Lulukee picked himself up, dusted himself off, and showed his way pass to the guard. The guard said nothing. He had lost three teeth and his mouth was swollen, painful. Lulukee sensed that somehow the little he had done to help Bram Forest was all he would ever do for him. Yet he felt with a strange pride he did not fathom that although his role in the saga of the mysterious giant had come to an end, it was the most important event in his life and would remain so if he lived to be six-hundred. He felt somehow--and could not explain why he felt this--as if in his small way he had done something to make the world Tarth a better place in which to live. Whistling, he pushed his way through the crowds and was lost to sight just as the giant who went before him. * * * * * "B'ronth of Utalia!" Prokliam the seneschal proclaimed. Volna the Beautiful nodded. The doddering old seneschal had already told her about the Utalian. She was prepared to receive him now. If he knew what he claimed to know, if he knew the true details of the death of Prince Jlomec, then he must be silenced. Naturally, he wanted gold. They always wanted gold. But gold was not the way to silence them. Gold never worked. It only made them greedy for more. With Volna were, instead of her usual ladies in waiting, two discreet palace guards. Grinning, she looked at their whip-swords. That was the way to silence one such as B'ronth the Utalian. "He may enter," Volna told the seneschal. Prokliam bowed out, saying: "And Princess, you will not forget--" "No, Prokliam, I won't forget. You hardly knew the Prince Jlomec at all, did you? You certainly couldn't have been his favorite." "Princess," breathed the seneschal tremulously as he withdrew. A moment later, B'ronth the Utalian entered the royal chamber. He wore a snow-cloak. He was all but invisible except for the snow-cloak. He was, eerily, a disembodied cloak floating through air. Although, noticed Volna, if you looked closely you could see the faintest suggestion of a man's head above the cloak, as if you saw the rich wall tapestries of the room through a transparent, head-shaped glass. Likewise, the suggestion of arms and legs.... "You are B'ronth?" An unnecessary question, but Volna had not yet made up her mind what must be done. "Yes, majesty," the cloak said in a different but somehow unctuous voice. "You are alone?" "No, majesty," said the cloak. "Then--?" "A girl. A wayfarer of the Plains of Ofrid. I accompany her." "And the story you have to tell?" "I realize, majesty, how the royal Princess must grieve at the loss of her royal brother, the Prince. I realize...." "To the point, man. Get to the point. Are you trying to say you know how Prince Jlomec was slain? You know who killed him?" "Yes," said the cloak boldly, eagerly.