
Exiles Valor
by Mercedes Lackey



Exile Series
1. Exiles Honor 2002
2. Exiles Valor 2003



1

Muted light, richly colored, poured gold and sapphire into the 
sparsely-furnished sitting room in Herald Alberichs private quarters behind the 
training salle.
Now that the colored window was installed, and the protective blanket taken off, 
it made that little room look entirely different. Alberich hardly recognized it.
The four Journeymen glass workers who had helped their Master install the piece 
were gone now, leaving Alberich alone with the artist himself.
Both of them gazed on the finished product in silence, while behind them a warm 
fire crackled on the hearth. It was a staggeringly beautiful piece of 
stained-glass work; in fact, Alberich thought, it would not be exaggerating to 
say it was a masterpiece. Not that he had expected less than a fine piece from 
the Master of the Glassworkers Guild, but this was over and above those 
expectations.
The artisan responsible for its creation stepped forward and gave the top 
right-hand corner a final polish with a soft cloth, removing some smudge not 
visible to ordinary eyes. He flicked off an equally invisible dust mote as well, 
and stepped back to view the expanse of blues and golds with a critical eye. A 
man gone gray in his profession, he was tall, but not powerful, with wiry, 
knotty muscles rather than bulging ones. His expression was unreadable, a 
square-jawed, hook-nosed fellow whose face might have been stone rather than 
flesh.
“Itll do,” he grunted finally, his long face betraying nothing but a flicker of 
content.
“A work of power and beauty, it is,” Alberich replied, unusual warmth of feeling 
in his voice. “It is exceeding my expectations, which were high already. Your 
skill is formidable, Master Cuelin.”
“Itll do,” the artisan repeated, but with just a touch more satisfaction in his 
own voice. “Ill not praise myself, but itll do.”
This was such understatement that Alberich shook his head. In so many ways, this 
was a piece of artwork that went far, far beyond even the monumental works that 
only the great and wealthy could afford, be they individuals or organizations. 
It was the care to every detail, as much as the design, that showed that 
expertise. For instance, to protect the fragile leaded glass, made up of pieces 
no larger than a coin, the panel had been installed against the existing window. 
Now, the bars holding those old panes in place could have cast distracting lines 
across the new patternexcept that Master Cuelin had taken that into account in 
his design, and the shadows had been integrated in such a way that unless you 
looked for them, you did not notice them.
Yet Master Cuelin seemed no more than mildly pleased that everything had worked 
out as he had planned. Alberich knew that tone; not only from working with 
Master Cuelin on this window, but from working with others who shared the same 
obsessive drive to excellence that marked the mans work. No point in heaping him 
with effusive praise, for it would only make him uncomfortable, and he would 
begin to point out “flaws” in the work not visible to anyone but him.
“Very happy, you have made me,” he said instead. “Never shall I weary of this 
piece.” And although he had paid Master Cuelin already, when he shook the mans 
hands in thanks, a heavy little purse that had been in his hand slipped quietly 
into the Masters. That was the way of doing business, in Karse, when one was 
pleased with special work. Some things, Alberich felt, were probably universalan 
extra “consideration” for work that exceeded expectation being one of them.
Evidently the custom held true in Valdemar, because Master Cuelin did not seem 
in the least surprised; he said nothing, only pocketed the purse with a nod of 
thanks. He dusted off his hands on the side of his brown leather tunicall of his 
clothing, tunic, breeches, even his shirt, was leather, because leather wasnt 
likely to catch fire.
“Well, if youre that satisfied, Herald Alberich, Ill be off,” the Glassmaster 
said. “Ive that lazy lot of prentices to beat back at my studio, for no doubt 
theyll have ruined the cobalt plate I laid out for them to cut for the new 
Pothecary Guild window, aye, and muddled the designs I set them to copy, and 
complain Ive assigned them too much work.”
Alberich shook his head, in mock sadness. “It is ever so,” he agreed, and 
sighed. “The younger generation”
“We were never like that, eh?” Master Cuelin barked a laugh and slapped 
Alberichs back. The Weaponsmaster allowed a hint of a smile to show, and the 
Glassmaster winked. “Well, tis heavy work we have before usyou know what the old 
saw is, A boys ears are on his backside, he heeds better when hes beaten!”
Since there was nearly the identical saying in Karse, Alberich nodded, and with 
another exchange of pleasantries, he escorted the Glassmaster out. Indeed, some 
things were universal.
But since it was not yet time for the next class of Heraldic Trainees to arrive 
for their weapons training, he returned to his sitting room in the back of the 
training salle to admire his newly installed possession once more.
This was more than mere ornament; while there was a Temple of Vkandis Sunlord 
down in Haven properthough for obvious reasons, it was referred to even by 
Karsite exiles as “the Temple of the Lord of Light”Alberich seldom was able to 
get there for the daylight ceremonies. Certainly he was never able to arrive for 
the all-important SunRising rite.
Contrary to what the current Karsite priesthood wished their followers to think, 
it was very clear in the Writnow that Alberich had seen copies of the old, 
original versionsthat any follower of the Sunlord could perform the rites, with 
or without a sunpriest. It was what was in the heart, not the words, that 
mattered, and prayerful meditation at any time was appropriate. And now Alberich 
had an image here, a proper image, that would put him in the proper frame of 
mind.
There had been a plain glass window here, but the presence of such an expanse of 
clear glass had made Alberich, on reflection, rather uneasy. It was fine for the 
former Weaponsmaster, Herald Dethor, to have such a thing, but Dethor didnt have 
to think about potential Karsite assassins peering through itor the far more 
common, but equally annoying habits of the young, idle, and foolish offspring of 
Valdemaran nobles daring each other to spy on the dreaded Weaponsmaster from 
Karse. Not that theyd see anything except Alberich reading, pacing, or staring 
at the fire, or occasionally entertaining a visitor, but it made him irritated 
to think of them watching him. It wasted their time, annoyed the Companions, and 
made the back of his neck prickle for no good reason. If he sensed someone 
watching him, he wanted to know there was danger, not adolescent curiosity 
behind it.
But he hadnt wanted to block off the window either. Very useful light came in 
there by day, although the view was nothing spectacular, just one of the groves 
of Companions Field. It had been Herald Elcarth who had suggested the 
stained-glass panel when he had mentioned the annoyance of looking up to see 
lurkers in the bushes one night.
It had nearly been former lurkers in the bushes, and it was a good thing for 
them that he had Kantor out there to warn him it was only some Unaffiliates and 
a Bardic Trainee, because his hand had been on the one-handed crossbow he kept 
under the table, and he had no problem with shooting out a window. Especially 
not his own window. A bit of broken glass was a small price to pay for your 
life.
He hadnt mentioned that to Elcarth, however, though he thought he saw some 
understanding in the others nod. Perhaps that was why the Herald had suggested 
the stained-glass panel. And at that moment, Alberich had realized how he could 
bring a kind of Vkandis chapel into his own home, make this place truly his 
home, and solve that problem of the huge window in a single stroke.
Elcarth hadnt known where to obtain such a thing, but Herald Jadus had. In fact, 
Jadus had pointed him to the particular glassworks involved in creating most of 
the stained- and etched-glass windows for the various Temples in and around 
Haven, whenever a generous patron was moved to donate such a thing.
Until he went to the workshop and saw some of the designs, Alberich hadnt been 
entirely certain of the exact shape and image of the design, only that it should 
have some link, somehow, to the Temples that he had felt most comfortable in. As 
soon as he realized what Cuelin specialized in, heraldic (rather than Heraldic) 
designs, he had realized what his window surely must show.
The Sun-In-Glory of the God of Karse, of course; Vkandis Sunlord in a form that 
few in Valdemar would recognize as such, and no one who mattered would likely 
take offense to. Particularly as this Sun-In-Glory would be laid out, not on the 
usual field of reds as in a similar window in Karse, but on a field of Heraldic 
blue.
If Master Cuelin realized just what the pattern was, he hadnt said anything. 
Alberich would not have wagered on his being ignorant, though. He had been doing 
religious glass-work for far too long not to have learned virtually every symbol 
of every deity worshiped in Haven, and every possible variation and nuance of 
each symbol. Vkandis was worshiped here, and by Karsite exilesjust not under 
that name. The “Lord of Light” was what He was called here; all things 
considered, a title and a name less likely to evoke hostility from the good 
neighbors of those exiles.
Alberich would not have taken it much amiss had Master Cuelin delegated the work 
to his apprentices eitherbut he hadnt. Hed attended to it all himself. And the 
result was glorious, well worth the cost of the one indulgence that Alberich had 
permitted himself since hed been made Weaponsmaster.
:Very nice for us, too,: his Companion Kantor commented, as Alberich sat down 
and allowed himself to drink in the color and composition. :We get the best view 
of it at night, when the light is coming from inside. Clever of you to station 
lanterns with reflectors shining outward at the bottom corners. Gives us a 
lovely piece to look at.:
:And prevents any shadows falling upon it and telling people what goes on in my 
sitting room,: he pointed out. :After paying no small fortune for such a piece, 
Ive no mind to have it shattered by an ill-considered crossbow bolt from 
outside, because I was foolish enough to show a target.:
Since there was no graceful reply to that, Kantor wisely declined to make one.
The leaded glass was thicker and heavier than the window it had been mounted 
against, and Alberich realized after a moment of sitting there that the drafts 
hed become accustomed to were gone. Well! An unforeseen advantage!
And a thirdas he bathed in the golden light from the Sun-In-Glory, despite the 
fact that on the other side of the glass, there was a bleak winter landscape 
under overcast skies, he understood why Master Cuelin had insisted that the Sun 
dominate the panel. No matter what the weather outside, the light coming in 
would be warm and welcoming. Already Alberich felt his spirits become a little 
lighter.
:For which my gratitude to Master Cuelin knows no bounds,: Kantor observed 
dryly. :Anything that sweetens your temper makes me grateful:
:Indeed?: Alberich countered. :Alas, that he cannot do me the return favor of 
creating such a thing for you, since you spend your days out of doors. Perhaps I 
should query Bardic Collegium about the possibility of serenading you on a 
thrice-weekly basis to sweeten your temper?:
:Then who would chastise the greenlings properly?: Kantor asked airily. 
:Disciplining the youngsters requires a certain acidity of temper to deliver 
correction with the appropriate degree of sting.:
Alberich shook his head. He should learn never to try and exchange barbs with 
his Companion; Kantor would always win. Kantor was at least as old as his 
Chosen, probably a few years Alberichs senior, and twice as witty.
Not that there wasnt some truth in what Kantor said; Kantor was to the young 
Companions what Alberich was to the Heraldic Trainees, in a way. Not so much the 
trainer in fighting technique, for a great deal of that was in the hands of the 
riding instructors, but as the disciplinarian of the Companion herd. Normally 
that would be in the handsor rather, authority, backed by speech, and 
occasionally hooves and teethof the Companion to the Queens Own Herald, the 
Grove-Born Rolan. But Rolans Herald was Queens Own Talamir, who had very nearly 
died in the last battle with the Tedrels on the Border with Karse; Talamirs 
original Companion Taver had died, and one never spent much time in Talamirs 
presence without realizing that in many ways it had been no great service to 
Talamir that he had been brought back to life again. Though Kantor had never 
said as much in so many words, Alberich got the distinct impression that most of 
Rolans time was taken up in making sure that Talamir remainedwell sane. So a 
good portion of Rolans duties to the herd had been delegated to those best 
suited to the task.
Not all of those duties had gone to Kantor either. Some were the provenance of 
some very wise old Companion mares, thus ironically echoing the hierarchy in a 
real horse herd, where the leaders were the oldest mares, not the stallion, as 
Alberich very well knew.
:Hmm. And human herds, though ye know it not.:
:Your point being ?: Alberich replied. :Though youd best not let Queen Selenay 
discover you think of her as an old mare, wise or not.:
He sensed Kantors snort of derision. :Selenay should be perfectly happy to be 
compared to a Companion mare.:
Alberich let that one go. There was no use trying to explain to Kantor that no 
nubile young woman was going to appreciate being compared to a mare, ever, under 
any circumstances.
Particularly not when her Councilorssome of them, anywaywere very diligently 
trying to make her into one. Of the brood-stock variety. . . .
Which was one reason why he had welcomed Master Cuelins arrival this afternoon 
to install the window, as the perfect excuse to avoid the afternoon Council 
meeting. That particular item was on the table for discussion, and it was a 
subject that Alberich was particularly anxious not to get embroiled in. For one 
thing, no matter how publicly hed been lauded and laden with honors after the 
Tedrel Wars, no matter how trusted he was by mostby no means allValdemarans of 
note, he was still the outsider. He was, and always would be so. It could not be 
otherwise. And for another, well
well, it was a subject where nothing he said or did was “safe.” Someone would 
take exception, whether he urged that Selenay remain single, or weighed in on 
the side of those who wanted her to wed, and at this point, he didnt need to add 
any enemies to a list that was already long enough.
***
The atmosphere of the Council Chamber this afternoon was unwontedly subdued. 
Usually there had been at least three arguments by this time, and the kinds of 
icy, polite catcalling that made people who were not used to Council debates 
blanch and wonder if a duel was about to break out. Today, however, was 
different. The atmosphere hadnt been so edgily cordial since the first, 
tentative sessions after Selenays coronation. Around the horseshoe-shaped, heavy 
wooden table not a voice had been raised. The representatives of the Bardic, 
Heraldic, and Healer Circles, in their red, white, and green uniforms 
respectively, had been extremely quiet, as had the Lord Marshals Herald and the 
Seneschals Herald, and of course, her own, the Queens Own Herald, Talamir.
As for the restwell, they had been nervous. They didnt really know her, although 
she had been in their midst all of her life. They were her fathers Council, 
really, not hers. They were his friends, advisers, and peers, and none of them 
had expected to serve her at all, much less so quickly. So they often argued and 
battled among themselves, as if she wasnt even there, or was no more than a 
token place holder.
Except on the rare occasions when what they wished to do was going to have to 
involve her. Then they generally acted as they did today; becoming very quiet, 
and rather nervous. These elder statesmen and women were apparently unaware that 
they gave themselves away, acting as they did.
Queen Selenay knew why they were nervous, of course. They didnt know she knew, 
which might have been funny under other circumstances. In the throne that had 
been her fathers, with the chair at her right hand empty, Selenay watched her 
Councilors behaving as if they were good little schoolchildren debating beneath 
the strict disciplinarian eye of their teacher.
This was, of course, because they were shortly going to unite in a totally 
uncharacteristic burst of single-mindedness and do their level best to force 
their Queen to do something she had no intention of doing whatsoever.
Marry. Worse than that, to marry someone they, not she, had chosen. The 
potential candidates were as sad a collection as nightmare could have conjured. 
The youngest was ten, the oldest ninety. Among them were a number of young men, 
but even these were impossible. Some she had heartily detested from the moment 
shed met them, others she didnt even know, and from their reputations, had no 
desire to know. A very few might be reasonable fellows, some were pleasant 
enough company on a casual basis, but that was no reason to marry any of them. 
Some were even Heralds, or at least, Traineesbut the Heralds all had lives of 
their own that she was not a part of, and as for Traineeswell, they seemed like 
mere infants to her now.
Her Councilors, however, did not see it that way.
It hadnt been like this when her father had sat in this throne, but Sendar had 
ruled as well as reigned. She reigned, but only the backing of the Heralds made 
it possible for her to command much of anything. She knew that; she had expected 
it from the moment she took the Crown. She was much too young to be a Queen, 
much too young to command the respect of men and women old enough to be her 
parents. Not even the white uniform proclaiming her a full Herald managed to 
gain her that respect.
Well, there were ways around that. But she was getting weary of the artful 
dodges, of setting her words in the mouths of others, and she had not even 
reigned a year. And these marriage plans were more than a mere inconvenience; 
they were an attack on her autonomy. Her good Councilors would not be happy with 
a mere Prince Consort. They wanted a King.
She tapped her index finger idly on the stack of papers just under her right 
hand, and smiled a grim little smile. Her Councilorsthe non-Heraldic ones, 
anywaywere not aware that she had come prepared for this afternoons meeting. She 
knew what every man and woman around the table was about to put forward, for not 
all of them had been close-mouthed about it, and Talamir had gotten wind of it 
and let her know what was planned. That had given her ample time to prepare for 
what they were about to unleash on her. They had no idea that she had come 
forewarned and forearmed.
For that matter, other than Talamir and Elcarth, she wasnt sure the other 
Heralds at the Council table were aware that shed been engaged in laying the 
groundwork to defend her freedom.
It was nothing less that she had done, for her Councilors were determined that 
she should not reign aloneand each and every one of them had a particular 
candidate to place in the running, sometimes more than one. All of them, of 
course, with the best interests of the Kingdom foremost in their minds, or so, 
at least, they would tell themselves. Of course, every candidate would have 
blood ties or ties of obligation to the Councilor who put him forward, but never 
mind that. They would put such things out of their minds, telling themselves 
that they were doing this for Valdemar, and not for any selfish reasons. There 
was no Heir! Selenay had been an only child, and the Crown now rested on her 
fragile head alone! She must marry, and produce children, quickly!
Of course, if the chosen spouse happened to be helpful to friends and families, 
well. . . .
Every one of them had given over whatever disputes they had to settle on that 
list of potential Consorts, arguing and trading without any consideration for 
what she wanted, until they had mutually agreed on enough men that if they 
couldnt bully her into taking one, they could wear her down until she agreed out 
of exhaustion.
When Talamir told her what the plans were, Selenay had gone straight to 
Herald-Chronicler-Second Myste, who was surely the only person in Haven who had 
the esoteric knowledge to help her out of the trap. And although she had not 
really expected a great deal of sympathy from Myste, the Herald had amazed her 
by reacting with indignation to the plans.
“By Keronos!” Myste had exclaimed, her eyes behind the thick lenses of her 
spectacles going narrow with speculation. “Thats obscene! You havent been Queen 
a year, girl! Shouldnt they at least wait until youve settled, and gotten 
comfortable with your place?”
“Apparently not,” Selenay had replied, seething with anger. “And apparently none 
of them want to see a foreigner brought in as Consort eitheror at least, they 
dont seem to have taken much thought about that particular possibility. Insane, 
Id call it. Not that I particularly want a foreign Consort, but Father used to 
have serious talks with me about the possibility of needing to cement a foreign 
alliance with a marriage.”
“Idiots,” Myste had muttered under her breath, pushing her lenses up on her 
nose. “The hand of a Queens too damned valuable to waste. What if, as your 
father said, we need an alliance?”
“What if we just need to keep five or six princes dangling on promises?” Selenay 
had countered. “And besides”
She didnt add the “besides,” which was that she wanted to be able to love her 
husband, not merely tolerate being in the same room with him. Myste probably 
guessed it, for shed given Selenay a shrewd look, but she hadnt said anything, 
except: “Well, if they havent got the sense to see past their own interests, its 
up to some of the rest of us to see to it that they cant meddle.”
And Myste had outdone herself on the Queens behalf, spending every spare moment 
locked away with dusty law and record books going back generations. The result 
was the pile of neatly-written papers under Selenays hand.
Aside from the two exceptions of Talamir and Elcarth, there wasnt a single 
person around the Council table that had the slightest inkling that they were 
about to see what Selenay could do when she was not in a mood of sweet 
cooperation. In point of fact, no matter who was brought up, the various 
candidates for potential spouse were going to be mown down like so many stands 
of ripened grain. . . .
Myste had not even told Alberich; she had sworn herself to secrecy before 
Selenay had even asked. There was no tighter-lipped creature in Valdemar than 
Myste when she opted to take that particular path.
