The Cutting Edge by Dave Duncan Page A

the Impire, so it was safe to say such things. ". . . his grandfather seems to be jealous of his success. He didn't recall him to Hub for the jubilee."
    The queen nodded. "He must be incredibly old. He was old when I knew him, seventeen years ago."
    "Just turned ninety-two, ma'am."
    "With anyone else," she said thoughtfully, "one would assume that there was sorcery involved. But of course an imperor is exempt from sorcery by the Protocol. "
    Except that supposedly a sorcerer had been responsible for Emshandar's miraculous recovery when he had been near death seventeen years ago. A faun sorcerer. Perhaps his cure had been more effective than intended? The captain shivered, wishing he had accepted another tankard of that excellent mulled ale.
    "Shandie will inherit soon enough," the queen said, laying aside her sewing. "I hope that all these victories spell a period of peace ahead for the Impire. " She moved as if to rise, but there had been an odd note m her voice.
    "Why should they not, ma'am?"
    She hesitated. "There's an odd superstition about the year 3000. You must have heard it?"
    "Old wives' tales, ma'am!"
    She laughed. "And I am an old wife, so I can repeat them! All right, I know that wasn't what you meant! But they bother me. I never cared much for history, but I know this much. The Protocol regulates the use of magic. It protects the Impire, and all of Pandemia also. We all need the Protocol!"
    "And twice it almost failed."
    "Right. It broke down at the end of its first millennium, when the Third Dragon War broke out. Jiel restored it. A thousand years later it failed again, and there was the War of the Five Warlocks. That was when Thume became the Accursed Land and so on. "
    "There have always been wars, ma'am, and there always will be."
    "But those were the worst, by far! Those were the only times that magic broke loose again like the Dark Times before Emine-dragons, and fire storms, and all the other horrors that sorcerers can inflict. And they seem to come every thousand years. "
    "Coincidence, surely?" the captain said uneasily. He had been hearing these stupid rumors for years, and he was astonished to hear them repeated by this apparently level-headed and practical lady.
    "Maybe," she said softly. "But ... ?"
    The queen bit her lip and turned her green eyes on the captain. "But my husband takes it all seriously! And that is not like him. "
    And her husband was a sorcerer! Wasn't he?
     
    Youth comes back:
    Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
    — Longfellow, My Lost Youth

THREE
Voices prophesying
1
    The Battle of Bone Pass did not topple the Caliph as the imperor had predicted it would, but it shattered his power. By midsummer the legions had advanced beyond Charkab against token opposition and a torrent of loot was flowing back to Hub to finance the war.
    The XIith was relieved then and withdrawn to its home base at Gaaze, in Qoble. Qoble was Impire. It was a strategic center from which forces could strike at Zark, or at the elves in IIrane, or even at the merfolk of the Kerith Islands, although the Impire had never had much success fighting merfolk.
    The XIIth was happy to be home. Gaaze was where the men had their wives, their mistresses, and their children. Here they dwelt in permanent barracks instead of insect-ridden tents. Here they could heal and restore their numbers and train for the next conflict.
    Ylo yearned for Hub, but he preferred Gaaze to battlefields. He welcomed the civilized surroundings, the superb climate, the luxurious quarters. The women of Qoble were imps, not djinns. They wore pretty dresses instead of black shrouds. They were more visible and much more accessible.
    In Gaaze Shandie was still legate of the XIIth, but he was also the prince imperial. Rich citizens fawned over him, inviting him to an unending glitter of parties and balls. He declined