"Tonight it is," said the Godsman.
Suddenly the sunset erupted, hot streams down the slope of the sky, and the guard became a Godsman himself from that moment. The Prophecy
The Godsman looked about him at the nearly naked men sitting on ice-covered rocks around a fire. "I am invited to the feasts of all the gods." Palicrovol was young and beautiful, even with the treebark mantle on his shoulders; the Godsman loved the sight of him, even though the Count was
angry. Anger would pass. The Count's beauty would not.
"My guard is impressed with you," the Count said.
"Such men are easily impressed," said the Godsman.
"I've seen magic before," said the Count, for beside him sat Sleeve, the pink-eyed wizard who
served only the master that he chose.
"Then I will give you what no other can: I will give you truth."
Palicrovol smiled and looked at Sleeve, but Sleeve was not smiling, and Palicrovol began to
wonder if he ought to take this Godsman seriously. "What sort of truth?" "Words can only tell two kinds of truth. Words can name you, and words can say what you will
do before you do it."
"And which will you do?"
"To name a man is to say what he will do before he does it. So I will name you, Palicrovol. You
are King of Burland."
Suddenly Count Palicrovol grew afraid. "I am Count of Traffing."
"The people hate King Nasilee. They have given him their life's blood, and he has given them
only poverty and terror. They long for someone to set them free from this burden." "Then go to a man with armies." If Nasilee heard that Palicrovol had even listened to this
Godsman, it would be the end of the house of Traffing.
"General Zymas will come to you and follow you to the day he dies."