Its too bad Alberich isnt here, Selenay thought, still tapping. He might enjoy 
watching me dispose of this idiocy. She missed his craggy, scarred face at the 
table today; although he did not have an official position on the Council, as 
Talamirs right-hand man (and in no small part, hers as well), he could and did 
sit in on it whenever he chose. When he did, he usually took Elcarths seat as 
the representative of the Heraldic Circle. The Weaponsmaster knew of the plans, 
of course, though not how she intended to counter them. And she thought that he 
would take great pleasure in how she was going to discomfit them all.
Or maybe not. In Selenays limited experience, a confirmed bachelor like Alberich 
had a tendency to panic when confronted by the question of potential matrimony, 
regardless of whether it was his or someone elses.
Besides, hes probably concerned that if I flatten every other possible consort, 
someone will suggest him as an alternative. The mere thought made her stifle a 
smile. While the Heralds would welcome the idea, and possibly even the Bard and 
Healer would as well, the rest of her Councilors would have apoplexy. Theyd 
suggest she take an illiterate fisherman from Lake Evendim before they suggested 
Alberich. Not that shed mind an illiterate fisherman from Lake Evendim half so 
much as she disliked some of the so-called “candidates” for her hand her 
Councilors were going to suggest.
The Councilors had been well aware from the moment they started their plotting 
that this was a subject their Queen was not going to entertain gladly, which was 
why they were intending to surprise her with it, in hopes of taking her off 
guard.
As they disposed of some final trivial business, they kept glancing at her out 
of the corners of their eyes, and there was a certain nervous tone to their 
voices that would have been amusing if she had not been so very angry with them. 
Her father had not been dead a year, and already they were at her to marry! As 
if she could not rule by herself, or at the very least, rule with the true 
counsel of those who were loyal to her (and not merely devoted to their own 
interests), and rule well and wisely!
:You can rule with more wisdom than some of their choices,: her Companion Caryo 
said into her mind. :Not that some of their choices would be allowed to rule at 
all. They wouldnt be Chosen by a Companion if every living male in Valdemar were 
to drop dead this moment.:
A stinging indictment indeed, coming from Caryo.
And there was the real rub. What some of her Councilors seemed to keep 
forgetting was that any husband she took would be nothing more than Prince 
Consort unless he was also a Herald. Only then could he be a co-ruler.
Of course, they probably assumed that a young woman would be easily led by her 
husband to give him whatever he wanted, which would certainly make him the power 
behind the throne, if not an actual monarch. Some of them probably assumed that 
she could make a Companion Choose him, if she wanted it badly enough.
:The more fools they,: said Caryo.
:Well, they have a poor opinion of how strong a womans will can be.: Selenay 
reflected, as she gathered her nerve, that it was a very good thing that Caryo 
was of a mind with her. It would be great deal easier to resist both bullying 
and blandishment with Caryo behind her.
:And dont forget, you have Myste, too,: Caryo reminded her.
Yes, indeed. Myste, her secret weapon, who not only had supplied her with this 
vast and intricate report, but was currently mewed up in the library with every 
book of Valdemaran genealogy in Haven at her fingertips, and a page to bring her 
whatever she needed for as long as this meeting lasted. No, her Councilors 
surely could never have reckoned on Myste.
The last of the minor business was disposed of. The Councilors put up their 
papers, some of them poured themselves wine, and there was a great deal of 
coughing and shuffling of feet. Then, as she expected, really, it was Lord 
Gartheser, more portly now than he had been before the Tedrel Wars, and more 
florid of face, who cleared his throat awkwardly and put the subject on the 
table.
“About the matter of Your Majestys marriage” he said, and stopped.
Selenay smiled sweetly, a smile that went no farther than her lips, as she 
looked down each side of the horseshoe-shaped table before she allowed her eyes 
to rest on Gartheser.
He makes a poor conspirator, she thought. It was from him that Talamir had 
learned what was toward, though Gartheser himself was probably completely 
unaware that he had betrayed anything. But he gave himself away, according to 
Talamir, in a hundred ways, by little nervous tics, by being unable to meet a 
persons eyes, by dropping far too many hints when he was satisfied with himself. 
At that point, both Talamir and Alberich had gone to work, and no secret was 
secure when those two were ferreting it out.
Though it occurred to her that Talamir had probably not done nearly as much work 
as Alberich. Talamirs sympathy was probably at least in part with the Council. 
Well, give credit where it was due; he had told her in the first place.
“My marriage?” she asked, in feigned innocence. “I wasnt aware I had been 
betrothed, much less that there was a marriage in view. Certainly King Sendar 
never said anything of the sort to me.”
“Ah, well, Your Majesty, thats the whole point,” Gartheser managed. “You havent 
one, you see. Betrothed, that is.”
She took her time and looked carefully around the horseshoe-shaped table again, 
making sure to look each one of her Councilors steadily in the eyes. The silence 
was deafening. No one moved. “Indeed.”
“And youthat is, we thoughtthat is” Gartheser couldnt look her in the eyes 
anymore. He dropped his gaze and stared at his hands, and stumbled to a halt.
“We have some candidates in mind, Selenay,” Lord Orthallen took up the thread 
smoothly. Orthallen looked the part of the senior statesman; he had retained a 
fine figure, and the silver streaking in his dark blond hair in no way detracted 
from his handsome appearance. Women younger than Selenay threw themselves at him 
on a regular basis, though she had never heard so much as a whisper to indicate 
that he was unfaithful to his wife. “You really must marry as soon as may be, of 
course. A young woman cannot rule alone.”
“Indeed,” she said levelly, hiding her rage with immense care. She wanted to 
scream at them, then burst into tears, and nothing could be more fatal at this 
moment.
But the others took that lack of objection on her part as the signal that she 
was going to be properly malleable, and took heart from it. Only Elcarth and 
Talamir understood that Selenay had her own plans. Elcarth winced a little at 
her tone; Talamirs lips quirked, just a trifle.
“The first, and indeed, the most eligible candidate is my nephew Rannulf,” 
Gartheser said brightly, “who”
“Is not eligible at all, Im afraid,” she interrupted smoothly, with feigned 
regret. “Hes related to me within the second degree, on his mothers side, 
through the Lycaelis bloodline. You know well that no King or Queen of Valdemar 
can wed a subject who is within the third degree of blood-relationship. That is 
the law, my Lord, and nothing you nor I can do will change that.” She raised her 
eyebrows at them. “The reason is a very good one, of course. I shall be 
indelicate here, for there is no delicate way to say this. As my father told me 
often, the monarchs of Valdemar cannot afford the kinds ofdifficultiesthat can 
arise when a bloodline becomes too inbred.”
And with you and yours marrying cousins and cross-cousins with the gay abandon 
of people blind to consequences, thats the reason half of your so-called “ 
candidates” are dough-faced mouth-breathers who couldnt count to ten without 
taking their shoes off, she thought viciously.
:Harsh. With justification, but harsh,: Caryo observed sardonically.
Gartheser blinked, his mouth still open, and stared at her. Finally he shut it. 
“Ah,” he said at last. “Ohare you quite sure of that?”
She opened Mystes report to the relevant page. “Rannulfs mother is Lady Elena of 
Penderkeep. Lady Elenas mother was my fathers cousin through his mother. That is 
within the second degree.”
“Oh” Gartheser said weakly.
“Then there is my nephew, Kris” said Orthallen quickly.
“Related to me within the third degree on both sides of his family, as his 
mother was a cousin-by-marriage of my father, and his father was a 
cousin-by-blood to my father,” she said briskly, already prepared for that one. 
“Besides being so young that there is no question of consummation for at least 
eight years.” She smiled dulcetly at Orthallen. “Which does rather negate the 
entire reason for marrying with such remarkable speed in the first place, before 
my year of mourning is over. Doesnt it?”
To her great pleasure, Orthallen was left so stunned by her riposte that his 
handsome face wore an uncharacteristic blank look. Not that she wanted to 
humiliate himshe was really awfully fond of him, after allbut it gave her no end 
of satisfaction to make him understand, in no uncertain terms, that just because 
she was fond of him, she was not going to allow him to manipulate her into 
something she did not want to do.
And blessings upon Myste; she suspected that not even Orthallen knew about the 
nearness of her blood relation to his nephew. He proved it in the next moment by 
saying, cautiously, “I assume you have the particulars of these degrees?”
She went to the second page of Mystes notes and gave him the genealogical 
details, chapter and verse, in a no-nonsense, matter-of-fact tone of voice.
“Ah,” he said. And wisely said nothing more.
So it went. Every single candidate that any of them brought up, she cut off at 
the metaphorical knees. Including the ones that she had not given Myste to 
research; that was why Myste was shut up in the library. She would leaf through 
her thick sheaf of papers to give Myste the chance to trace pedigrees, then 
pretend to read what Myste Sent to her.
At last they ran out of namesor at least, of names that they could all agree on. 
Now the daggers were out, and the looks being traded across the tabletop were 
wary. Any new candidates would be men and boys that had already been rejected, 
because one or another of the Councilors objected to them for reasons of his or 
her own. She could sit back and let them play against each other, which was the 
better position to be in.
At least, that was true among the highborn Councilors; the Guildmasters were a 
different story entirely. None of themand no candidate outside of the 
nobilitywould be related to her, which eliminated that argument.
However, she thought she could count on the highborn Councilors to fight tooth 
and nail against any common-born man being put up as a potential Prince Consort. 
There was an advantage to snobbery.
Mind, if she did happen to fall in love with a commoner, she wasnt going to let 
snobbery stop her
That would open up a whole new set of problems which she wasnt going to think 
about right now. The current set was more than enough to deal with.
Its too bad Alberich isnt here now, she thought, letting her anger begin to die. 
This is the part hed really enjoy watching them cut the legs out from under each 
other.
Ah well. She hoped the installation of his window had gone well. She was looking 
forward to seeing it. It would be the only part of her day she was able to look 
forward to.
Why would anyone want to be a Queen?
***
“Oo wouldnt want tbe a Queen?” demanded the rather drunken tart sitting at the 
table next to Alberichs. “Larking about, doin whatever ye please, gettin waited 
on and an foot”
Not from Haven, thought Alberich to himself. Though you have the accent, it isnt 
quite good enough, my girl. And you arent nearly as drunk as you seem. Whats 
your game, and who put you up to it, I wonder.
Now perhaps, at any other time, perhaps in another year or so, she might have 
gotten away with such an ill-considered remark. But not now. Not when barely six 
months had passed, and Selenay had been making herself very popular with little 
gestures like the “Queens Bread.” People down here had a lot of trouble keeping 
their children fed, and one guaranteed free meal a day, at the trifling cost of 
lessons in rudimentary literacy and numeracy, was a small price to pay. A 
youngling down here couldnt earn the price of that breakfast himself in the 
course of a morning. It was good economics to send your younglings to a temple 
until noon, then put em to work.
“ere now!” a man just near enough to have overheard the speech stood up, glaring 
at her. “Our Selenay aint like that, ye owd drab, an if you was a man, Ida 
thrashed ye fer that!”
The woman shrank back, and well she should have. He was big and broad, and 
looked as if he knew very well how to handle that cudgel at his belt. “No 
offense meant, Im very sure,” she said, hastily. “I didn mean Queen Selenay! I 
just meant, a Queen, in a genral sort of way.”
The man glared at her. He was as drunk as the whore pretended to be, and he was 
at the very least going to say his peace. “ Our Selenay aint no layabout!” he 
insisted. “Why, I seen er, I even talked to er, couplea nights afore the last 
battle. Come right to our fires, she did, avin a word with our officers, seein 
we ad good treatment!”
“Oh, yeah, an she talked t you, did she, ye old liar!” jeered someone else
Ill-advisedly.
The drunk rounded on the skeptic with a roar, and grabbed the mans shirt in one 
hamlike fist. Only the intervention of the “peacekeeper” that the proprietor of 
the Broken Arms had seen fit to hire prevented mayhem from breaking out. But 
there was the start of a fight, and under cover of it, the woman slipped out.
Alberich followed.
She wasnt at all difficult to follow, the silly wench. She paid absolutely no 
attention to what was behind her. The man she accosted just outside the alleyway 
next to the tavern was a little more careful, but not enough to spot Alberich. 
He was a darker shadow in the alleypeople always thought that wearing black 
would make them blend in with shadows, but it didnt; it made them into 
man-shaped black blotches in an almost black place. Alberich was wearing several 
shades of very, very dark brown and gray. Each leg was a slightly different 
color. So was each arm. And his tunic was blotched. There was nothing about him 
that was man-shaped, when he stood in shadow.
“Im not doin that no more!” the woman shrilled at her contact, just as Alberich 
eased within listening range. “You go do your own dirty work from now on!”
There was a murmur, too low for Alberich to make out the words.
“I didn get but a word out,” she said sullenly, “an up jumps this drunk bear and 
nearly thrashes me!”
More murmuring, and the clink of coins. The woman departed, muttering.
Alberich followed the man.
There had been a lot of money exchanged there for such simple servicesa lot for 
this part of town, at any rate. Alberich hoped that his new quarry would try 
another quarter, one where such a payment would be the norm rather than the 
exception. And lo! As if his wish had flown straight to the ear of Vkandis, that 
was precisely what his quarry did.
It wasnt a wealthy part of town; working class was more like it, but working 
class that got work regularly, of the sort that came with weekly pay packets and 
a little something extra on the holidays. A place, in short, where there were 
City Guards and constables on patrol regularly.
A place where Alberich could manage to do something to get them both arrested.
Which, as soon as a constable hove into view, Alberich did.
He nipped back around the corner so as to be able to intercept his quarry 
coming, apparently, from the opposite direction. It wasnt hard; he knew this 
part of Haven better than the back of his hand. There were few yards with high 
fences and even fewer with dangerous dogs tied up in them. Once he came back 
around, he saw that the constable was strolling along at a leisurely pace that 
would take him past his quarry before Alberich reached the man. Good. He didnt 
want the constable to actually see what was going on between him and the 
stranger, only hear it and make some inferences that, as it happened would be 
entirely unwarranted.
:Youre enjoying this,: Kantor accused.
:Hush. Im busy.:
The fact was, he was enjoying this. It was the first hint of trouble, real 
trouble, his sort of trouble, that hed had in moons.
As he approached the man, he stared at himeasy enough to do, since there were 
streetlamps here. Then he contorted his face into an expression of rage and 
roared.
“ You! You bastard! Thought you could ruin my sister and run away, did you?”
And then he flung himself at the startled man.
As he had expected, the man was not startled for long, and he was armed. So what 
the surprised constable saw when he turned was a man with a knife attacking an 
unarmed man. Since he couldnt know which of the two of them the accusation had 
come from, he assumedas any good constable wouldthat the man with the knife was 
the attacker, not the defender.
That Alberich was in no danger from a mere knife was something he couldnt know. 
So, to his immense credit, he waded in himself, wielding his truncheon and 
blowing a whistle for dear life to summon help. He was aiming most of his blows 
for the head of the knife wielder, and Alberich helpfully positioned the target 
so that, by the time the help arrived, his quarry was out cold and he was able 
to protest feebly that he didnt know what the madman was talking about, hed just 
jumped for him with a knife, screaming about a sister. . . .
***
“We have to stop meeting like this, Herald,” said Captain Lekar of the City 
Guard, with a feeble attempt at humor. “People are going to start talking.”
“I fervently hope not,” Alberich replied, rubbing his wrists where the 
conscientious constables had tied thembeing too wise ever to take one potential 
miscreants word over anothers. He warmed his hands on his cup of tea, but did 
not drink from it. The herbal teas consumed by the night shift of the City Guard 
were not drinkable, even by the standards of a former Karsite Sunsguard. “If 
talk they do, my personae will in danger be.”
“Yes, well, I wish youd find some other way of catching your lads without 
getting the both of you thrown in jail,” the Captain replied wearily.
Since this was only the third time that Alberich had used that particular 
desperation ploy, he held his peace. “Keep him safe,” was all he said. “Speak 
with him under Truth Spell I wish to, when he awakens.”
The Captain did not ask why. The Captain did not want to know why. The Captain 
was an old friend of Herald Dethor, Alberichs mentor in this business, and he 
knew very well that he did not want to know why. And Alberich knew that he knew, 
and both were content with the situation.
Now, if this had been Karsehe reflected soberly, as he left the City Jail by an 
inconspicuous exit, making certain that there was no one to see him leave.
:If this was Karse, and you were an agent of the Sunpriests, that man would be 
in extreme pain for a very long time, and at the end of it, he would be dead,: 
Kantor said.
:He may still be dead when this is over,: Alberich replied, grimly, making his 
way toward the stable of the Companions Bell. :But if he is, at least it wont be 
by my hands.:
:If hes lucky, well find out hes just a troublemaker.: Kantor didnt sound as if 
he really believed that would be the case.
Yes, and if that happened to be true, well, there was no law against speaking 
outor having someone else speak outagainst the Monarch. Laws like that only made 
for more trouble; some people always had to have a grievance, and making 
grumbling illegal was a guaranteed way of ensuring that grumbling turned into 
resentment, and resentment into anger. If that was the case, hed be let go, with 
the vague memory of having proved he didnt know anything about anyones sister to 
the satisfaction of the City Guard.
If it was not the case
Well, there was one Herald in the Circle who had no trouble with dirtying his 
hands with difficult jobs. Alberich would find out who had sent this fellow down 
into the dark parts of Haven to foment discontent. And he would follow that 
trail back as far as it would go.
And the man would still be let gobut this time with the very clear memory of 
having been questioned under Truth Spell by a Herald. Chances were, he would cut 
and run, and hope his employers never found him. That would be convenient, 
because it would take the problem off of his hands.
And if he didnt runhis employers would probably take the problem off Alberichs 
hands a little faster.
He collected Kantor and the two of them made their way up to the 
CollegiumAlberich feeling the effects of the truncheon blows that had connected 
with him, and Kantor brooding. Alberich didnt press him as to the subject of his 
brooding; whatever it was, Kantor would talk about it when the Companion was 
good and ready and not one moment before.
And in fact, as Alberich hung up his saddle, Kantor finally spoke. :I hope this 
doesnt mean its all starting again.:
Alberich sighed. :My good friendI hope this doesnt mean it never finished.:
2
“Why is it always me?” Myste asked, as Alberich made his second trip of the 
night down into Haven, this time with her in tow. The scholarly Herald pushed 
her lenses up on her nose and shivered beneath her cloak.
“Because you have the strongest Truth-sensing ability in the Collegium,” 
Alberich said. “And because the two of us can speak in Karsite. If our naughty 
boy doesnt understand Karsite, he wont know what were talking about, and it will 
make him nervous, and if he does, youll know it, and well have him where we want 
him.”
“Bloody hell,” she said with resignation, and pulled the cloak tighter around 
herself. She hated cold, she hated winter, and she hated being dragged out of 
her study, and he knew all of that. He also knew that unless someone dragged her 
out of her study periodically, she would hibernate there for as long as the cold 
lasted. Which was, so far as he was concerned, just as valid a reason for making 
her his assistant in this case.
The city jail was not bad as such places went. It was clean, insofar as you 
could keep any place clean considering the standards of hygiene of the 
inhabitants. It smelled of unwashed bodies, with a ghost of urine and vomit, for 
no matter how many times the cells were cleaned, someone was always fouling them 
again. It did not smell of blood. If anyone was so badly injured as all that, 
they went under guard to a separate set of cells that had a Healer in 
attendance. And it went without saying that no one hereat least, among the 
jailersspilled the blood of the prisoners.
Of course, the conditions were spartan and crowded, and no prison was a good 
place. But compared with those jails that Alberich had seen in Karse
not to mention the ones that were rumored to exist
Myste grimaced as they rode in at the stable, and grimaced again as they walked 
in through the front door. Alberich was wearing his Whitesno one looked at a 
Heralds face, they only saw his Whites. The prisoner would see the Whites and 
not even think that the man inside the white uniform might be the madman that 
had attacked him.
