“The lords of voima do not appear to mortals except in the old tales,” said the king, “and then only to great heroes.” He was no longer frowning but instead looked uneasy, as though he had been using his fury to avoid thinking about something disturbing. “A person with no back,” he muttered. “There are plenty of creatures of voima walking this earth…”

“Did you ask the Weaver?”

Hadros did not answer for a moment. Waves slapped against the side of the ship, and white spray danced in the air. “I went to his cave to burn an offering before our voyage, of course,” he said at last. After another long pause he added, “Weavers have never been known for answering questions they did not want to answer.”

The Fifty Kings were encamped in the broad meadow before her father’s castle. Tents of linen, of elk hide, or of silk stood side by side, their lines tied to the same posts. Rough men like Gizor One-hand and graceful warriors with curled hair and delicate stilettos hanging from slender hips met and talked while their masters waited in their tents for the Gemot to begin, or else went with hoods pulled up for quiet conversations with other kings.

Next to the royal tents was another encampment, this one of merchants. “There have always been peddlers,” King Hadros commented, “but this is the first time I have seen an entire fair next to the All-Gemot. Perhaps it is because recently the Fifty Kings have met north of the channel, where fewer merchants trade.”

Late in the afternoon, he took Karin through the tents to meet a woman who was one of the Fifty Kings.

“So this is the heiress who has been gone so long,” said Queen Arane, beckoning her into the tent. Hers was one of the silk ones. Her bodyguard she told to wait outside.

King Hadros greeted her as though they were very old friends, though Karin had never heard him mention her-but then he had already given familiar slaps on the back to kings of several kingdoms she had not even realized existed.