"

"Shut up!"

"And you would have controlled my dragons," Grail scoffed. "You can't even control your own men. Look, even Varian ignores you."

Phelan glanced over in surprise. "Varian? I gave you an order, damn it. Get moving."

"No." Royd took a deep breath. "I can command the dragon."

All eyes turned to him. "What?" Phelan asked.

"You heard me." Royd's eyes were locked onto Grail's. "I learned while I was a prisoner here. The... dragons... took a liking to me. All of them will obey me."

Grail's face was unreadable. "Prove it," he said flatly.

Royd nodded slowly. He began to concentrate... and he had contact. But there was something else there, a presence he'd not felt the last time: Grail's own control, undoubtedly. He set his teeth—and suddenly, with absurd ease, the presence fell away. The dragon was his.

Royd held out his hand and tried an order. Without hesitation, Three walked forward.

There was a gasp from Phelan's group. Royd glanced at them. They still held their guns, but, curiously, seemed to have forgotten them. It was up to Royd then; and the long-forgotten debt was finally going to be paid. He turned his attention back to the dictator and ordered Three to turn and prepare to jump... And hesitated.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill Grail.

The realization was a shock that even the incident at Louys Pass hadn't prepared him for, and it hit him like a hot needle in the gut. It wasn't just that he couldn't kill Grail dishonorably—he simply couldn't kill the dictator at all. The old reasons for his hatred still existed; but in the past few weeks he'd found the reasons were not always justified.

But even that was almost irrelevant, for all intellectual arguments paled before Royd's emotional response. He suddenly realized he liked Grail; liked him and sympathized with his attempts to handle the job he hadn't really wanted. And with new clarity he saw that, in many ways, he had come to consider the Dragonmaster his friend.

For a long moment he stood amidst the turmoil of truth crumbling in self- delusion. And then, suddenly, it was too late; for even as Royd's internal battle raged, he felt control of Three being wrenched from him.

Once more the chance to kill the dictator had come and gone—and looking into Grail's eyes, he finally realized that this was the trap the Dragonmaster had been patiently planning all these weeks.

He had tricked Royd into exposing the Rosette Freedom Party's hierarchy in this futile attack, secure in the knowledge that Royd himself could not throw his full loyalty to his old friends. Even the exquisite timing—pitting the underground against Marwitz's attempted coup—had probably been part of the plan. Grail had been toying with them, and now the game was over... and they Were all about to die.

From its crouch, the dragon leaped—

And Grail screamed as it slammed into him.

The competing presence vanished; automatically, Royd took control of Three once more, his own mind a maelstrom of stunned disbelief. What had just happened was completely incomprehensible. He stared at the torn figure that had been Grail, half-expecting it to get up again. Nausea rose into his throat, blistering it, and for a moment he thought he would faint.

Someone had moved to his side. Phelan. "Good job, Royd," he said huskily. "I guess this is yours now." He held out the amulet to Royd, who numbly took it. "Uh, we'd better get going—we've still got to clear out the rest of the palace. Are you and him"—he nodded carefully toward Three—"going to help us?"

Royd automatically started to nod... and suddenly realized it had been a question, not an order. He looked at Phelan with some surprise, and slowly the realities of the situation began to penetrate his numbed mind. He, Royd, was Dragonmaster of Troas now. Whatever else happened today, whether Phelan or someone else came out on top, Royd was ultimately the pivotal figure of Rosette's ruling structure. He had the final say here... and the final responsibility.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, I'll come along. Instruct the men to kill only soldiers who are shooting at them; all civilians and surrendering guards should be taken alive. There's no need for a bloodbath; a lot of them will be willing to work with us, and the rest can be taken care of later. Understood?"

Phelan threw one last glance at the dragon. "Understood," he growled.

It was nearly one in the morning, but the lights in Grail's old study were still blazing. Hunched over the desk, a pot of ch'a by his elbow, Royd felt like he could sleep for a week. But, tired or not, there was work here that only the Dragonmaster could do. Leaning back in his chair, Royd reflected half-bitterly that Grail had chosen his successor well—Royd's own sense of responsibility held him to his desk as effectively as chains.

Someday, he hoped, he'd be able to tell the people of Rosette—or maybe the people of a united Troas—the other side of their former tyrant: the Grail who had worked quietly and thanklessly in their behalf. Even now, six months after Grail's death, Royd felt hot shame at the ways he had often misjudged Grail, right up to the Dragonmaster's final, cold-blooded sacrifice.

It hadn't made any sense at the time; but now, Royd could see how the swift transfer of power and reputation had effectively short-circuited any possibility of a civil war. Grail's ruthless type of nobility had run deeper in the man than even Royd had realized; and although the people were not yet ready to accept that, Royd knew there was still one way he could build a proper and lasting monument to the late dictators efforts.

Gazing down, he frowned at the papers on his desk. Even his first, tentative steps toward a constitutional monarchy had caused uneasiness among some of his more powerful supporters, and these new proposals would have to be carefully worded if he was to avoid more grumbling. Still, if it came to a political fight, Royd had the power to force the changes, and everyone knew it. Dragon pax, he was learning, had many aspects.