They were taken to a little room, windowless, lit by a single lantern, that held 
a single chair. The chair was for the prisoner, whose legs would be tethered to 
it; Myste and Alberich would be free, so that they could evade any attacks he 
might try.
The prisoner was brought in and his legs shackled to the legs of the chair. He 
was as pale as a snowdrift when he saw who was there to speak with him.
Slowly, and carefully, Alberich outlined exactly what he had observed, while the 
man listened, jaw clenched, eyes staring straight ahead. “So,” Alberich 
finished. “What have you to say for yourself?”
He half expected the man to flatly deny everything, but after a long, tense 
silence, he spoke.
“I cannot tell you what you want to know.”
A candlemark later, Alberich and Myste left the jail. There was a frown of 
frustration on Herald Mystes round face.
Alberich didnt blame her. The man certainly had been paying people to try to 
foment discontent against the Queenquite a few of them, in fact, but with, by 
his own admission, limited success. And he had been doing so on the orders, and 
with the money, of someone else.
The only problem was, he didnt know this “someone else.” He had never even seen 
the mans face.
Myste had not even needed to cast the Truth Spell to force the truth out of the 
man; her own innate Truth-sensing Gift had told her he was telling them 
everything he knew. He himself had a grudge against the Crown in general, and 
Selenay in particular, for when she had served her internship in the City Courts 
of law with Herald Mirilin, she had made a ruling against him. So there was his 
personal motive
But who had sought out this man with a grievance against Selenay? Who had 
supplied him with the money and the idea to foster rebellion?
And why?
Only one thing was absolutely certain; the trail came to a dead end now. It was 
unlikely that the man would ever be contacted again, for someone astute enough 
to find him in the first place would certainly be sharp enough to discover he 
had been arrested and know not to use him again.
“Now what will you do?” Myste asked, as they neared the Collegium.
“Keep looking,” he said, and shrugged.
There seemed nothing more he could say. Or do.
***
The closing in of winter always brought one definite disadvantage to the 
weaponry classes; much of the time practices and lessons had to be held in the 
salle instead of out of doors. This limited the kinds of lessons that could be 
given and the way that practices could be held. Every season brought its 
difficulties for a Weaponsmaster; in spring and summer there were torrential, 
cold rains to deal with, it was difficult to muster enthusiasm for heavy 
exercise in high summer, and in the winter, of course, there was the cold and 
the snow. Well, if the job had been easy, anyone could have done it.
Alberich still held some outdoor archery classes in the winter, but when, as 
today, snow was falling thickly, with a wicked wind to blow it around, there 
wasnt much point in keeping the youngsters at the targets. Yes, they would find 
themselves having to fight for their lives under adverse conditions, but adverse 
conditions affected the enemy, too. And as for needing to hunt, well, no Herald 
was going to starve because he or she could not hunt in a blizzard; Waystations 
were stocked with sufficient supplies, and every Herald on circuit carried 
emergency rations. During their last year, each Trainee would get an intense 
course in survival hunting and disadvantaged combat, and there was no point in 
making the youngsters utterly and completely miserable for the sake of showing 
them what it was like to be utterly and completely miserable. Not even the 
Karsite Officers Academy did that to its students, and having seen what life was 
like at the Collegia, Alberich knew that the lessoning hed gotten at the Academy 
was harsh, and not at all conducive to training youngsters like these.
Besides, with the Tedrels gone, and Karse itself essentially neutralized for a 
while, the only enemies that Heralds were likely to encounter in the field were 
bandits and brigands.
Now, as Alberich well knew from long experience, bandits and brigands are 
humans; they are essentially lazy, or they wouldnt be trying to steal rather 
than earn an honest living, and they are just as attached to their own creature 
comforts as any other humans. Given a choice in the matter, they wouldnt attack 
under adverse conditions either. By nightcertainly. In ambush, definitely. In a 
blizzard? A flood? A raging storm? Not likely. In fact, in all of the time that 
Alberich himself had led his men of the Sunsguard against the bandits on the 
Karsite border, never once had he encountered a band moving against a target 
when the weather was foul. That didnt mean it was impossible, just unlikely. 
That made the circumstance something to guard against, but not something that 
required extensive training.
So, when the snows began to fall in earnest just after the noon meal, Alberich 
herded the next class to arrive into the salle itself. Which occasioned the 
inevitable delay in the cleaning of boots at the door, and the taking off of 
cloaks and gloves and hanging them up to dry along the oven wall before anything 
could get started. And then, because this was a mixed class of Trainees from all 
three Collegia and some Blues as well, there was more delay as Alberich sorted 
them out into the limited space inside the salle.
Although there was no fire actually in the roomfar, far too dangerous to have a 
fireplace in an area where someone could fall or be thrown into itthe salle was 
kept reasonably warm by a huge brick “oven” in one corner. A relatively small 
fire deep inside it was set alight in the first really cold days of autumn and 
never allowed to go out, night or day. That fire heated the great mass of bricks 
that made up the oven and chimney and the wall, and that mass, in turn, radiated 
heat into the room. It also wasted heat along the outside of the same wall as 
well, but unfortunately, that couldnt be helped . . . and anyway, that outside 
wall was a nice place for the Companions to come and warm themselves on a cold 
and sunless day. The salle wasnt cozybut no one was going to freeze without his 
cloak.
You couldand Alberich occasionally hadactually bake meals in that oven, if said 
meals were the sorts of things that required slow baking. You couldand Alberich 
did, quite often during the winterleave a pot of soup or stew in there as well, 
to stay warm during the day. It was off limits to the Trainees, however, not by 
virtue of any orders but by common sense. You couldnt open the cast-iron door 
without burning your hand unless you used a heavy leather blacksmiths gauntlet, 
and Alberich prudently never left any of those lying around outside; you had to 
go into his quarters to get one, or, like the servant who tended the fire now 
and again, you brought one with you.
Of course, on a day like today, every youngster in the class was doing his or 
her best to get close to the oven and the warmest part of the room, which meant 
that unless the Weaponsmaster took a hand in it and remembered who had gotten 
that choice part of the room lastthere were going to be difficulties right from 
the start of the lessons.
Especially today, when devilment seemed to have infected all of them. There was 
pushing and shoving, teasing and a few insults and counterinsults, and the 
general restlessness that showed he was going to have to be an autocratic brute 
today. He gave a purely internal sigh; what was it about adolescents that made 
them run wild at utterly unpredictable intervals? Maybe it was that all of the 
students in this class were boys. Girls were a steadying influence, at least in 
these classes. The boys in this age group didnt seem quite so willing to run 
about like idiots when there were girls around.
Well, runthat was a good idea. He ought to have them run first. It would warm 
their muscles up and might exhaust a little of that too-plentiful energy. It 
would give him a chance to make a mental partner-list and decide who to assign 
where.
“Run!” he ordered, barking out the single word. “Full speed. Around the salle, 
ten times.”
Grumbling, and in a straggling line, they ran, while he tried to remember who of 
this lot had gotten the prime spot during the last indoor lesson, and who hadnt 
gotten it in a decent while. By the time they finished their warm-up run, he 
thought he had it sorted, and before they could get up to any immediate 
devilment, he separated the most likely troublemakers and paired them up with 
the more tractable for this practice session.
“Short swords, no shields,” he ordered. “Single line for equipment, by pairs. No 
pushing.” Those who had headed for the storage room, eager to be at their 
practice, got the best choice of equipment, while the stragglers got what they 
deserved. Not that any of it was badAlberich saw to thatbut those who got first 
choice got the padded armor and helms that fit them best, and those who brought 
up the rear paid for being laggards by getting equipment that Alberich would 
make them add extra padding to, so there would be no slippage.
With his pairs of youngsters distributed across the salle and trading blows, 
Alberich began his slow walk up and down the lines, giving the call.
Every blow had a corresponding number, starting from “one” for a straight thrust 
to the center of the enemys body, and the two students in a pair were designated 
“odd” and “even.” Alberich called out sequences of blows, beginning with “odd” 
or “even” for the students to follow, rather like a dancing instructor calling 
out a sequence of dance steps. Beginning students, of course, were taught one 
blow at a time, and specific parries for each. At the level these students had 
reached, the active student was given a pattern to follow, and the defensive 
student could use any sequence of parries he or she chose. Alberich began 
slowly, but as muscles warmed up further, and reactions quickened, he slowly 
sped up the pace of the call. And, as the students concentrated on what they 
were doing, the clatter of wooden sword on sword, which had started out rather 
ragged, became a single beat, just a fraction off the rhythm of the call.
Meanwhile, Alberich circled the floor like a hunting cat, watching the students, 
alert for any weaknesses, any bad habits. He wasnt going to interrupt the call 
just yet to correct themthis was part of the business of making blow-counter 
sequences automatic and instinctivebut he watched for them and noted them for 
later,
Now that they were up to speed, he added the next variation to the call. They 
had been fighting toe-to-toe. Now he ordered them to move.
“Odd! Five-seven- advance-four-two- retreatfive-seven- step right-one-eight. 
Even! Four-three- step left” Now it really did look like a dance, and with 
movement added, some parries were not always working, some blows were getting 
through. Still, he was not going to make corrections just yet; this was the 
point in the practice where experience was the teacher, and there was nothing 
quite like the experience of a good bruise to drive the lesson home.
Again, he sped up the call, forcing them to move a little faster than they were 
used to. But now they were beginning to tire. The response was getting ragged 
again, and some of the students began dropping some of the sequence as weary 
muscles failed to keep up with the cadence. Time to stop, and go on to 
individual lessons.
“ Rest!” he barked, and at that welcome command, the points of a dozen wooden 
practice blades dropped to the wooden floor with a loud thwack.
“Kiorten and Ledale, center! The rest, circle!” That order called the first of 
his pairs into the middle of the floor, with the rest around them to observe. It 
was not as unfair as it might have seemed, to order a pair straight into the 
next part of the lesson when the rest were getting a breather. Kiorten and 
Ledale were the strongest and had the most endurance; a Blue and a Heraldic 
Trainee, and as alike as brothers. They were still relatively fresh after the 
call. That endurance needed to be tested; they needed to learn what it was like 
to fight real combat while they were tired.
Now Alberich took up a wooden long sword, to separate them when he saw something 
that needed either correction or scoring. The two combatants squared off, 
standing warily, balancing on the balls of their feet. Theyd fought often, of 
course. Though Alberich made a point of rotating partners in practice, he tended 
to put these two against each other more often than not, just to keep things 
even. They enjoyed the practices, too, and he had more than a suspicion that 
they practiced against each other recreationally.
He held his sword out between the two; they tensed, waiting. “One” he counted, 
“Twothree heyla!”
He pulled back the sword and jumped back in the same instant, and they both went 
on the offensive, which was what he expected from them. They were aggressive 
fighters, and neither one had learned yet that immediate offense wasnt 
necessarily the wisest course to take.
He didnt separate them, even though they immediately tangled up in the middle of 
the wooden floor, with Kiorten seizing his opponents sword in his free hand and 
Ledale grabbing the front of Kiortens padded jerkin with his. Neither could do 
anything against the other when they were bound up like that, and a moment 
later, they broke apart by themselves, circled for a moment, then began an 
exchange of blows.
Kiorten got a hit, and Alberich stopped the combat for a moment. “Na. Let me 
look” He made a quick judgment of position and strength. “Ledale, you are losing 
the free hand; struck it truly, Kiorten has. Tuck it behind you. Heyla.” Let 
Ledale judge for himself that he had left that hand out there as an easy target. 
With the wooden blade, the blow probably only stung a bit, but had it been a 
real short sword, even with an armored gauntlet, the hand would have been 
seriously injured.
But Ledale wasnt taking this lying down; he launched himself at his opponent 
with a flurry of blows that drove Kiorten back, and scored a hit himself, that 
made Alberich stop the combat again. “Naa flesh wound, but you bleed. If this 
goes on, you weaken. Heyla.”
It didnt go on for very much longer. Ledale was at a disadvantage with that hand 
tucked behind him; it made him turn a little too far to the right, leaving his 
body more open to attack. Kiorten saw that, and saw also that Ledale was going 
to go aggressive again. So this time, he wisely let it happen, and by the way he 
avoided the blows, led Ledale in the direction he wanted, until he got a good 
opening for a body shot. He had to commit everything to that, but he made the 
full commitment, and the sword thwacked home against Ledales torso with an 
impact that made him grunt in pain.
“Enough!” Alberich called, although he hadnt really needed to. Ledale backed up 
immediately, saluted his opponent, and pulled off his helm in surrender.
“Curse you!” he said amiably, though his face was a little white. “Im going to 
have a bruise the size of my head for a week, even assuming you havent cracked 
my ribs!”
“See the Healers,” Alberich directed brusquely, as Kiorten pulled off his helm 
and extended his hand for his defeated opponent to shake. “After lessons.” He 
knew full well that no ribs were cracked; if they had been, the lad would not 
have been able to breathe, and what was more, the Trainees Companion would 
immediately have told Kantor, who would have told Alberich. “Ledale, observe. 
Kiorten, you drop your point too often; go to practice lunges at the mirror. 
Aldo and Triana, center.”
Two more students came out of the circle to face off against each other in the 
center, while Ledale took a vacant spot in the circle and his erstwhile partner 
obediently moved to the side of the room to face one of the full-length mirrors 
set into the back wall of the salle, and began lunging with his sword fully 
extended, watching his reflection the way he would watch an opponent.
Those mirrors had utterly shocked Alberich the first time he had seen them. 
Mirrors were expensive, appallingly expensive, and that much mirrored glass at 
that size represented a sum of money that had made his head swim. But when hed 
gotten over the shock, he had to admit that putting those mirrors there was a 
brilliant idea, for nothing enabled a student learning anything involving body 
movement to correct himself like being able to see for himself as well as feel 
exactly what he was doing right or wrong.
Right now, however, he kept his attention on the two students before him; a pair 
of the children of the nobly born. Trainees, that is, not Blues, though a pair 
of Blues would have worked just as hard as these two. Things had certainly 
changed thereperhaps not in the attitude of those highborn toward him, but at 
least in the fact that they no longer expressed their contempt for him aloud. 
And no longer permitted their children to act on that contempt. The Blues for 
the most part now worked just as hard in his classes as any Heraldic Trainee, 
and there were no more sneers or other expressions of disrespect in his 
presence.
As for what happened outside his presence, he cared not at all. If they 
respected him, well and good. If they feared him, perhaps that was just as good. 
If neither, as long as they behaved themselves in his class, it mattered not 
what they thought, nor their parents. Let them revile him behind his back if it 
pleased them, so long as they maintained respect to his face. Discipline in the 
salle was what he demanded; so long as he got that, they might actually learn a 
thing or two from him.
These two, Grays both, were going at it with the same concentration and willif 
not skillas the previous pair. And with a touch less aggression; not so bad a 
thing, since he preferred to see caution over bravado. When one finally defeated 
the other, he sent them to observe, rather than to the mirrors.
The third pair, Healer and Heraldic Trainees, also bouted and retired; one went 
to the mirrors, the other to point practice on a ball suspended from the 
ceiling. The fourth pair, however
Well, both of them were high-spirited most times, and today, truly full of 
bedevilment. One was a Heraldic Trainee, the other a Bardic Trainee, and between 
them, the two were responsible for half the pranks that were pulled at the two 
Collegia. Both were slender and agile, both possessed of so much energy that 
their teachers sometimes despaired over trying to get them to hold still long 
enough to learn something, and envied their inexhaustible verve at one and the 
same time.
So Alberich knew he was going to have to be sharp to keep these two within 
bounds today.
If he could. Adain, the young Bard, and Mical were harder to keep control of 
than a bushel of ferrets today; he saw that within moments of their bout.
The two went at each other with the same concentration and will as the first 
two, and a great deal more energy and enthusiasm. As a consequence, they didnt 
stay inside the circle of observers, and those who had been quietly practicing 
found themselves scrambling out of the way as their combat ran from one end of 
the salle to the other.
Alberich had heard some rumors that these two were in the habit of experimenting 
with new moveswell, here was the proof that the rumors were true. It looked less 
like a practice bout and more like an acrobatic exhibition. Very few of their 
blows actually connected with anything. They werent actually parrying each 
other; they were tumbling and spinning and jumping about so much that they never 
even got near each other with their wooden blades.
“ Stop!” Alberich roared, just as Adain, by more luck than anything else, bound 
Micals blade in a complicated corkscrewing parry
and with a wild flip of his arm, disarmed his opponent and sent the wooden sword 
flying
straight at one of the precious panels of mirror.
Alberich opened his mouth to shout, and knew it was already too late.
It was one of those moments when time slows to a crawl, and the coming disaster 
is observed in painful detail without anyone being able to actually do anything 
about it. Adams grin of triumph slowly turned to one of horror, Mical clawed the 
air in futility after his lost sword as it headed straight for the mirror, its 
own reflection seeming to fly to meet it in midair. As the heavy, weighted stick 
flipped over and over in midair, Alberich just braced himself for the 
inevitable.
And, with a terrible crash, it came. The weighted end hit with the sound of a 
hundred hand mirrors hitting a pavement; the mirror spiderwebbedand shattered.
A profound and dreadful silence fell over the salle, broken only by a belated 
series of musical chinks, as a few of the shards that were left detached 
themselves and landed on the wreck of the rest of the mirror.
Chink. Chinker-chink. Chink.
“Uh-oh,” said Adain, in a very small voice.
Chink.
***
Alberich stood behind the two miscreants with his arms crossed over his chest, 
as they faced the desk of the Acting Dean of Heralds Collegium. Elcarth was not 
alone; the Dean of Bardic Collegium, Bard Arissa, had joined him for this 
particular conference. While Elcarth, slight and birdlike, with an inquisitive 
face and mild manner, was not normally the sort of person who might inspire 
trepidation in a student, the look he wore today would have frozen the marrow of 
anyones bones.
The two boys huddled unhappily in their chairs. It was the first time within his 
knowledge that Alberich had seen these two subdued. Their shoulders, under gray 
and rust-colored tunics respectively, were hunched with misery; their dark heads 
were both bowed, and two sets of hazel eyes were bent upon the floor.
“What, precisely, possessed you two to demonstrate yournew fighting techniques 
today?” That was Bard Arissa, a slim, autocratic woman, dark as a gypsy and 
resplendent in her full formal Scarlets, and you could have used the edge in her 
voice to cleave diamonds.
“It seemed like a good idea?” Adain suggested, in a whisper.
“And why did you not ask Herald Alberich if you could show him these things in 
private?” asked Elcarth, his voice like a wintry blast from the snowstorm 
outside.
“Um. Hes very busy?” Adain seemed to be doing all the talking; Mical was sitting 
like a stone. Alberich knew why; Mical was from a family prosperous enough to 
possess one or two real glass mirrors and he knew just how expensive they were, 
although he probably had no idea that the price increased exponentially with the 
size. Adain was highborn; until he came to the Collegium, he had never had to 
pay for anything himself in his life, and he had no idea what even a hand mirror 
cost, much less one of the huge panels in the salle. Mical thought he knew, and 
he was scared, just thinking it would cost about the same as a good horse; 
Alberich knew better, knew that you could buy a nice house with a garden in a 
good part of Haven for less than one of those mirrors.
“Never, to my knowledge, did you inquire of me, these new moves to observe,” 
Alberich said from behind them. “My duty it is, to make time for such things.”
“You wanted an audience,” Arissa said, in that same hard, sharp voicewhich, 
given that she was a Master Bard, was certainly deliberate. And, given that she 
was a Bard, and so was one of the miscreants, her statement about their motive 
was probably correct. “You couldnt bear not to have an audience. You wanted to 
show off what you thought you could do.”
