"Rise, my beloved. Show us your new face."

At the words, the man on the table rose up and swung off the table. His body remained trim and corded with muscle. Bands of gold had been placed on his wrists and a pleated kilt of linen hung from his waist. Sandals of white leather were tied around his feet and laced to just beneath his knee. The mask: the mask was that of a long-snouted dog with high squared black ears. White teeth jutted from the likeness of a snarl and red markings surrounded the eyeholes that pierced the mask. It was large and it must be heavy, but the man stood straight and tall.

Khadames shuddered, seeing the firelight dance on the iron. In this light and in this place, the lips of the mask seemed to move and the metal pulse with life. Laughter filled the room and it was cold as ice.

"Oh well done." Dahak was most pleased. He turned to the door, his pale yellow eyes lighting up at the look on Khadames' face. "Dear General, he is much improved! Do not blanch so, now he shows his true face to the world."

The massive figure at Khadames' side stirred, twitching the long worn cloak back from the hilt of a heavy sword. The sorcerer moved a little, his face growing pensive. For an instant, something like fear passed over the long face. A pale hand rose to the sorcerer's chest and he made a half-bow, though it was with reluctance.

"Greetings, my lord," said the sorcerer. "It has been a long time since we walked under the moon. I feared: Ihad heard that you were dead."

Khadames felt surprise stir in him, hearing the sorcerer address another as an equal. But then he took heart, for the man at his side wagered with Kings and Emperors. Even the cancer of the Lord Dahak must find pause somewhere.

"Fancy that," rumbled that powerful voice, filling the room with its sound. "You are looking well, corpse-walker. I see you have taken the face of a dead man for your own. That seems very bold. Do you think that people have forgotten what you have done?"

Dahak flinched and stepped back, then straightened to his full height. His eyes blazed with anger.

"I am a power now, old friend. I do not serve anyone. I am freed of debt and obedience by sweet death. As are you, should you choose to follow your own path."

"This is so: "Themaninthe doorway paused, lost in thought. "All that we built is in ruins. It seems that not a day has passed since the Wooden Man was put to death in the wreck of his treacherous dreams. The land is divided again, preyed upon by Hun in the north and Roman in the west."

"Not for long," said Dahak, stepping forward again. The sorcerer's face was grim, but filled with purpose. "Over half of the great Princes have come to bow before the twins. Soon they will marry, sealing alliances that will bind Persia to the house of Sassan once again. This is only a momentary diversion, this time of anarchy and chaos. Order will return."

"Your order?" Skepticism rang in the powerful voice.

"The order of the King of Kings, my friend." Dahak stood, arms akimbo, matching his gaze against that of the massive warrior. " Neither Radiance has yet wed. Their husbands, whoever they may be, will rule as their councilors and guardians. By my memory, I believe that the girl with brown eyes was birthed first, which makes the bridal dower of Azarmidukht the Radiant the whole of Persia."

Laughter rumbled, shaking the stones of the room.

"And you the dear father, dead man? This will be a fine wedding. I wonder if the grooms will be able to stand your blessing kiss when they accept your daughters from your hands."

Anger flickered again in Dahak's eyes, but it was quickly suppressed. The sorcerer cocked his head to one side.

"It strikes me, great lord, that your wife lies cold in the ground a goodly number of years. Your sons, too, lie dead by the hand of Rome. No blood of yours remains to take your holdings, to bear your banner in battle. Perhaps you should seek a young wife:"

A chill developed in the air between the man and the thing in the shape of a man.

"These children? These little girls that I held upon my knee and tickled with my beard? Your thoughts are foul, Wizard. Our discussion comes to a close."

"Wait!" Dahak stepped closer again, and Khadames could see that there was the seeming of honesty in that face. "I mean no disrespect, my lord. You are bereft of a wife and these young women- our most precious possession- are desperately in need of a husband to defend their patrimony. All that they stand to inherit, you built in the name of Chosroes. Without your strong arm, he was nothing, a penniless refugee in a foreign land. Defend his name, his house, his family. Take his daughters as your wives and honor them. In your household, no harm will come to them."

Dahak paused, searching for words. Khadames made to speak, his voice hot, but the man at his side made a slight motion with his hand and the general subsided. The big man waited.

"At one stroke," said the sorcerer, his words and stance free of guile, "you restore Persia. If you do this thing, then there will be no war among the spabahadan. No one will dare resist you. One choice and all that is now lost is regained."

Khadames expected the big man to turn on his heel and leave, but the dark-cloaked figure remained. The moment stretched and the general felt a strange silent tension grow in the air. The man at his side seemed to be bending his will upon the sorcerer and, as grains slipped past, the Lord Dahak seemed to shrink and become less.

"Yours was royal blood," said the big man after a long time. His tone was sour. "You were their uncle, a long time ago. Would you drive them to the market to be auctioned to the highest bidder?"

"Is that not the way things have always been?" The sorcerer's voice was equally bitter. "Each of us pays a steep price for what we desire. You, of all of us, have sacrificed the most for Persia. Now the time of your reward has come- the foundation of a strong new dynasty, a crown of gold, peace at long last."

The big man stirred, raising a scarred hand to smooth down the thick, tusk-like mustaches. Khadames swallowed, sensing that his old friend was now seriously considering the situation.

"There will be no war with Rome," said the big man, at last. "We shall bide our time. Too many have died in the service of Empress Maria's revenge. The people must have a reprieve, harvest must be gathered, earthworks repaired, order restored in our own house, the borders strengthened. I have heard that the Huns grow bold."

Dahak bowed in obedience, his arm sweeping out. "As you command, O King of Kings."

The big man laughed at that, a huge booming sound like a temple bell ringing.

"King of Kings! I had not thought to hear that:"

The sorcerer smiled, seemingly genuine. He knelt on the hexagonal slabs that covered the floor, and the Sixteen knelt as well. Even the brown-skinned man in the beast mask knelt.

"Hail the Light of the World, Shahr-Baraz, the Mighty Boar, King of Kings, shahhanshah of Persia. Hail!"

The words rolled around the chamber and then died away. Shahr-Baraz tugged at his mustaches, looking down upon the sorcerer and his minions with interest. Khadames scratched the back of his head, unable to speak. The world was turning upside down.

The Boar turned to his old friend and grinned, his big white teeth gleaming in the torchlight.

"Well," he said, his voice bubbling with merriment. "The mule of fate kicks like a very devil, does it not? Come, old friend, I must send a message to my men in the hills lest they think that I have been taken captive."

"You have men in the hills?" Khadames' eyebrows rose in dismay. His patrols had been tasked to quarter every copse, valley, and draw for twenty miles in all directions for possible enemies. The gathering of strength to the twin Empresses would gain the attention of many enemies. "How many?"