Alberichs surmise that she had uncovered what had really driven the match today 
was borne out by the way that both the boys winced.
“Well,” she continued, “you got an audience. I trust youre pleased. Youve made 
fools out of yourselves in front of that audience, not to mention the damage you 
did in the salle.”
Now it was Elcarths turn. “Speaking of damages . . . are either of you aware of 
just how difficultand expensiveit is to replace a mirror of that size?”
Identical head shakes.
Elcarth named a figure. Both of them went white as the snow falling outside. 
Even Alberich was impressed, hearing the exact cost; it made what he had paid 
for his stained-glass window look like pin money by comparison.
“Now,” Elcarth continued. “Naturally, some of this is going to come from your 
stipends. We shant take all of your stipends, but youre going to be down to less 
than half of what everyone else gets.”
Mical finally said something. “Butwe could never pay all that back, not even if 
we stayed Trainees for a hundred years!” He gulped audibly.
“Which is why you are both going to be spending all of your free time working 
for the Master of the Glassworkers Guild until he finishes the new mirror,” 
Arissa said flatly. “We intend for you to see why, at first-hand, such things 
cost so dearly. We intend for you to have a very proprietary interest in the 
replacement. When the mirror is finished, I trust you will have an entirely new 
understanding of your folly.”
“And a new set of muscles,” Elcarth added enigmatically. “Now you may go, and 
reflect on the fact that you will not have any time to get up to any more clever 
ideas for the duration. This will be your last evening with any leisure in it, 
because youll be spending your mornings, your afternoons, and half of your 
evenings down at the glassworks for a while. Enjoy it.”
As if they could, with a sentence like that one hanging over their heads. The 
two rose, heads hanging, and shuffled out of the room, the very image of 
dejection.
Elcarth sighed once they were gone, and ruffled a hand through his hair. “I 
wouldnt mind so much if theyd gone about their little project sensibly,” he 
said. He motioned to Alberich to sit; Alberich did so. “Consulting with their 
instructors, for instance. Not that all of that gymkhana nonsense would have 
worked, mind you. I wonder where they got such a notion?”
“Out of their imaginations, I suppose,” growled Arissa, sitting on the other 
chair. “Which are entirely too active if you ask me. Or perhaps out of some 
idiot play or other; the two of them are always running down into Haven to see 
some fool drama whenever theres one to be seen. I presume theyre going to be put 
to working the bellows at the glassworks for the next moon or so? It could be 
worse; this could be summer.”
“It will be summer before they see the end of their labor,” Elcarth said. “I 
intend to leave them down there for more than a moon. Master Cuelin tells me his 
apprentice is ready to go on to more complicated work, and he doesnt have a 
junior apprentice to start on the bellows or do any of the other simple labor in 
and around the place. So our lads can serve until he gets one. It could have 
been worse. At least it was only one mirror panel, not two or more.”
“How often does this occur?” Alberich asked curiously. “Assume, I must, that 
accidents do happen. Stupidity probably rather more often than accident.”
Elcarth shrugged. “About once every hundred years or so. I mean, we designed the 
salle to minimize the possibility of an accident, and you Weaponsmasters rarely 
permit flying objects in the salle itself. It does happen, and it isnt always a 
Trainees fault, though I must say that this time is probably going into Mystes 
Chronicles for sheer wrongheadedness. The panels are all a standard size, and 
the glassworks has the dimensions in their records from the last time, so Master 
Cuelin wont even have to come up here to take measurements. I cant tell you how 
long its going to take to replace the mirror, though. The Master will have a lot 
of failures before he gets a success.”
“I would interested be, to watch,” Alberich admitted. “Or at least, to hear from 
the Master how such a thing is made.”
“Then deliver the criminals yourself in the morning, after breakfast,” Elcarth 
told him. “Someone will have to escort them the first time.”
Alberich took quick account of his schedule, and smiled thinly. “So I shall,” he 
decided.
Arissa laughed, her voice full of ironic humor. “Oh, theyll enjoy seeing your 
face tomorrow morning!”
***
The snow was still falling all that afternoon, into the night, and the next day, 
and Alberich had sent word up to the Collegia that the Trainees were to have a 
day-and-a-half holiday from their weaponry classes while the salle was cleaned. 
A small army of Collegium servants were scouring the salle floor for the tiniest 
slivers of glass, and would not leave until the floor had been swept several 
times over, then washed down, buffed and lightly sanded, so that it wasnt 
slippery. The one proviso to this “holiday” was that the Trainees were to spend 
the class time out of doors, but with this much snow, he doubted that would be 
much of a trial for them. The first lot was already building a snow fort when he 
and Kantor left to escort the two troublemakers to their appointed labors, while 
snow continued to fall from a sky that was the same color as a pigeons breast, 
and looked just as soft.
When Alberich got to the grounds of Heralds Collegium, the two boys were waiting 
for him on the road that ran among the buildings, mounted, Adain on his 
Companion and Mical on a sorrel gelding from the Palace stables. There was a 
conspicuous absence of Trainees anywhere near them; they waited alone in their 
disgrace.
As Alberich and Kantor approached, he observed that Adain and Mical looked just 
as subdued as they had last night, and even Adains Companion drooped a little. 
They kept the hoods of their cloaks well up, and aside from a soft, “Good 
morrow, Weaponsmaster Alberich,” he got nothing more out of them. Not that he 
intended to try to get them to talk. It would do them good to contemplate their 
sins in silence.
Snow drifted down now as fat, slow flakes; there wasnt even a breath of wind, 
and the air smelled damp. Most of the trees bore burdens of snow along their 
black, bare branches, and large mounds bore testament to bushes hidden under 
heaps of the stuff. Nothing had spoiled the pure whiteness yet, except for where 
the road had been cleared by the Palace gardeners.
By midmorning, people would be out playing in it. And the two boys would be 
painfully aware of that. A good thing; better they should have to reflect on 
their sins in sorrow than congratulate themselves that today would have been a 
miserable one to be out in anyway.
Alberich led them away from the Palace and toward the wall that surrounded the 
entire complex. They left from the Heralds Gate, the guarded postern at the 
Collegium side of the Palace grounds. Outside the walls, the road hadnt been 
cleared as yet. Heavy as the snow on the road was, the Companions made easy 
going through it, and the horse was able to follow in Kantors wake. By the time 
they got down through the manors of the highborn and the very wealthy, there 
were crews out starting to clear the road. Traffic was limited to a few riders 
and people on foot; except for a few main thoroughfares, the streets hadnt been 
shoveled out yet either. Fresh snow was nearly up to the knee, and drifts 
blocked many smaller side streets and alleys. But people were already out with 
shovels and teams of horses pulling scrapers, and work was going apace.
After all, it was in the interest of a shopkeeper to get the street in front of 
his place of business cleared quickly. So as they passed farther down into the 
commercial parts of Haven, there was more clean pavement, and more activity. And 
by the smoke coming from the chimney of the glassworks as they arrived, things 
were busy in there as well.
Alberich dismounted and gave a hard rap on the door to the glassworks courtyard 
with his fist. Two of the apprentices met them at the door; one took charge of 
their mounts, and with an evil grin, the other took charge of the miscreants. 
Alberich understood the reason for the grin perfectly; the apprentice would now 
be put to doing something far more interesting and less labor intensive than 
mere manual work, while Adain and Mical took his place at the bellows. The 
furnaces were always going in a glassworks; the fire needed to be quite hot 
indeed and at an even temperature. The least-skilled job was that of keeping the 
bellows pumping air into those furnaces, so that the molten glass was always 
ready to use, cane for decoration could be melted, and glass being blown into 
vessels could be reheated.
Alberich knew from his previous visits where to find Master Cuelin; in the 
Master Workshop. That was where he headed. The glassworks itself was a dangerous 
place, and he was extremely careful as he made his way through it.
Even now, in the dead of winter, it was very warm in here. Surrounding the 
furnaces were stations for molding glass, for those who decorated finished 
vessels, for beadmakers, for glassblowers. The floor was of pounded dirt, the 
benches and tables made of metal and stone. There was very little that could 
catch fire, logically enough. It was surprisingly dark here, too; Alberich 
supposed there was a reason for that. Perhaps it made the hot glass easier to 
see while it was being shaped.
Glass was both blown and molded here, and all manner of things were made. The 
most common pieces were molded disks and the thick “bullseye” glass for inferior 
windows, made by dropping hot glass into molds and pressing it. That was a job 
for an apprentice; it was relatively easy, relative being the proper word when 
you were talking about glass, a substance that ran like melted wax and would 
burn you to the bone if it got on you. Beadmakers formed their amazing little 
works of art on mandrels at their own little benchesor spun out long, thin tubes 
of colored glass to be chopped into bits and sand-polished in big drums when 
cool. Glassblowers formed the molten stuff into every shape imaginable, and 
decorators took the finished vessels and shapes and embellished them with 
ribbons of colored glass.
Alberich had been here once before, when he had commissioned his window, and 
then, as now, it had occurred to him how like a glassworker Vkandis Sunlord was. 
The glass had no notion of what it was going to be; it was melted in the heat of 
His regard, then molded or shaped, polished, turned into something that bore 
little or no resemblance to the grains of sand it had been.
Sometimes mistakes happened. And when they did, He gathered up the broken shards 
with infinite patience, put them back in His furnace, and began again.
The more conventional analogyand the one that the Sunpriests favoredwas to 
compare Him to a swordmaker. But it had come to Alberich that He was really 
nothing like a swordmaker; for one thing, the vast majority of the people He 
made were not creatures of war. And for another, few of them were tempered and 
honed. Most of them were simply made, humble creatures of common use, as 
perfectly suited to their lives as a thick pressed-glass window. Some were 
merely ornamental, like a bead. Some were honed and polished like the glass 
scalpels the Healers used for the most careful surgery. But they all came from 
the same hands, and the same place.
Better window glass was made in the same way as mirror glass, and required a 
glassblower as well. Alberich had been rather surprised by that when Master 
Cuelin told him; it had not occurred to him that one would use the same 
technique that created a goblet or a vase to make a flat pane of glass.
But, in fact, that was precisely how it was made. Glass was blown into a bubble 
of the right thickness, the bubble was then rolled against a flat and 
highly-polished metal plate to form a cylinder, the ends were swiftly cut off 
the cylinder and the cylinder slit up the middle while the glass was still soft 
enough to “relax,” and the resulting pane unrolled itself onto the plate and 
cooled flat. A master of the craft created a flat, rectangular pane of even 
thickness with irregularities so few as to be trivial.
But of course, the larger the paneor mirrorthe more difficult the task of 
blowing and cutting. Something the size of the mirror in the salle was going to 
be extremely difficult to do.
And in fact, it was Master Cuelin himself who was taking the first tries at it. 
A pile of rejected shards to one side testified that he had already tried and 
failed a time or two this morning.
“Ah, I give over,” he said, as Alberich arrived. “I thought Id give it a try, 
but Ive not the lungs anymore. Ill stick to my colored glasses and let young 
Elkin here do what he does best.”
But “young” Elkinwho was older than Alberichshook his head. “It wont come quick, 
Master Cuelin,” he said honestly. “Ive never done aught that big. Ill need to 
work up to it.”
“I wouldnt expect anything else, my lad,” Cuelin told him. “Give it time; youll 
manage. Kernos knows so long as you dont make the mess of it that I just did, we 
can find buyers for the smaller panes and mirrors while you work your way up to 
the right size.”
“Are you sure of that, Master?” the other craftsman asked, surprised.
Cuelin laughed, and pulled off his leather gauntlets. “Certain sure. You just 
wait; as soon as word gets out that were replacing a salle mirror up there on 
the hill, therell be a stream of highborn servants at the door. If youd happen 
to have a spare window glass, so-by-so, Master Cuelin . . . if youre like to 
have a mirror for miladys dressing table . . . They know we have to work our way 
up to a pane that big, and they know theyll get a bargain they wouldnt get if 
theyd commissioned those glass panes and mirrors special. Then itll be the 
polishing, and then the silvering, and thatll be a bit tricky as well. Master 
Alberich, I want to show you something thatll catch your interest, aye, and you, 
too, ElkinI had the Collegium servants bring me down the old glass, and when I 
got it, this is what I found.”
He held up a shard of silvered glass. “Thisll be from the top of your mirror” 
and a second, “and thisll be from the bottom. Now, what dye think of that?”
The top shard was clearly thinner than the bottom. Alberich scratched his head. 
“Glass not so good as you can make it?” he hazarded.
Cuelin laughed. “Oh, flattery! No, no, it was fine glass, and well be hard put 
to match it. But Ill reckon that mirror was over two hundred years old if it was 
a day, Master Alberich. Maybe more. And when it was made, top to bottom was the 
same thickness.”
He wanted Alberich to look puzzled; with some amusement, Alberich obliged him. 
“Then, how?” he asked.
“Glass never quite sets, Master Alberich,” Cuelin told him. “Its like slow 
water, my old Master told me. Believe it or not, it keeps flowingoh, slow, too 
slow to notice, but over a century or two, or three, you look, youll see that 
any glass has got thicker at the bottom than it is at the top. Mind, most of it 
doesnt stay unbroken long enough to find that out, specially with lads like your 
two troublemakers about, but there you have it. You can tell the age of a piece 
by how thick its got on the bottom compared to the top.”
Alberich examined the two shards, then passed them on to Elkin, and blinked at 
that, and tried to get his mind wrapped around the idea of something that flowed 
that slowly. “I amastonished,” he admitted after a moment. “Astonished.”
“Wonderful stuff, is glass,” Master Cuelin said with pride and pleasure. “And 
Ill see to it your lads get their heads stuffed full of more than they ever 
cared to learn about it. No point in exercising their arms and leaving their 
heads to come up with more mischief. Ill send them back up the hill on time for 
their classes, though, no worry. And” he took a slip of paper out of a pocket in 
his tunic and consulted it, “I see Im to expect them back down here at fourth 
bell, and keep them until our suppertime. We eat late, mind.”
“Correct,” Alberich said. “Be here, they will be. Fed, they will be when they 
arrive, then they must study for the morrow, then bed.”
Cuelin laughed. “If theyve strength enough to hold up their heads without 
falling into their books, Ill be main surprised.”
Alberich took his leave of the Master with better humor than he had arrived in; 
clearly Cuelin understood boys, and was quite prepared to handle them as they 
needed to be handled. Micals horse and Adains Companion were comfortably housed, 
as the Weaponsmaster saw when he went to fetch Kantor, so Alberich left them in 
peace. The horse was happy enough; the Companion still looked subdued.
:An interesting place. Have you ever thought of glasswork as a hobby?: Kantor 
asked, as Alberich mounted.
:I think I would not be good enough to satisfy myself,: Alberich replied 
truthfully. They rode out into the street; already, the industrious craftsmen 
here had gotten it cleared, and the snow had been piled up along the walls. :Why 
was the boys Companion so quiet?:
:Because he is as much to blame as the children,: Kantor told him. :Apparently, 
he was in league with them. He is very young.:
Alberich snorted. :He must be. I thought your kind had better sense.:
Kantor sighed gustily. :Those of us who are older, are. Some of us, like Eloran 
are young.:
:Have you got any plans for delivering some sort of chastisement to Eloran?: 
Alberich asked after a moment, while he tried to sort out the meaning behind his 
words and couldnt come up with anything.
:Oh, yes,: came the reply. :Rolan and I have devised something quite 
appropriate.:
And since nothing else was forthcoming, Alberichs curiosity had to remain 
unassuaged.
3
Selenay looked out of a window in the Long Gallery on the way to her Lesser 
Audience Chamber and sighed with regret. The garden was alive with color and 
movement against the snowthe brilliantly colored cloaks, coats, and hoods of the 
younger members of her Court as they chased one another, flung snowballs, and 
generally forgot any pretense of dignity. Young men who had lately fought the 
Tedrels had cast aside their adulthood for a few hours as they fired snowballs 
at pages safely ensconced behind the sturdy walls of a snow fort. Young ladies 
giggled and joined the pages in flinging missiles back at their suitors. Others 
were on the way to frozen ponds with skates slung over their shoulders, or 
moving toward the artificial hills in the “wild” garden with sleds. Selenay 
would have given a year of her life to be down there with them.
Alas. The Queen had an audience with the ambassador from Hardorn, and there was 
no time for frolicking in the snow, no time for skating, no time for a fast run 
on a sled.
Curse it.
She nodded to the guards on either side of the door of the Lesser Audience 
Chamber and went inside. Shed had the room repainted in softer colors than her 
father had favored, though she couldnt do much about the leather paneling, which 
had been there for decades and would probably be there for decades more. It was 
easy to keep clean and looked far more luxurious than anything she could install 
to replace it; shed settled for painting the trim an ashen brown with 
silver-gilt touches here and there. The Ambassador and his entourage were 
already waiting, as was Talamir. Bless him. It was clear he had been keeping the 
Ambassador properly entertained; although such gentlemen were notable for being 
able to conceal any evidence of impatience, the smile Ambassador Werenton turned 
on her was quite genuine and warm, and his eyes were relaxed. He wore the fine 
shirt, tunic, trews, and floor-length, open vest in the current Valdemaran 
style, which was a little disappointing. Shed wanted to see what the Hardornan 
mode was, for the talk was that the new Queen was quite a fashion setter.
She gave him her hand; he bowed over it, and she was pleased to note that his 
hand was warm and dry, not cold or clammy. She took her place on the small, 
velvet-covered throne on the sketchy dais, and motioned to him to sit. This was 
a room meant to welcome rather than awe; the warm ocher of the leather-covered 
paneling and the aspect of it, situated so that it looked out into a sheltered 
courtyard, made it surprisingly comfortable for a formal room. The furnishings 
were all upholstered in leather that matched the paneling, and the floor 
carpeted; there was a fine fire in the fireplace, and servants with mulled, 
spiced wine to serve. Everything that could have been done to relax the 
Ambassador and his entourage had beenmore of Talamirs work, no doubt.
“Ambassador Werenton, it is good to see you again,” she said warmly. “And I am 
glad that you were able to reach our Court before this snow closed us in.”
“As am I, Majesty,” he replied. “And my King wishes me, first, to tender his 
sympathies for your loss, and second, offer his apologies that he was not able 
to send me sooner.”
She smiled at him, and hoped that her weariness with all of the official 
expressions of condolence did not show. She knew very well that the King of 
Hardorn could have cared less about who was on the throne of Valdemar. He knew 
that Valdemar would always favor allies and peace over conquest. In fact, so 
long as that attitude prevailed, the King of Hardorn would not have cared if the 
Council had elected a horse to wear the crown. “Please, Werentonthe message of 
condolence arrived with the usual promptness of our friends and allies, and I 
can certainly understand how your King would be otherwise too occupied with his 
own defensive preparations against Karse to think about sending you to our 
Court.”
“If Valdemar had fallenor even been pushed back” Werenton said apologetically, 
and shrugged. “We share a border with Karse, as you know. The King was prepared, 
at need, to unite our force with yours if it had come to that. As it was, the 
defeated Tedrels spread into our land, and we were forced to deal with them as 
one would any other plague.”
The King would not have bestirred himself unless his Border Lords forced him to, 
she translated to herself. In fact, it probably wouldnt have been the King of 
Hardorn who united his forces with us at all; it would have been the local 
Hardornen border-levies.
“And your King was right to concern himself first with them, and concern himself 
with other things second,” Selenay agreed. “I am glad it never came to the point 
of asking our allies for help.”
She knew, and probably the Ambassador did, too, that the reason her father hadnt 
asked Hardorn for troops was precisely because there was no telling what the 
Tedrels were going to do for certain. Yes, Karse had hired them to take 
Valdemar. But if Hardorns border troops had been removed to bolster Valdemaran 
forces, leaving that border unguarded, the Tedrels would probably have taken 
southern Hardorn and come at Valdemar from the eastern flank. The King of 
Hardorn was a good man, and served his people wellbut he was not a very good 
strategist, nor were any of his military advisers, sad to say. All of them were 
old men, and more accustomed to dealing with the odd bandit force than a real 
campaign. Karses long-standing and increasingly hostile feud with Valdemar had 
ensured that Hardorn had been very little troubled over the past two reigns. Her 
father had deemed it wise not to distract Hardorns king withas he had put 
it“conflicting needs.”
She had better say something flattering, before her mouth let something 
unflattering escape. “And am I to understand that congratulations will shortly 
be in order?” Selenay continued, with a slight smile.
“We do expect the birth of an heir before spring, yes,” Werenton admitted. He 
did not mention that the young Queen was only a little older than Selenay, nor 
that the King was older than Sendar had been. Nor did Selenay make anything of 
it. She was just grateful that the King of Hardorn had married before the death 
of her own father. Now at least there was one old man who was out of the running 
as a potential suitor. Had he still been singlehis previous wife having died 
without producing a living heirthere soon would have been advisers on both sides 
of the Border clamoring for a match between them.
“I will have to rack my brain to find a unique birth gift, then,” Selenay 
replied. “Im sure that by now His Majesty has an entire room given over to 
silver rattles and ivory teething rings.”
The Ambassador smiled politely, as if to suggest that a royal infant could not 
possibly have too many silver rattles and ivory teething rings.
Selenay spent the better part of two candlemarks with the Ambassador, mostly 
taking her lead from Talamir or the Ambassador himself as to when subjects 
currently under negotiation needed to be mentioned. There were some, of course. 
Hardorn badly wanted to take back some land that Karse had overrun half a 
century ago, but if they did, the King wanted to be sure that Valdemar wouldnt 
take it amiss. Valdemar wanted warning if this was going to happen, so that when 
Karse reacted (though given how unsettled things were there at the moment, Karse 
might not even notice for a year or two) there would be extra guards on the 
Border again. Hardorn wanted to know what Valdemar was going to do with all 
those “Tedrel” children. Valdemar politely told Hardorn it was none of Hardorns 
business, but that, in fact, the children were more than halfway to being 
Valdemaran by now. Hardorn suggested polite skepticism; Valdemar offered 
examples, and pointed out the general ages of the children. There were some 
matters of trade to discuss, some concessions that both of them wanted. No few 
of these would have to go before the Council, and, presumably, an equivalent 
body in Hardorn, but in a simple, convivial discussion like this one, it was 
possible to get a feel for how such overtures would be met when presented 
formally.
Finallyand none too soon, in Selenays opinionthe Ambassador gave signs that he 
had said all he needed to, and she politely decreed the audience was at an end. 
He withdrew; she turned to Talamir as soon as the doors had closed behind him 
and his entourage.
Talamir shrugged wearilyhe did everything wearily these days. He seemed to have 
aged twenty years since the end of the wars. His hair had gone entirely to 
silver-gray, and that lean, careworn face had lines of pain in it that had not 
been there a year ago. The eyes had changed the most, though; now they were an 
indeterminate, stormy color with the look in them of someone who has looked into 
places that mortal men are not supposed to see.
Still, most of the time he was the same Talamir she remembered, stubborn and 
difficult to move once he had decided on a thing.
“No hidden agendas, I think, Majesty,” he said judiciously.
“Other than the obvious; that the King waited to see if Id survive six months on 
the throne on my own before sending a formal envoy,” she said, with a feeling of 
resignation. All of the envoys had been like this; it was disheartening to think 
that there were probably bets being placed on how long she would remain Queen 
and sole ruler of Valdemar.
“Well, you could have wedded immediately,” Talamir pointed out. “From his point 
of view there was no harm in waiting to see if you did before sending the 
Ambassador.”
“Or I could have been toppled by one of my own nobles, or assassinated by a 
leftover Tedrel.” She did not add after all, Im only a woman, but the unspoken 
words hung in the air between them.
“Well, you werent,” Talamir replied unexpectedly. “And those of us who knew you 
also knew you wouldnt be. And if some foreign monarch is foolish enough to think 
that your youth and sex means that you are weak or foolish, well, I pity him. 
Hell take a beating at the negotiation tables.”
She flushed, feeling suddenly warm with pleasure. “Thank you for that, Talamir,” 
she replied. So Talamir really did think she was capable! It was a welcome 
surprise; she would not have been at all surprised if he had still been thinking 
of her as “little” Selenay, who needed a firm hand on the rein and a great deal 
of looking after.
He gave a little bow, and smiled; he still had a charming smile. “Credit where 
credit is due,” he said simply. “And by this point, Im sure the Throne Room is 
filled with impatient petitioners”
“So on to the next chore.” She thought longingly of the fresh snow outside, and 
ruthlessly pushed away the longing. Queens did not desert their Court to frolic 
carelessly when there were duties to be done. Queens had responsibilities. “Time 
to get to it; the sooner we clear the work out, the less likely it is Ill incur 
the wrath of the cooks by delaying luncheon.” She rose, and shook out her 
skirts, still startled, even after all this time, to note the trimming of black 
on her Royal Whites where the silver of the Heir or the gold of the Monarch 
should be. “Speaking of wrath,” she continued, as Talamir went to hold the doors 
of the chamber open for her, “Whats the outcome of that little disaster down at 
the salle?”
Talamir coughed, to hide a smile, she thought. “Alberich escorted the two 
miscreants down to the glassworks just after breakfast,” he told her. “They will 
be spending from now untilwere thinkingVernal Equinox pumping the glassworks 
bellows every free moment that they have. Were loath to keep them down there 
once the weather begins to get significantly warmer, because work switches to 
the nighttime once it becomes hellish to keep the furnaces going at full heat in 
the hottest part of the day. But we also want them to feel theyre really being 
punished when the weather turns and all their friends are enjoying themselves 
outdoors again.”
“Poor things!” she said, feeling rather sorry for them, seeing as she was in a 
similar situation with no hope for a reprieve.
Talamir coughed again; this time it sounded a bit disapproving. “Selenay, do you 
have any notion how much the Crowns treasury is going to have to pay the 
glassworkers for a new mirror? You could replace every horse in the Royal Guard 
with Ashkevron war stallions for less than the cost of that mirror. Personally, 
I think theyre getting off lightly.”
“If those mirrors cost so much, how on earth did the Crown manage to pay for all 
of them when they were first installed?” she asked, as the two of them, flanked 
by a couple of guards, made their way down the gallery that overlooked the 
snow-covered gardens.
“If the legends are correct, no one paid for them at all,” Talamir replied. “The 
Herald-Mages made them, supposedly. Just as whenever one was broken, the 
Herald-Mages fixed them.”
“How very convenient,” she said dryly. “Did the Herald-Mages fix plumbing, too? 
Ive had an Artificer in my bathing room twice now, and that drip still isnt 
fixed. When I was trying to sleep last night, that was all I could hear.”
“Sendar used to say he found it soothing,” Talamir said quietly.
I am not my father, Selenay thought, and felt a surge of resentment as well as 
sadness. But she was not going to say it. “Just have someone send a different 
Artificer, please,” she replied instead. “If I have to move into my old rooms 
for a few days until its fixed, Ive no objections. If I have to listen to that 
drip for many more nights, Im going to go mad.”
***
With classes canceled for the day, Alberich found himself with unexpected free 
time on his hands. In light of the frustration of pursuing inquiries to dead 
ends recently, he decided he had a good idea of how to fill some of it. At this 
point, all of his usual sources of information had run dry. It was time to find 
some new ones, but to do that, he would have to create new identities.
What I am looking for is not going to be found around Exiles Gate, he decided.
It was with a distinct feeling of pleasure that he noted that Kantor had 
followed his thought, and had altered his course, heading, not for the Collegia, 
but for the Companions Bell. This was a prosperous tavern that played host to 
Heralds quite regularlyand to Alberich quite a bit more often than to most, 
although, if you had asked the staff, they would have said, truthfully, that 
they didnt see him there very often.
There was a secret room in the back of the stables where Herald Alberich would 
retire, and someone else would emerge, by way of a door that no more than a 
handful of people knew existed. In that room was a chest of disguises, which 
were apparently tended to by someone in the Bell, for no matter what state they 
were in when Alberich left them there, the next time he returned they would be 
cleanor at any rate, cleaner, since the apparent dirt and real stains were an 
integral and important part of some of them. Furthermore, any damage hed done to 
them would be repaired, and the clothing neatly put away, back in the chest.
Hed inherited that room and that chest from Herald Dethor, his predecessor as 
Weaponsmaster, and hed put quite a bit of wear on the disguises hed found there. 
Enough that it was time to do something about the situation, before he found 
himself literally without anything to wear.
Hed have to do it in disguise, though. Even though he flatly refused to wear 
Heralds Whites, his own gray leathers were distinctive enough to mark him as the 
Collegium Weaponsmaster. If the Weaponsmaster was noted visiting the 
used-clothing merchants, it would be a short step for anyone keeping an eye on 
him to determine that he was purchasing disguises. Why else would he be making a 
great many purchases of used clothing?
So, after leaving Kantor tucked into an out-of-the-way stall in the section of 
the stables reserved for Companions, Herald Alberich retired into that room, and 
a persona he had never used until now emerged into the alley behind the inn.
His clothing was well-made, of good materials, but a little out of style, as 
befitting a prosperous merchant or craftsman from one of the farther or more 
rustic reaches of the kingdom. Good thick boots with a significant amount of 
scuffing and wear to the tops suggested that he was used to doing a great deal 
of walking in rough country. Leather breeches with little wear on the seat but a 
great deal to the legs and knees added to that impression. His heavy wool cape 
with an attached hood was significantly old-fashioned, though the material was 
very good, and it was lined with lambswool plush, which was quite a luxurious 
fabric. Beneath the cape was a knit woolen tunic that went down to his 
calvesalso significantly out of fashion, for it should have been (but was not) 
worn with a sleeveless leather or cord-ware jerkin if hed been living in Haven 
for any length of time. All of this gear looked home-made rather than 
tailor-made, and every bit of it made him look rustic.
If he spoke slowly and took care with his syntax, despite the odd accent he 
still had, hed be taken for a farmer or craftsmanor, just possibly, a country 
squirefrom some agrarian part of Valdemar with its own regional accent. It was a 
fine guise, and very useful for what he was about to dowhich was to buy used 
clothing.
Such was easy enough to acquire, and it was easier to put mending and patching 
onto gently-used clothing than it was to repair clothing that was getting far 
past its useful lifespan. It was easier to put on stains than remove them. That 
so-helpful, completely invisible accomplice at the Companions Bell was quite 
literate, as Alberich had proved to himself by leaving some instructions with 
one of those disguises, and returning to find that those instructions had been 
carried out to the letter. So he would buy appropriate outfits, and leave 
instructions on how the items were to be abused if they looked insufficiently 
used.
And finally he would have things that fit him, rather than Dethor. His 
predecessor had been slightly shorter and significantly broader in the waist 
than Alberich, with much shorter legs.
It will be good not to have to wear my breeches down around my hips to keep them 
from looking too short.
He spent a very profitable morning, going from shop to stall to barrow, 
examining items with all the care that any thrifty fellow from the hinterland 
would use, exhibiting all the suspicion that he was being cheated by a city 
sharper that any Haven merchant would expect from a shrewd bumpkin, eager to get 
his moneys worth. He never bought more than one piece from any one place at the 
same timethough he did come back, later, if hed seen more than one item that he 
wanted. In this persona, Alberich was not particularly notable. There were 
several men like him, engaged in similar errands, up and down the quarter where 
used clothing was sold. Most were alone, though a few had wives or older 
children with them. Whenever he had a collection of three or four items, he went 
back to the Bell, and left them, so that he was never observed carrying great 
piles of clothing.
By doing this, he was able to acquire disguises for a good dozen personae, 
including one or two that were just a touch above his current character; good, 
solid citizens who would be welcome in any decent house or tavern in the city. 
Anything else, hed get from the Palace; he had a notion hed like to have a set 
of Palace livery, perhaps a Guard uniform, and clothing appropriate for the 
lower ranks of the highborn.
And, under the guise of purchasing something for his wife, he bought some womens 
clothing as well. Not that hed ever tried to impersonate a woman, butwell, he 
might need to.
:Youll never pull it off,: Kantor said critically as he stowed these last 
purchases away, hanging them up, rather than putting them in the chest, as even 
with all of the old guises taken out and left with a note to get rid of them, 
there was no more room in that chest. :Youd need a wig. And how would you hide 
that face of yours?:
:Ive seen plenty of ugly women in this city,: he objected.
:Im sure you have, but none that looked as if theyd been through a fire, then 
fought in a dozen bars and a war,: Kantor argued. :And you dont act like a 
woman; you dont know how to act like a woman. If you need to find out something 
only a woman can, then get a woman to do it. Myste would probably fit those 
skirts.:
:But: he started to arguethen stopped. Myste would fit those skirts. And she was 
a native of Haven. And shed come into the Heraldic Circle as an adult, which 
meant that she was used to being a civilian, acting like a civilian, and she had 
all the knowledge that an ordinary citizen of Haven had. He wouldnt want to take 
her down into the area around Exiles Gate, but
:But shed go if you asked her to. Think about it anyway. Theres Herald Keren, 
too. Shed go, and shed fit in anywhere that was rough, including around Exiles 
Gate. Good gods, some of the clientele of those fishers taverns in the ports of 
Evendim would frighten the whey out of the loungers in the Broken Arms!: Kantor 
sounded very sure of himself, but Alberich saw no reason to doubt that he was 
right. Keren was a tear-away of the first order, and back in the day, if the 
Sunsguard had permitted women to take up arms, hed have had no objection to her 
in his cavalry unit. She made a fearless bodyguard for Selenay.
:Id have to find a way to persuade Ylsa to stay away, though. The two of them 
together would be a dead giveaway to anyone who knows anything about the 
Heralds.:
:Pointing that out ought to be enough to persuade Ylsa,: Kantor replied with a 
hint of humor. :Wild they might be, stupid, they arent.:
Well. Two excellent ideas in one morning, one from his own mind, and one from 
Kantor!
:And didnt I tell you, back when we first came here, that you and I were a good 
match?: Kantor asked smugly.
:So you did. And you were correct. So very correct that I dont even mind hearing 
you say I told you so.:
Kantors only reply was a sort of mental snicker.
Alberich finished writing notes on what he wanted doneor notto each of the new 
disguises, left them piled atop the chest or hung up on pegs around the room, 
went to the stable-side door, and blew out the lamp.
:Dont worry, you wont be seen. No one here but us Companions,: Kantor told him, 
and he slipped the catch, moved out into the stable, and shut the door carefully 
behind himself. It locked itself with a soft click.
There were, indeed, two other Companions in stalls with Kantor. One was 
partnered with Herald Mirilin, who was one of the two Heralds assigned 
permanently to dispense justice within Haven. The other assigned to that duty 
was Jadus, who, since losing his leg, could not ride for very long or very 
farbut whose insight and understanding of human nature made him very suitable 
for this job. Jadus Companion was not here, though; the third Companion was not 
one he recognized.
:Not a Herald you know either. Someone just in off circuit, and an old friend of 
Mirilins.: And something about the tone of Kantors mind-voice told Alberich that 
the “old friend” was female and that neither Mirilin nor the newcomer would be 
found in the common room. But that they would be found with each other.
Heh. So Mirilin was human, after all. Mirilin, with a woman! Now that was a 
thought to hold onto. From the way that Mirilin usually acted, Alberich had the 
idea that hed be very embarrassed if he was caught playing truant with a 
womanand no matter if the woman was another Herald.
:I believe,: he said, as Kantor turned his head to wink one blue eye at him, 
:That I will have one of the Bells delicious pigeon pies. And I believe I will 
linger over it.:
It would do him no end of good to see the expression on Mirilins face when the 
Herald finally did emerge. . . .
Kantor snickered. There was no other word for it. The sound wasnt even remotely 
horselike.
:Ill see to it that their Companions “ forget” to mention youre here.:
***
Mirilin and the stranger strolled into the smaller common roomthe one usually 
used by Heraldswith a careless and casual air, as of people who expect to find a 
room empty. And since Alberich had deliberately set himself in the most secluded 
corner of the roomwhich happened to be right beside the cheerful fireMirilin and 
his friend would not be able to see him until they were already well into the 
room.
“Heyla, Mirilin,” he said calmly, and was rewarded when Mirilin actually jumped 
a little, startled. The other Herald, an attractive little redhead, didnt jump, 
but did look surprised.
The Herald peered at his corner. To Alberichs further pleasure, he flushed and 
looked extremely discomfited. Not that there was anything at all wrong with two 
Heralds having a quiet mark or two alone together, far from it! But being 
discovered by the enigmatic Alberich
That same Alberich that Mirilin had openly and avowedly not trusted at all when 
he first became Selenays bodyguard? And who was now one of the great heroes of 
the Wars? And if Mirilin was not acting as a Justiciar in the Heraldic Court, 
shouldnt he be up the hill at the Collegium at the moment?
Again, there was no reason why Mirilin should not take a mark or two out of the 
day to please himselfbut someone like Mirilin would feel guilty that he had, and 
moreover, he probably wouldnt want anyone to know he had done so.
“Ah. Herald Alberich? What are you doing in Haven?”
“Delivering our miscreants to their place of punishment,” he replied, “Heard of 
the incident in the salle, I presume you have?”
“A broken mirror, wasnt it?” Mirilin said, after a moment. “And a couple of 
Trainees with more enthusiasm than sense?” Mirilin was regaining his composure, 
which made Alberich smile a little. After all, he only wanted to discomfit the 
fellow a trifle, not humiliate him.
Alberich uttered a dry chuckle. “Well put. And no more free time, in which to 
devise more such mischief, will they have until well into spring. Pumping the 
bellows at the glassworks, Dean Elcarth has decreed, is to be their task.”
Mirilin smiled and winced at the same time. “Wellat the least, theyll have stout 
muscles when spring comes.”
“Make the punishment fit the crimeI like that,” said the womannot as young as 
Alberich had first thought. She wasnt as old as Mirilin, but she was older than 
Alberich. “Are you the new Weaponsmaster, then?” She left Mirilin and approached 
Alberich, her hand extended, somewhat to Mirilins consternation. “Sorry I havent 
met you before this; Ive been on one circuit or another for almost six years, 
and when I come in, I usually stay here rather than at the Collegium. When Im 
off, Im a bit of a carouser, and why disturb peoples sleep when I can have all 
the fun I like and not upset anyone down here? Im Ravinia. Mindspeech and Animal 
Mindspeech.”
Alberich rose, took her hand, and bowed slightly over it. “And I am Alberich,” 
he told her, releasing it. “Foresight, for whatever good it does.”
She smiled at him. Mirilin was very clearly discomfited again. Perhaps because 
the lady he had come here to meet was being so very friendly to someone heused 
tonot trust very much? “So you are indeed the very famous Herald Alberich; its a 
pleasure to meet you at last. Since Im staying at least a moon this time, I 
expect youll see me at the salle. I could use some sparring practice; can you 
find me partners at short notice?”
:Is she flirting with me?: he asked Kantor incredulously.
:No. She really does need sparring practice. Find some of the mid-level Guards 
from Selenays bodyguard. Or Keren or Ylsa.: Kantor chuckled. :Shes not flirting; 
shes being direct. And she doesnt mistrust you. She hadnt met you at a time when 
you were under suspicion. You are not Alberich of Karse to her; you are Herald 
Alberich.:
“You will welcome be, and partners can be found,” he replied, and decided to end 
Mirilins discomfort by taking himself off. “Rude I do not wish to seem, but my 
task and meal both being over, returning I must be.”
“Certainly,” Ravinia agreed. “I expect well meet again in the next day or two.”
“Excellent.” He nodded at Mirilin. “And fare you well, in your afternoons tasks, 
Mirilin. Perhaps the heavy snow will thin the plaintiffs.”
Mirilin shrugged. “I wouldnt count on it, but I wouldnt be upset if you were 
right.” But there was a change in Mirilin. A subtle one, but there it was. 
Perhaps because, for the first time, he saw Alberich through the eyes of someone 
he trusted. And he saw the man before him as Herald Alberich.
Alberich took that as a dismissal, and took himself off, keeping his chuckle 
strictly internal. Well, well, well.
Of course, neither of them could know that he knew the two of them hadnt just 
accidentally arrived at the Bell at the same timebut Mirilin suspected Alberich 
knew. And Alberich was never going to let on one way or another.
:They let the stablehands take their Companions in,: Kantor told him. :They had 
a great deal ofcatching up to do.:
:Indeed,: Alberich replied. It was interesting that Mirilin was clearly 
embarrassed, but Ravinia was not.
:Shelteny says that Ravinia isnt embarrassed by much,: Kantor observed 
dispassionately. :A very cool one, she says.:
:I can believe that.: Alberich paused at the door to swing his cloak over his 
shoulders, and pushed out into the stable yard. Snow was still falling, but at 
least it was not much more than token flakes, and a single stable boy with a 
broom was doing a reasonable job of keeping up with it. He crossed the yard and 
walked into the stables again, and a bay horse in the stall nearest the door 
peered over the side of the partition and snorted at him.
:I trust that the boys are already on their way back up to the Collegia?: he 
added.
:Halfway there, and just in time for their classes,: Kantor confirmed, as he 
picked up saddle and blanket from the side of the stall, and heaved them onto 
Kantors back. :Just about in the state of sore-muscled, worn-out wretchedness 
youd hoped for. Not utterly miserable, certainly not feeling any desperation, 
but definitely feeling chastised.:
:Good.: He didnt want them to be desperate, but he wanted them to feel, well and 
truly, that they were being punished for making not one, but several bad 
decisions. Not the least of which was that they made the choice to act 
recklessly in a place where mistakes would be magnified. Elcarth had made an 
excellent decision as to their punishment, and he and the Dean of Bardic had 
made it crystal clear that the boys were being punished by their respective 
Collegia, not by Alberich alone.
He finished putting on the last of the tack, and Kantor backed out into the 
aisle so that Alberich could mount. :What had you planned for this afternoon?:
:I believe Ill have a talk with Keren about that suggestion of yours,: he 
replied. :And perhaps with Myste though I had rather speak to Keren first.:
:Good. Mind you, Id feel better if you had more than one set of hands and eyes 
helping you:
:But the more people there are in on a secret, the harder it becomes to keep 
it.: He felt Kantors sigh of resignation beneath his legs as they trotted out 
into the stable yard, under the arched gate that led to the street, and onto the 
thoroughfare itself. Kantor didnt argue with him, though. The Companion knew 
just as well as anyone that if Alberich was going to do the covert part of his 
job effectively, it had to be kept secret. Heralds were humansas witness 
Mirilin!and humans talked, gossiped, let things slip by accident. That was one 
of the reasons why Alberich needed to do his job in the first place.
The ride up to the Collegium was uneventful, and now that substantial inroads 
had been made on clearing the snow, it was a bit faster than the ride down had 
been. And Alberich noted as they rode that it wasnt only the Trainees that had 
been infected by a spirit of playthere were snow fights and sliding, the 
building of snow sculptures and castles, and he saw no few people going by with 
skates over their shoulders. As they came into the region of private houses, 
larger and representing more wealth, the closer they came to the Palace, there 
was even more sign of merrymaking in the snow.
:Well, it isnt often that Haven sees a snowfall as heavy as this one has been.:
:Personally, I have never seen anything of the sort,: Alberich admitted. :There 
are snows in my hills, but they are thin and dry.:
:This is winter weather typical for the North of Valdemar, not so much here,: 
said Kantor. :I wonder:
There was a long pause, as they wove their way among the houses of the highborn, 
and laughter and shrieks of pleasure and excitement echoed behind the walls and 
fences.
:You wonder?: Alberich prompted his Companion.
:Well, its dreadfully soon . . . and the Court is technically still in mourning 
. . . but a snowfall like this doesnt come very often, and theres going to be a 
hard cold spell coming behind it.: Kantor gave the impression to Alberich that 
he was musing aloud, though Alberich wondered for a moment where he was getting 
his weather information. :The Terilee is going to freeze solid when that cold 
spell comes that hasnt happened in fifty years. I just wonder if its occurred to 
Selenay to decree a Snow Festival:
Although Alberich had never heard of a Snow Festival before, the name pretty 
much told him everything he needed to know. :If the river freezes solid, isnt 
something like that bound to happen spontaneously anyway?: The very novelty of 
the frozen river would bring skatersthe skaters would draw vendors of food and 
drink, and those would attract musicians, skate sharpeners, skate vendors, and 
probably more merchants than that. On the wholewell, it wouldnt be a bad thing 
for an official Festival to take place, official mourning be damned. The Wars 
had dragged on for years. Sendars death had cast a pall over the entire country, 
but there was only so much grieving that you could do before you just wearied of 
it. Selenays coronation had been a triumph, but it had been a shadowed triumph.
:Well, you can hear it beginning for yourself,: Kantor agreed, tossing his head 
in the direction of yet more laughter. :And once the river freezes, people will 
come flocking down to the banks. If it were me, Id go ahead and make the decree 
so that what is going to break out anyway gets some time limits to it. And while 
were at it, something like this would create a number of excellent opportunities 
for you to nose about and listen.: Kantor paused, perhaps to gather his 
thoughts. :If anyone is going to try and foment discontent, oddly enough, a 
Festival is a good place to do so. You can say things then that people will 
dismiss as the drink talking but the words will still stick in the memory, and 
should Selenay or her Council do something that people dont agree with those 
words will be remembered.:
:We really do think too much alike,: Alberich agreed, as they turned in at the 
gate, with a friendly nod to the Guardsman on duty. :So, to whom should we drop 
hints, and when?:
:Leave that to us Companions,: said Kantor. :Its what were good at.:
The area around the salle was extremely quiet without streams of Trainees coming 
and going. When Dethor had moved out, Alberich had gotten the carpenters to put 
in a good, stout, one-Companion “stable” up against that oven wall for Kantor to 
stay in when he chose. It was immensely more convenient not to have to go all 
the way up to the Companions stable in order to tack him upand this way, he and 
Kantor could come and go without any fuss or anyone noticing. Kantor himself 
always went up to the main stable to eat and drink, and Companions being 
Companions and not horses, the interior of this secondary stable didnt need to 
be cleaned. Alberich being Alberich, he saw to Kantors tack himself, except for 
the fancy “show” or “parade” tack, so it wasnt really any inconvenience to the 
stablehands, either, for Kantor to have his everyday kit down here. Alberich 
dismounted at the door of the little lean-to addition, and Kantor followed him 
inside. It was pleasantly warm, thanks to that brick wall.
:Im going up to the stable,: the Companion said, as Alberich took off his halter 
and he shook his head and neck vigorously. :Im going to have some 
consultations.:
Alberich bent to unbuckle the girth. :Ill probably be here for the next mark or 
two. I want to think a few things over myself.:
Kantor tossed his head, and when Alberich had a good grip on the saddle and 
blanket, walked out from underneath them. :Ill let you know if anything gets 
started.:
And with that, the Companion trotted back out into the snow, leaving Alberich to 
wipe down the tack and hang it up to dry.
It was less quiet in the salle than Alberich had thought it would be. Hed 
forgotten that there was going to be a crew of cleaners making sure that there 
was not the tiniest bit of glass left behind, then setting the floor to rights 
again. The soft murmur of voices was rather pleasant. He slipped in without 
disturbing them and went back into his own quarters.
The glory of his window took him by surprisea blaze of gold and blue, color in a 
room that had been pale and faded in winter light before the window had been put 
in.
It was going to be a while before he got used to the change, but the shock was 
one of pleasure, and he found that he liked it. He sat down where he got the 
best possible view of the glass, and was bathed in the golden light coming from 
the Sun-In-Glory.
Ah. . . . It felt good. It felt right, to have the light of Vkandis about him. 
It felt like a blessing, and perhaps it was. If that was so, well, this was a 
good place for him to be when he was thinking about important decisions.
Now, the question about Keren and Myste was, should he take one or both women 
into his confidence concerning his covert work? Myste had the better knowledge 
of Haven; Keren would fit into rougher places. As he weighed the abilities of 
one against the other, it became clear that if he was going to do this, it 
would, eventually, have to be both. Neither had the ability or the skills to 
move in all the places that he could. But he thought that he would approach 
Keren about this first. It was, after all, the rougher places of Haven where 
most of his prowling was done.
That made him feel easier. Later, perhaps, he could ask Myste, if he thought hed 
need her. She wasnt much good at anything physical, and he wasnt sure just how 
well she could conceal her feelings. He really didnt want to involve her if he 
didnt have to.
No matter how good a notion Kantor thought it was. Companions werent always 
right.
4
“Bloody hell!” Herald Keren said, in sheer admiration. She shook her head. “All 
this time? Youve been running around in Hells own neighborhood all this time? By 
yourself? Bloody hell!” Keren had held Alberich in high esteem for his skill, 
but he sensed that this had not been anything she would have pictured him doing. 
“So wheres your wheelbarrow, then?”
“Pardon?” he said, puzzled, as Ylsa choked. But neither of them explained, so he 
decided it was one of those colloquialisms he wouldnt understand even if he knew 
what shed meant, and dismissed it from his mind.
Keren was probably Alberichs age, though with someone from Lake Evendim it was 
hard to tell. They were all lean, tall, and had the sort of face that appears 
not to change a great deal between the ages of twenty and sixty. She had been a 
Herald for several years by the time Alberich came to Haven, and people swore 
shed looked pretty much the same as she did now on the day she arrived. She was 
an oddity among the female Heralds, as she wore her brown hair cropped close to 
her head, but then, the only “hairstyle” she was interested in was how to braid 
up a Companions mane and tail for parade.
“Since Dethor his Second made me, prowling the streets I have been,” Alberich 
confirmed. Keren grinned at him, with a glint in her eye that made her partner 
Ylsa sigh and cast a glance up toward heaven.
Ylsa was cut of similar cloth to Keren, though her hair was an ash-blonde and 
her jaw square rather than Evendim-narrow. Apparently they had been together 
from the time they were yearmates as Trainees. Ylsa tended to be the one who 
exercised more caution than Keren did; hardly surprising, really, since Myste 
claimed the Lake Evendim fishers were all descended from pirates. “And just how 
often have you been doing this?” she asked.
“Of late, perhaps every two or three nights. But during the worst of it, 
nightly, could I manage it.”
“Bloody hell! When did you sleep?” Keren demanded.
“Infrequently, apparently,” Ylsa muttered.
He had known he would have to let Ylsa in on the secret of his double life the 
moment hed decided to recruit Keren; he had learned as a commander that the only 
way to ensure perfect cooperation from his menor now, his womenwas to make 
certain their partners knew what was toward. And although by the strictest 
Karsite creed, what was between Ylsa and Keren wasnot to be thought ofAlberich 
had been a leader of men for far too long not to know that things that were not 
to be thought of were commoner than the Sunpriests admitted.
Back when hed been a Captain of the Sunsguard, two of his men had had just such 
an “understanding” between them, though the rest of the troop had not known, and 
Alberich doubted that even the two in question ever realized he had discovered 
their association. They had been very good at keeping it all to themselves, but 
Alberich had been better at reading subtle body language than they were at 
concealing it from him. Never once had it affected their performance; never once 
had they allowed it to affect their behavior in the troops. After careful soul 
searching on Alberichs part, he had finally decided that what did not affect the 
troops did not matter, and ignored it.
Several more of the men had clandestine marriages with women in one or another 
of the villagesordinary fighters were not permitted to marry, at all, under any 
circumstances, only officers. Needless to say, those “understandings,” too, had 
been kept very quiet. Strange, that whoring was tolerated, if preached against, 
but an honest marriage was absolutely forbidden . . . on the grounds that it was 
a distraction to the soldier.
This had all conflicted with what the Sunpriests decreed, and as their leader, 
his responsibility was to report every irregularity to the Sunpriests. Except 
that if he did that, hed earn the hatred of half of them, and see the other half 
cashiered before six months was over. Eventually he had come to a decision on 
his own about what the men did or did not do. If some behavioral trait of one of 
his people did not affect performance and honor adversely, it mattered not at 
all. If it affected performance and honor positively, it mattered a very great 
deal.
So when confronted by similar “irregularities” as a Herald, he followed the same 
course, and that seemed to be the right way to go. It certainly fell right into 
line with the credo that “there is no one right way.”
So far as he could judge, Keren and Ylsa were good partners. Keren gave Ylsa a 
boost to thinking imaginatively. Ylsa steadied Keren down, something that 
hellion badly needed. If they had lovers quarrels, they kept it to themselves, 
or at least, never involved anyone but a counselor. And although Keren was 
permanently stationed at the Collegiumthere hadnt been a better riding 
instructor in the past fifty years, so it was saidand Ylsa was a Special 
Messenger, which took her out of Haven all the time, neither of them complained 
about being separated far too often. If theyd been Sunsguard, hed have called 
them fine soldiers, and written them up for commendations. As it was, since 
there was no such thing as officers in the Heraldic Circle and thus absolutely 
nothing he could say or do that would get them any advance in rank, he merely 
considered it a pity that there werent more Heralds like them.
“And you want me to help you out?” Keren continued, still with that glint in her 
eyes.
“From time to time. Not often. But there are some things women tell not to men. 
And some places men are welcome not.” He shrugged. “That there is the greatness 
of threat to Valdemar that there was once, I think not. That there is the threat 
still existing, however, I do think. I know not why there was that man paying 
for grumblings against the Queen, for instance, and this troubles me. Valdemar 
was not impoverished in the Wars as it could have been”
“Thanks to you,” Ylsa pointed out. “If you hadnt gone after those children, and 
got the lions share of the Tedrel loot in the process, we would have been.”
He waved that aside. “Still, seasoned fighters were lost; Valdemar hires not 
from the Mercenary Guild, so weakened will Valdemar be for some time. A weakened 
land is a land that others may seekto exploit.”
“Hmm.” Ylsa sat back in her chair, and stroked her chin speculatively. “That 
could be . . . though weve friends on the east and south.”
“There is the north,” Keren pointed out. “Northern barbarians are always a 
danger, and the gods only know what Iftel might dojust because its been quiet 
for centuries doesnt mean it wont suddenly roar up and turn into a menace. And 
theres always the west. Pirates on Evendim. Bandit bands large enough to qualify 
as armies. Weird stuff out of the Pelagirs. Gods only know what comes farther 
into the west than the Pelagirs.”
“Even so.” Alberich nodded. “The Northern Border and the Western are”
“Fluid,” Ylsa supplied him. “And whats more, Selenay inherited a Kingdom where 
war has allowed other problems to be ignored. And I suspect you know that at 
first hand.” She raised an eyebrow at him; Special Messengers saw a lot, and 
were chosen as much for their ability to keep their mouths shut as their riding 
prowess.
He shrugged. “Indeed. The enemy I fear most lies within our borders. In Haven, 
the City Guard shorthanded still remains. Opportunists come in all stripes, and 
all ranks. Perhaps this is why someone seeks to agitate against Selenay. While 
we look to that as trouble, we miss some other evil he may do. Where there are 
fortunes to be made, men will seek to make them, be the source never so vile.”
“And once you start selling one vile thing, further vileness comes easier. 
Especially when the price is good enough.” Keren shook her head. “Well. How 
would you like me to start?”
“By learning to act a part,” Alberich told her immediately. “The hellion will 
not always welcome be, where I would ask you to go. Sometimes, the serving 
wench. Sometimes, the whore.”
Keren snickered at that. “Me! Id never pass as a whore! Nobodyd look twice at 
me!”
“You are not old, not raddled with drink, have all your teeth, most of your 
mind, and no disease,” Alberich said pragmatically, before Ylsa could jump in. 
“In the quarters where I go, that is enough.”
Keren snorted. “ Most of my mind! I like that!”
Ylsa laughed. “Youre a Herald. You are volunteering to spy in the worst parts of 
Haven, dear. Thats not exactly anything I see sane people queuing up to do.”
Keren made a face. But she didnt argue.
“So. There it is. Can you act a part?” Alberich asked. “Can you act those 
parts?”
Keren scratched one eyebrow thoughtfully. “Im pretty sure I can, at least, as 
long as you dont expect me to bed anybody. Not for days and weeks at a time, but 
then, you arent going to want that, I suppose.”
“No,” he agreed. “If it must come to days and weeks, another solution sought 
must be. Not you nor I can be spared our assigned duties. A few hours at most, 
is what we will need. And noif the whore you play, it is my whore you will be.”
“For a few hours, I can manage anything,” Keren decreed. “I suppose I could even 
manage pretending to be a lady.”
“Id pay money to see that!” Ylsa chortled.
“If it is a lady I need, to Talamir I should take myself,” Alberich told them 
both. “Better to find one within the Court who is a friendand I assume that he 
has more than one such already.”
“Probably,” Ylsa agreed, and Keren nodded. “There are highborn Heralds, too 
probably no one would tell them anything directly, and since everyone would know 
they were Heralds, theyd be useless as spies, but people do gossip, and gossip 
alone might be worth something.”
So, there it was. He had agreement, not only from Keren, but from her 
partnerwhich basically meant that Ylsa agreed not to interfere. He felt a little 
of the weight lift from his shoulders. “Well, then, I thank you both.” He stood 
up, and motioned them both to remain seated. “I shall myself let out. Not soon 
will this benothing have I that needs a female, at the moment.”
“Better to have the gaff in your hand before you try to land the sturgeon,” 
Keren observed. “Take me with you a time or two when youve not got something on 
the boil, and I can get used to playing your doxy.”
“I shall,” he promised, and let himself out of their somewhat cramped quarters. 
They shared a room meant for onewell, it probably wasnt as crowded as it could 
have been, since both of them tended to keep personal possessions at a minimum 
and Ylsa was often away. But it felt very claustrophobic to him.
All things considered, he wasnt unhappy about being down in the salle. If he 
wanted or needed more room, he could just add on, as apparently generations of 
Weaponsmasters had done before him. Quarters in the Heralds Wing were best 
described as “tight” by his current standards, and he wasnt at all certain he 
would care to have neighbors on either side of his walls either.
That went very well, he decided, and knew that it could have turned out a flat 
failure. Keren might not have been interestedYlsa might well have objected. And 
Kerens suggestion of going about in persona when there was nothing particularly 
that he needed to do was an excellent one. It would establish her personae and 
allow him to correct her, if need be, at a time and place where breaks in the 
particular persona would not be dangerous. Better to clear all that up before it 
could be fatal. Prowling the slums when there was nothing in particular he was 
watching for could be tedious at times; at least with Keren along, it might be 
less tedious. And having her with him when he changed into one of his varied 
costumes would also be useful. She could double-check the face paint he wore to 
cover his scars. The stuff was a damned nuisance; it had to be peeled off when 
he was done with it, and in hot weather it itched, but it was the only way he 
could keep from being recognized.
Hed better warn her about the food and drink in The Broken Arms, though, before 
they entered what passed for its door. There were some things even Kerens 
famously iron stomach could not digest safely.
Perhaps I should lure those whom I suspect there, and buy them meals. After a 
single bite I would have the truth out of them in no time.
***
Selenay chased the last of her servants out and closed the door to her 
bedchamber, even though she hadnt the least intention of going to sleep. It had 
been a long day, and unfortunately, it had also been a very dull one. It had not 
helped that every moment of it, she had been poignantly aware that just outside 
the Palace walls, virtually every creature of Court and Collegiawith the 
possible exceptions of the two scamps whod broken the salle mirrorwas taking the 
time to have some winter fun in the heavy snow. Even the oldest of codgers was 
out there, standing by one of the braziers, watching the younger folk skate or 
stage snowball fights. It made her feel very forlorn.
It had also made her miss her father very much. Sendar had loved the winter; had 
he still been alive, hed not only have chased her out to play, hed have 
contrived a way to join her. At night, during a full moon, hed have huge 
bonfires in the gardens, and serve ice wine to the skaters. He was always the 
first one to inaugurate a sled run, and, as he said so often, “Royal dignity be 
damned.”
She bundled up in a fur-lined robe over her nightdress, and took a book to the 
window seat in her bedroom, though she had no intention of reading it. Instead, 
she rubbed a clear patch through the frost on a windowpane with her sleeve, and 
looked out over the gardens.
The moon was just up, shining through the branches of the trees as if it had 
been trapped there. It was just a half-moon, with a little haze around it, and a 
faint golden cast to its face. Light from other windows in the Palace made 
golden rectangles on the surface of the snow beneath, with the occasional shadow 
passing across them as she watched. She had retired early tonight, but life in 
the rest of the Palace went on as usual. Even as she watched, she heard a giggle 
from outside, and a vaguely feminine form bundled up in a cloak and hood ran 
across the snow, followed by a second, then a third, scudding across the white 
snow like clouds across the moon. Three of the young ladies of the Court, out 
for a moonlight frolic? Were they meeting young men, or just having some 
girl-fun? Slipping out to skate on the frozen ponds by moonlight? Or were they 
servants, or even Trainees? They couldnt be Heraldic Trainees, for the cloaks 
had been too dark to be Grays, but they could be Bardic or Healer Trainees. . . 
.
Perhaps not Healers, who tended to be very serious indeed, and not likely to be 
out for a moonlit frolic in the snow. But Bardic, perhaps. Or evenwell, no, 
probably not three of the common-born female Blues, either, the ones who got 
into the Collegia on merit. Those young ladies, fewer than the males by far, 
tended to be even more serious than the Healer Trainees, spending their evenings 
in study, except for taking the rare night off to go to the Compass Rose. Their 
positions were hard-won; many of them had come here over parental opposition, 
and they were not going to hazard what theyd gained by frittering it away.
Selenay sighed, feeling a wistful kinship to that handful of young women. She 
was in a very similar position, or at least, it seemed that way to her. She, and 
they, were prisoners to their duty and their responsibilities
Except that they were self-imprisoned; she was bound by blood and rank as well 
as duty. Surely self-imposed bonds were less galling than ones imposed from the 
outside.
She sighed again, more deeply, and rested her chin in her hand, and wondered 
what it would be like to be ordinary.
:That rather depends on what it is that you mean by “ordinary,”: Caryo replied. 
:An ordinary Herald, for instance?:
:I suppose,: she replied, unable to even think of what her life would be like 
without Caryo.
:Youve had some taste of it, when you accompanied Herald Mirilin down to the 
City Courts in Haven,: Caryo reminded her. :The real difference between you and 
the other Heralds is that you can never escape being Queen, and they can 
sometimes escape being Heralds for a candlemark or two.:
:Exactly.: Selenay was relieved that Caryo hadnt started in on a lecture about 
how she should be grateful, that there were hundreds of young women in her 
Kingdom who had gone to bed hungry and would wake up with no better prospect of 
breakfast than theyd had of supper. That there were young women who had done 
extremely unpleasant things in order to get a supper, or a bed, and would do the 
same tomorrow. She knew that; knew that very well, no matter how much Talamir 
and Alberich tried to shelter her from it. She also knew that there wasnt 
anything much she could do about it with the limited resources at her behest. 
She knew that children went to bed hungry and cold, or even curled up in a 
doorway without a bed at all. She was doing what she could about that, with what 
she hadthe mandatory schooling was a help, as were the “Queens Bread” meals shed 
managed to get instituted, so that at least every child had one meal in a day 
that it could count on. . . .
But never mind that now. She was just grateful that Caryo understood.
:Of course I understand. The wild songbird thats had its wings clipped and been 
clapped in a cage doesnt feel much like trilling, no matter how comfortable the 
cage is, nor how good the food in its cup.:
She felt her throat close a little, and blinked back the urge to cryshe was 
tired of weeping, tired of feeling sad and beaten and alone. That was a pretty 
accurate summing up. And no matter where she looked, it seemed that someone 
around her was trying to install yet another set of bars.
She wanted some fun again. She wanted to be irresponsible for just a little 
while. She wanted to tell the Council, the courtiers, the petitioners, to just 
wait for a candlemark or two while she went skating and sledding.
It felt almost as if she was being punished, and not only had she done nothing 
to deserve being punished, shed done everything she was supposed to be doing!
She didnt remember her father being so hedged about
wait a moment
She blinked, and ran through that thought again.
I dont remember Father being so hedged about that he couldnt take a candlemark 
or two
But the Councilors would be furious. There were so many things they wanted her 
to attend to, it often seemed that they even begrudged her the time she took to 
eat and sleep.
Just who is the Monarch here, anyway, me or them? Are people going to die 
because I take a little time to relax and have some fun?
:Exactly so,: Caryo agreed calmly. :It would be one thing entirely if you 
neglected your duties to spend all of your time in pleasure and games. But since 
the moment the Crown was put on your head, the most youve stolen was a 
candlemark or two at bedtime to read.:
:But how do I: she began, then stopped, thinking back to her father. All right; 
Sendard had the authority to simply stop everything and say, “Im going out for 
such-and-such.” She didnt. So
:Ill have to schedule it. Wont I?:
:Better still, decree it, in such a way that it becomes a duty in their eyes to 
take some pleasure.: And as she tried to work out how she could decree a few 
candlemarks off to go skating, Caryo added helpfully, : There is a cold spella 
very cold spell on the way. Its already frozen the verges of Evendim out to 
almost a furlong from the shore. Itll freeze the Terilee solid, and it should 
last for a fortnight at the least.:
She blinked. She could barely remember the last time the Terilee had frozen 
solid. And when it had
:I declare an Ice Festival?: she hazarded.
:Announce there will be one if the Terilee freezes, and make the announcement 
public,: Caryo agreed. :Your Councilors will be so certain it wont that theyll 
just smile and ignore the decree. Then, when it does, itll be all over the city, 
and they wont be able to cancel it.:
:But what does one do :
:Leave that to the merchants, for the most part,: Caryo said wisely. :Once you 
make the decree, theyll do exactly what they do for a Midwinter Fair, except 
that theyll prepare to set the booths and tents up on the ice. And you know, 
merchants being merchants, if you dont decree a Festival, theyll do this anyway. 
At least by making a royal occasion out of it, you can set a time limit on it. 
All you need to do is send someone to rummage through the attics for some prizes 
for skating contests and other competitions, and arrange for a Royal Pavilion 
out there with some provisions and cooks for the highborn. And talk to the 
Deans. Perhaps the young Bardic Trainees could perform gratis? Certainly there 
should be at least one day off from classes.:
The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. :But what if the ice 
starts to break:
:Just find some people that know ice to be ice wardens; if it starts to break 
up, therell be plenty of warning.:
Competitions. There ought to be skating races, of course, short and long. 
Perhaps something for trick skating? A prize for the best ballad on a winter 
theme. One for the best spiced cider and mulled wine?
:And hot meat pie,: Caryo said, with a mental shudder. :There are so many 
wretched hot pies, any encouragement to make them better would be a boon to your 
people.:
Ice fishing. There should be a prize for the biggest fish caught ice fishing.
:One- and two-horse sledding races.:
That was just about all she could fit in a single day, she thought with regret. 
And she wouldnt dare to take more than one day off herself
:So have all of the elimination contests before the Royal day,: Caryo advised. 
:That way there will be some real anticipation building up, and you wont have to 
taste more than five or six final entries in the food and drink contests.:
Or listen to more than five or six ballads on the subject of winter. . . .
:And end with a feast and entertainments by moonlight on the ice, with the 
feasting supplied by the Crown,: Caryo said. :Have a Royal Ball at the Pavilion 
to coincide with the common feast. It will be very romantic. Some of your young 
ladies have been trying to get their young men to come to the question since you 
were crowned, and if this doesnt do it, nothing will.:
She thought of those giggling girls out in the snow, and sighed wistfully. The 
last year of the Tedrel Wars had put paid to a great many romances, and placed 
obstacles in the paths of many more. Young men who had survived that last battle 
had sometimes not had the heart for much after what they had been through. She 
could certainly understand their frustration!
Not that she had anyone she wished would come to the question with her. Far from 
it. No, she wished mostly that for once a “courtship” didnt consist of her 
Council shoving names and portraits at her. It would be so nice to listen to 
poetry, even bad poetry, about the beauty of her eyes. It would be wonderful to 
listen to stammered, clumsy compliments in the moonlight, and to pull away from 
an attempted kiss at the last possible, and most coquettish, moment.
Was it so wrong of her to hanker after romance, to long for a circle of adoring 
young men who didnt adore the crown rather than the girl? Oh, she knew that most 
young women of her Court went off to arranged marriages rather than romantic 
ones, but still, they usually werent bartered off to the highest bidder like 
prize cattle. They usually had some choice in the matter.
Well, she had one choice, she supposed. She could always say “no.” They could 
badger her and nag her, but they couldnt force her to marry anyone.
:Think about your festival,: Caryo advised. :Youve taken all the steps you need 
to about the marriage plans. Think about something pleasant.:
But would Talamir and Alberich approve? They were in charge of her safety, after 
all. . . .
:Alberich has already supposed that you were going to do just this, and has been 
making his own plans,: Caryo said instantly. :Or so Kantor fells me.:
What? Her head came up, like a hound suddenly sniffing something it did not 
expect on the breeze. But how
:Partly knowing you, partly knowing you need some pleasure in your life about 
now, but mostly, I suspect, that Foresight of his giving him a nudge in the 
right direction. It doesnt always have to be a disaster that he Foresees. And 
when it isnthe probably doesnt realize that its Foresight.:
Well, that made perfect sense to her. And it was comforting, knowing that 
someone she trusted as much as she trusted Alberich thought this was a good 
idea.
:Oh, yes. For the people as much as for you. Theres been too much sadness. When 
you mourn for too long, you start to forget how to feel joy.:
She bent her head at those words, feeling sadness overcome her again for a 
moment, and felt Caryo sighing with her. That struck to the heart of the matter, 
and had been something she had not felt comfortable voicing aloud. It had felt 
somehow disloyal to her fathers memory to be weary of weeping for him. And yet, 
how many tears could she, should she shed?
So Alberich, who had been as loyal to Sendar as anyone could have asked, felt 
she was ready, and Valdemar was ready, to let go and move on?
Perhaps she didnt need to feel guilty, then.
But Talamir?
:Rolan says that Talamir will have no problem with this.:
Well, she wouldnt expect Talamir to participate; it would be unkind. She wouldnt 
really need the Queens Own for something like this, just some good bodyguards. 
Alas. She wished she could have done without those as well.
But probably the monarchs of Valdemar hadnt been able to do without bodyguards 
sincewell, for as long as she could think. Certainly as long as there had been 
difficulties with Karse.
So, there was one good thing; if she had to have bodyguards, they could at least 
be people she knew would be able to enjoy the Festival with her.
***
:Heh,: Kantor said, just as Alberich was choosing a book to read by his fire 
before going to bed. :I doubt that youre going to be surprised at this. Caryo 
has just told me that Selenay has decided to hold that Ice Festival.:
He settled down in his favorite chair, and adjusted the lamp behind him so that 
the light fell properly on the page. His window had an interesting look to it, 
with the light falling on it rather than through it. Rather like colored stone 
set in a mosaic. No doubt the Glassmaster had considered this as well, when hed 
chosen the glass and the colors.
He hoped no one would ever take a shot at him from the other side of it. Getting 
those colors matched would be impossible. Hed probably have to have the whole 
thing made again.
At least it would take less time to craft a new window than that blasted mirror.
:Good,: he said firmly. :It will be good for her, and good for Haven. But well 
need to slip it past the Councilors, so tell Caryo to suggest that Selenay wait 
until shes holding public audience, then make a decree tomorrow that if the 
Terilee freezes solid, there will be the Festival:
:What difference will that make?: Kantor asked.
Alberich sipped his hot wine. :First, the decree will be in public, which will 
make it more difficult for the Councilors to object. Secondly, theyll applaud 
this in public as being a grand gesture, and think in private that its about as 
likely as pigs flying. Then, since the decree will have been posted all over the 
city, when the river does freeze solid, it will be too late for them to do 
anything about forbidding any such festivities.:
He was rather pleased with this. He wanted Selenay to have a victory without 
having to fight for it. The more of those she got, the more her Councilors would 
become accustomed to the idea that she was the Queen and was a ruler. Sooner or 
later, she was either going to have to rule in truth, or become the mouthpiece 
for her Council, a figurehead, but not a leader.
The sad part was, he could see even the Heralds who were on her Council gently 
maneuvering her into that role, all the while telling themselves that it was for 
her own good, that she was still too young to take the burden of the Crown, that 
they would just guide her. . . .
It was always easier to hold power than to give it up. That was how the Son of 
the Sun and his strongest Priests had come to rule Karse. And look where that 
had gotten them.
Kantor seemed to be following his thoughts. :Good idea. Ill tell Caryo.: And 
after a moment, :Who do you want for Selenays bodyguards? I doubt shell be able 
to take more than a day away from her duties, but shell need guards when she 
does.:
Bodyguards . . . someone out there was trying to cause trouble over Selenays 
rule, and even if he was doing it as a distraction, it was still possible that 
his words would find fertile ground in some poisoned mind and bear unexpected 
fruit. Maybe she wasnt in quite as much danger as she had been during the Tedrel 
Wars
But maybe she was. He was in charge of her safety. He could not take the chance. 
So . . . that meant very good bodyguards, all over again.
Good question, who he should assign; assuming that the Collegia would be taking 
a full set of holidays, the various teachers and their assistants wouldnt be 
needed up here, but the Royal Guard would, in its full strength, both at the 
Palace and at the Festival. They would be busy keeping watch over all the 
highborn; he needed someone watching over Selenay and only Selenay. :Might as 
well make it Keren and Ylsa for the daylight hours.: He gave some more thought 
to what this Festival should involve, for lowborn and high as well. :I suppose 
shell have a feast and entertainment for the highborn in a pavilion on the ice 
the same evening that she attends the games? Or should I say, there will be two 
feasts, one for the common folk, and one for the Court? And I mean all of the 
highborn, as many as can come at short notice in winter? It would be good for 
building loyalty.:
Kantor was taken by surprise by that question. :I dont think shed even 
considered a Court Feast for the entire roster of the highborn throughout the 
Kingdom, but its a good idea. A very good idea. Ill pass it on.:
Alberich felt a certain amusement that he, born poorest of the poor, and bastard 
to boot, should be the one to be making suggestions about what the great and 
grand would find appropriate. Still. Hed been raised on tales of it, after all. 
Virtually every child had. And hed been watching this Court for years now. :A 
grand feast for the Court will help lighten things considerably. Midwinter was 
shadowed; the first one without Sendar, and Selenay still in mourning. I dont 
think anyone had the heart for it. But this wont have any memories, any 
connotations. Its the sort of thing that ought to make the Councilors happy with 
the whole idea, since theyll be able to haul in all their so-called eligible 
candidates for her hand and hope that one of them charms her.:
He added that last, with just a touch of sourness. Sourness, because, truth to 
tell, it annoyed him to see these supposedly sensible men trying to force the 
poor young woman into a destiny of their choosing. And because they were wasting 
so much time and effort on the project, time and effort that could be going to 
some task more useful. If they would put half the concentration they put into 
working together that they put into finding a mate for the Queen, three quarters 
of the current difficulties besetting the Kingdom would vanish overnight.
And for just a little while, it was a relief to think about something other than 
plots and intrigues. He had never been very comfortable in dealing with plots 
and intrigues, except for his singular talent of being quiet and unreadable. He 
was better at it now, but that didnt mean he enjoyed it.
Well, except for the occasions when he had an excuse to let off some of his 
tension by breaking a few heads. Hmm. This Festival just might give him a chance 
at that form of relief
He quickly sealed that thought away from Kantor.
:She can be impartially charming right back to any would-be suitor without 
giving any of them hope,: Kantor agreed. :I wish that more of them were worth 
being charming to.:
:So do I.: The fact that so many potential mates had been systematically 
disqualified by Selenay in public meant that anyone who was dredged up and 
hauled in for the Ice Festival was bound to be marginal at best. Unsuitable in 
the extreme, unless some distant cousin out of the back of beyond happened to 
get dragged out of his manor, Chosen on the spot, and proved to be the man of 
Selenays dreams. If she even had any dreams on the subject. It was hard for 
Alberich to tell. Selenays mind was often opaque to him; he didnt have a great 
deal of experience with young women. Come to that, he didnt have a great deal of 
experience with women in general.
:And whatever suitors are hauled in will probably be stone-deaf and ninety at 
worst,: Kantor sighed. :Poor Selenay! It will be a shabby lot of dancing 
partners shell be getting.:
Another aspect that hadnt occurred to him. With things so subdued at Midwinter, 
she hadnt seemed to want any dancing. The Selenay he remembered had loved 
dancing. Well, maybe he could do something about that.
:I think at an occasion like an Ice Festival, she ought to dance every other 
dance with a Herald, dont you?: he asked Kantor. :In fact, isnt there some sort 
of mandate about that, somewhere? So that no highborn can claim two dances with 
her in an evening?:
:If there is, Myste can find it,: Kantor replied, with a chuckle. :And if there 
isnt :
:Myste can still find it,: he replied, thinking with real pleasure of how Myste 
and Selenay together had foiled the entire Council plan to get her safely 
betrothed to someone of their choice. It had been a thing of beauty, according 
to Myste. He was just glad that he had kept himself out of it, so that when hed 
been asked, hed been able to truthfully disclaim any knowledge of it all.
Not that hed wanted to be anywhere near the room at the time the entire thing 
unfolded. Whenever certain members of the Council were thwarted, they always 
looked at the Karsite as the source of their troubles. Funny. They suspected his 
hand behind even this without his being anywhere near the Council Chamber that 
day; theyd entirely overlooked Myste. :Im not entirely certain about all those 
cross-cousin links Myste was finding. Surely the highborn of Valdemar arent that 
closely inbred.:
:Chosen! You dont think Herald Myste would concoct information, do you?: Kantor 
asked, pretending to be aghast at the thought.
:Youre forgetting she was a clerk before she was a Herald,: he replied. :They 
spend a quarter of their lives writing things down, a quarter finding what other 
people have written down, a quarter in hiding what was written down, and a 
quarter in making sure if it should have been written down and wasnt, it is 
now.:
Kantor had no real reply for that, but Alberich didnt really expect one. And no, 
in the case of something important, he really did not think that Myste would 
stoop to forgery. But in the case of something like this, where nothing was 
hanging on a little judicious creativity but Selenays all-too-rare pleasure, 
Myste could and would unbend her rigid ethics in order to ensure that the 
“tradition” existed, even if it hadnt been a tradition until a few moments ago 
when hed thought of it.
Apparently Kantor agreed. :Consider it a tradition thats been in place for 
centuries. You know, Myste is very good at aging documents.:
Well, she had to be; she had to know how to forge them in order to detect 
forgeries. And it wasnt as if shed be doing anything really unethical, like 
forging the Great Royal Seal. She could just insert it in a list of protocol 
from the last Ice Festival, hand it to the Seneschal as the guide to how he 
should conduct the feast at the end, and no one would be the wiser. And Selenay 
would get dancing partners that she could relax with. In fact, hed handpick 
them. Or rather, hed hand-pick them after consulting with someone who knew which 
Heralds were adequate dancers.
Which reminded him of something else.
:Dont the wretches generally sneak off to some private, Heralds-only party as 
soon as they can when there is an enormous fete like this one?: he demanded, 
recalling that they had done just such a thing at Selenays Coronation.
:Um : Kantor began, with overtones of guilt.
:Well, not this time, and that is an order, and have Talamir enforce it,: he 
said firmly. :Not until Selenay is ready to leave. By Vkandis Crown, if she 
doesnt get to enjoy most of this affair, itll be no fault of mine, and it wont 
be for lack of good company, friends among the rest, as well as dancing 
partners!:
:Yes, sir!: Kantor replied, for once, with no hint of mockery or irony 
whatsoever in his mind-voice.
Hmph. He settled into his book with a feeling of satisfaction, as Kantor and the 
other Companionsand whatever Heralds would be involved in the plotcoordinated 
themselves. Myste, Talamir, the Seneschals Herald, presumably. Those here at the 
Collegium who were young enough to make decent conversation with her, good 
dancers, or both
and he wouldnt have to worry about a Herald as a risk to her safety either. Not 
that it was likely that anyone would try anything in so great a throng, but
Grand, something else to worry about.
:What about: Kantor interrupted his pretense at reading. :if we concoct another 
point of protocol? That any final-year Trainee of appropriate age and gender can 
serve as the Queens dance partner?:
He thought about that for a moment; it would effectively double the number of 
young faces at the occasion, and what was more they would be people Selenay 
already knew and would feel comfortable around. It wasnt that long ago that shed 
been a Trainee herself.
Perfectly reasonable. While were at it, throw the doors open for the Bards and 
Healers as well. No reason why they cant be included. Every reason why they 
should be.: And Bards and Healers were just as trustworthy as Heralds. With any 
luck, there would be so many of them that no one else would even get a chance at 
taking a dance with Selenay.
He felt Kantors approval. :Good. Bards make better dancers anyway.: And, once 
again, he sensed Kantors withdrawal.
He felt himself smiling; there was something to be said for this particular kind 
and purpose of conspiracy. It made everyone who was involved in it feel good. 
And it got their minds moving in directions that had been sadly unfamiliar for 
far too long. Poor Selenay had been spending the last six moons and more 
thinking only of the welfare of those around her and dependent on her. It was 
about time that they all returned the favor.
:If Keren and Ylsa are going to be her bodyguards, shouldnt she have an official 
escort?: Kantor said, coming “back” from wherever hed “been.”
Good God, another sticking point, another point of vulnerability. Not one of the 
suitorsoh, no. That would be opening the door to all sorts of potential trouble 
and danger. But who? :Since this is a Festival, what about a Bard?: he asked, 
thinking about all the really handsome-looking Bards hed seen in and around the 
Collegia. :Besides, with a Bard around, you never lack for conversation. Its 
their job to be witty.:
:Good idea. Then she cant be accused of favoritism for the Heralds, but she wont 
be stuck with one of the suitors.: Kantor “vanished” again, and Alberich was 
left alone with his book.
He might even manage to get a page or two read, in between thinking of yet more 
security holes, and coming up with schemes to block them. While she was up here, 
behind her walls, she was secure. But down there, for the Gods sake, out on a 
solid sheet of ice
But her people love her. Even down there, in the worst part of Haven, there was 
anger when that whore tried to make trouble. He had to take comfort in that; had 
to remember that this was not Karse and Selenay could move among her people 
without fear.
Most of them, anyway
He sighed, and put down the book. No point in trying to read now. It was time to 
start making some lists, or his mind would be buzzing and hed get no sleep at 
all this night.
“ When do you sleep?” “ Infrequently.”
He sighed, and fetched a pen and paper.
5
Clear sky of a brilliant, cloudless blue, and it was cold enough to freeze 
theWell, it was colder than Alberich had ever been without also being wet clear 
through. It got cold in Karse, but never quite like this, a dry, biting cold 
that didnt penetrate so much as stab. He was grateful for the extra pairs of 
socks he was wearing, as well as for the peculiar contraptions that Keren had 
cobbled up for everyone at the Collegium, leather straps with five or six tacks 
in them that you could strap on over your boots to give you traction on the ice. 
She said that people used them for ice-fishing on Lake Evendim. Well, he would 
take her word for it, because if it was cold enough to freeze that lake this 
thick every winter, he never wanted to go there.
Hed never learned to ice skate, and at this point in his life, he was a bit 
dubious about the odds of his success if he started, so it was a good thing he 
had these so-called ice cleats on his feet. They kept him from measuring his 
length on the slippery river ice more than once.
He just wished there was something for sun glare off of ice and snow that made 
him wear a squint that was beginning to feel permanent. He had his hood up and a 
hat on top of it to shade his eyes, but that did nothing for the reflected 
glare. It was also beginning to give him a headache.
Still, this Ice Festival was something to be seen, and worth the cold and the 
rest of it. He didnt often get out during the day down in Haven in one of his 
disguises, and for once, he wasnt even down here on “business.”
Whoever the jolly lad had been whod been paying for people to foment dissension 
over the Queen, evidently getting his hireling arrested had frightened him off. 
Not a rumor, not a sign, not a breath of trouble had there been since then. 
Talamir reckoned that the whole scheme had been hatched up to create a 
distraction at some pointand that the hatcher of said plot had gotten cold feet 
when his agent had been unmasked.
Maybe, maybe notbut thanks to the Festival, Selenays star was very high with the 
common folk, and grumbling was going to get someones head broken. And that would 
quickly bring the City Guard and constables, which meant that Alberichs job was 
being done for him, at least in part. Soif this excursion, intended so that 
Alberich could listen to people talking, spend some time in and around the 
places where liquor flowed freest and tongues were loosest, wasnt entirely 
pleasure, it wasnt entirely business either.
As he traveled with the flow of the crowd down the improvised “street” of booths 
that had been built on the solid ice of the Terilee, he was covertly watching 
the reactions of those around him to his current guise. This costume represented 
more of a middling class of working man, someone who was, unlike many of his 
personae, not a particularly dangerous fellow, and he wanted to make sure he had 
the nuances down. The last thing he needed to do was to alert people when what 
he wanted was for them to be careless and at their ease around him. Normally he 
would have worn a clever cosmetic paste that covered his scars, but that wouldnt 
pass muster in the daylight. Fortunately, it didnt have to, not when he and 
almost all of the other people down here had their faces wrapped in scarves 
against the cold. He was experimenting with false beards and other facial hair, 
but those didnt stick too well in the cold.
That meant a lot of work on his part: moving easily, schooling his eyes and 
eyebrows into a vacantly pleasant expression. People reacted to the language of 
body and expression without even realizing that they were doing so; he knew very 
well how to read those things now. Hed been good as an officer, but now, thanks 
to no end of schooling, he was very, very good. That instruction had been not 
only at the hands of his mentor Dethor, but with the help of Jadus, who before 
becoming a Herald had been a Trainee of Bardic Collegium, where the Trainees 
were taught drama and acting as part of the curriculum. It had taken him years 
to get to this point, where he was willing to try going about among the middle 
classes, attempting to be unnoticed.
He thought, judging by the way that he was jostled, shoved, and occasionally 
grumbled at, that he was succeeding. None of his bully-boy personae would have 
been blundered into like this; the folks of the daylight hours would have taken 
one look at him and given him a wide berth. Assuming they didnt report him to 
the City Guard as a suspicious person. It was too bad he couldnt find a thief, 
especially a pickpocket, to teach him how to blend in. If there was one person 
whose very life depended on blending in, it was a petty thief.
Hed been on the lookout for those, just to keep his hand in at spotting them, 
but oddly enough, he hadnt seen any. Possibly that was because they were keeping 
to the nighttime hours in order to work the crowd in more safety, but possibly 
the issue was that they were no better on the ice than he was. If you had to run 
for itwell, you couldnt run for it.
:If I was a petty thief,: Kantor observed, :I would work the booths on the bank 
and stick to the nighttime. A couple of hours past sunset, and its not only dark 
enough to make a good getaway, people are a lot drunker than they are now.:
:Glad you arent out here?: Alberich asked.
:Profoundly. I shudder to think of me on the ice. Keren hasnt yet come up with 
cleats for us, and neither has the blacksmith managed shoes that will work out 
there.: Kantor did not mention how much he disliked the cold; that was a given. 
Alberich had taken pity on him, and hadnt even ridden him down to the Bell 
today; hed borrowed an ordinary horse from the Palace stables.
Alberich snugged the hood down around his ears, adjusted the scarf, and pulled 
the floppy felt hat down tighter. There was another thing to feel grateful for, 
and that was the quality of his costume. The good, thick, homespun wool with the 
old-fashioned hood was better than anything that the young bucks were sporting 
out here, and his clumsy-looking boots had room for three pairs of socks in 
there.
As he had predicted, the Councilors had thought the idea of the river freezing 
solid enough to hold the Ice Festival extremely amusing when Selenay brought up 
the idea before them. They ignored it in Council, and chuckled as she issued the 
proclamation in front of the Court. Well, the ones that werent Heralds did, 
anyway; the Heralds already knew it was going to happen, but nothing would have 
convinced the Councilors of that. The news got down into Haven, and with a 
feeling of anticipation, people began making quiet preparations.
Then the cold wave rolled in silently at night, and everyone woke to find ice in 
the water jugs on their bedside tables, ice so thick on the glass of windows 
that you couldnt see out, and down along the river, reports that it was frozen 
over.
And all of the townspeople, who had, of course, been certain that anything the 
Queen made a proclamation about would come to pass, had sent watermen out to 
test the thickness of the ice daily. It had taken three days until everyone was 
certain that it was strong enough for the festivities. No one wanted accidents, 
however much they wanted a holiday.
Then, overnight, an entire Fair sprang up, with the more timid arraying their 
tents on the banks, and the bolder setting up right on the ice. Predictably, the 
merchants on the ice were heavily weighted in favor of hot food and drink 
stalls, while the ones on the banks featured fairings and other goods. The 
Midwinter Fairs, not only in Haven but all around the countryside, had been 
something of a failure, for the weather had been bleak and no one had had much 
heart for frivolity; this was going to more than make up for it, if the 
merchants had any say in the matter.
There were stalls doing a brisk business in crude skates, basic wooden blades 
with simple straps to hold them to the soles of the shoes. They could be made 
for you right there on the spot and fitted to your shoes or boots. There were 
several more booths set up to wax or smooth the blades. Then there was a knife 
grinder whod set up to sharpen the blades of good steel skates. Those were 
blacksmith-made, of course; no one in the crowd that Alberich was moving in now 
could afford such things. Those with the money for steel skates who hadnt 
already gotten a pair were queuing up to get theirs, though, and the blacksmith 
whod had blades going a-begging at Midwinter was getting double the price for 
them now. There were two kinds; you could get the ones that strapped on as the 
wooden skates did, or, if you really had money to spare, you could bring the 
blacksmith a pair of your boots or shoes, and hed fasten the blades permanently 
to the soles. Anyone with those, though, was someone dedicated to the sport.
A kind of protocol had sprung up in the first day of the Festival about who got 
what part of the ice, since there were both skaters and walkers among the 
booths. Skaters got the middle of the lane, and those who were slipping and 
staggering about on their own shoes kept to the sides. The lane had been laid 
out wide enough that there was room for both, though occasionally a skater would 
go careening into the crowd, and the walkers would curse and try to cuff the 
skater. Most of the time people took it in good part, and if they saw someone 
skidding toward them, they often did their part to rescue him before he cracked 
his skull.
The contests had begun as soon as the booths were set up; informal races at 
first, which soon weeded out those whose bravado exceeded their skill. By the 
time that the Palace had sent down real judges, the would-be competitors had 
been winnowed down to a manageable number.
There had been those whose skill exceeded the limits of their equipment, but 
Selenay had a good plan to take care of that. Shed ordered preliminary races and 
games among those with the cheap wooden blades only, and the winners of those 
got steel skatesstill of the strap-on sort, but made stoutly and of good steelas 
prizes. That put the competition on something like a level field when the real 
contests started.
The booths began at the largest bridge across the river, where there were steps 
built into the banks. The racecourse began and ended where the booths did; going 
upriver for a set distance, carefully marked on both riverbanks, then returning. 
Anyone who cared to come to the bank along the race route could see the races; 
some enterprising souls along the bank were renting their rooms for the final 
day of racing, so that people could watch in comparative comfort. Alberich 
couldnt quite see the point of thatbeing crowded up to a window that gave you 
less of a view than the worst spot on the bank itselfbut then, from what he was 
hearing, there would be so much in the way of drinking and carousing going on in 
those rooms that no one would be paying much attention to the races anyway.
Then there were the competitions in trick skating, being held in a particularly 
smooth section. Real seats had been set up there, and there were contests in 
jumping over barrels, fancy skating in singles and pairs, and sprint racing. 
When the trick skaters werent performing or competing, someone had come up with 
a strange game involving two teams of eight men each, armed with brooms, a ball, 
and two goals. There didnt seem to be many rules, except that the participants 
evidently needed to be drunk enough not to care when they fell down or crashed 
together, but not so drunk they couldnt manage to play. Fights frequently broke 
out, but no one got seriously hurt, as far as Alberich had been able to tell. 
There were black eyes, a few lost teeth, and broken brooms, but no broken bones. 
Perhaps that was due at least in part to all the padding that the players wore 
in the way of extra clothing. The games tended to have no set duration, lasting 
either until everyone was too tired to go on, or the fancy skaters wanted to use 
the ice again and got the Guard to chase the gamers off. Whereupon the gamers 
would pick up their goalsmade of eel trapsand move to rougher ice until the good 
patch was free again. To Alberichs inexperienced eyes, the game looked something 
like a game played on ponyback by some of the hill shepherds, who had allegedly 
got it from the Shinain.
There werent any prizes for the broom-ball game, so the people playing it were 
doing so purely for the sheer enjoyment of the mayhem they were engaging in. 
And, perhaps, for the hot wine and mulled ale that their supporters brought out 
for them whenever they took a break.
It never failed to amaze Alberich how much effort some people would go to for a 
“free” drink.
Skating competitions werent the only ones that had been announced. Ice and snow 
sculptors had been hard at work, too, with their creations ranged wherever the 
artists fancy had chosen to put them, with the traffic left to deal with them. 
Alberich had never considered ice as a sculptural material before, and hed never 
seen anything made of snow other than a childs snowman, but these pieces were 
quite astonishing, and he thought that it would be a pity when they finally 
melted. There was one entire snow castle, with blocks of ice for windows, and 
furniture made of ice and snow, and a clever tavern-keeper inside selling ice 
wine in glasses made of ice. Some people were said to be paying him for the 
privilege of sleeping on the ice beds, but to Alberichs mind that was going more 
than a bit too far for novelty. Still, the place was pretty at night, with light 
from colored lanterns making the walls glow from within.
Probably the most popular places of all were the warming tents, prudently set on 
the riverbank, where braziers of coals kept the worst of the cold at bay and 
allowed frozen feet and hands to thaw out. Sellers of hot wine and hot pies 
provided the tents, and the benches inside. The Crown supplied the fuel (a 
gesture of good will that was much appreciated, for otherwise it would have cost 
something to be admitted) so even someone without the penny for a pie could get 
warmed up. And if you were clever, you brought your own drink in a metal can, 
and your own pies from home, to warm at the brazier.
The pies themselves were something new to Alberichnot that hed never seen them 
before, but in this cold, they served a new and dual purpose. The pie itself 
served as a hand-warmer, in fact; most people made or bought sturdy offerings 
with a hard crust that could stand a great deal of abuse, wrapped them in a 
scrap of cloth as soon as they came right out of the oven, and tucked them into 
pockets and muffs to act as a heat source until the owner got hungry. By that 
time, the pie would probably have suffered enough that the owner could gnaw 
through the tough crust without losing a toothand if it had gotten too cold, you 
could always rewarm the thing without worrying too much about it. Or, as one old 
fellow said to Alberich, “Wi my wifes cookin, a little char improves the 
flavor.”
And the pies were as universal as the snow and ice, even for the denizens of the 
Collegia. If they presented themselves to the Collegia cooks before coming down, 
the Trainees were given pies as well, for the same dual purpose, but nothing 
like the common sort, which could have stood duty as paving stones. Alberich had 
one in each pocket right now, as a matter of fact, providing a comforting source 
of heat for both hands. :You know, that might be another reason why there are so 
few pickpockets,: Kantor said. :Your purse is somewhere inside your coat or your 
cloak and hard to get at. Your pockets are full of pies of a dubious nature.:
Besides testing his disguise, a matter of curiosity had brought Alberich down 
here today. The Dean of Bardic Collegium had intercepted him yesterday to tell 
him that she thought she knew where the two mirror breakers had gotten their mad 
ideas for gymnastic fighting. Her information had brought him down to the booths 
at the bridge end where, as part of the Festival, a troupe of players had set up 
a tent to display their talent. There werent many of thoseit was, to be honest, 
too cold for anything but unaccompanied singers to be performing out-of-doors, 
and as for the sort of acrobats and dancers that plied their trade at Fairs, 
theyd be risking their skins to bounce about in their usual skimpy attire. This 
set of players, however, usually performed several times in a week at one of the 
bigger inns off the Trade Road; theyd moved to this venue just for the Festival, 
and as Alberich neared the canvas walls that held their makeshift theater, he 
saw that the move must have been very profitable for them. He joined the end of 
a longish line just forming up for the afternoon performance with some interest.
Well, “tent” was something of a misnomer, he discovered, as he got to the 
entrance, paid his entry fee, and filed inside with the rest. Only the area over 
the back half of the stage was roofed over and curtained, the rest was simply 
canvas walls to prevent the show from being viewed by those who had not paid, 
with an overhead scaffolding of rigging for stage effects and nighttime lighting 
reaching out into the area of the audience. Crude benches in rows fronting the 
stage were supplied to the public, and the show must have been popular, for the 
tent was half full when Alberich arrived, and by the time of the show, the 
benches were packed and so was the standing-room area along the walls.
The drama was calledor so the banners outside proclaimed“The Unknown Heir.” The 
banners could have fit any one of a hundred standard stories, and probably 
served for every play these actors ever put on. They looked superficially new, 
but Alberich could tell that theyd been freshly touched up just for the 
Festival.
The audience was ready to be entertained, and when the back curtains finally 
parted and a single actor took the stage, they erupted in cheers that must have 
gladdened his heart.
Alberich sat back on his bench, arms folded under his cloak, and prepared to see 
just what it was that had “corrupted” two Trainees.
First came the declamation of the Prologue. The plot, what there was of it, 
concerned a highborn child, stolen from his cradle and sold to slavers, 
subsequently bought or rescued (the prologue was rather unclear on the subject) 
by a troupe of poor but noble actors, and raised by them to adulthood. All of 
this was laid out in a spirited fashion by that single actor before any of the 
real action took place.
Alberich had to admit that the fellow knew what he was doing; he had the right 
mix of flamboyance and humor to keep the audiences attention. He finished his 
piece, gave an elaborate bow, and retired to great applause.
Then the curtains parted on “A Sylvan Glade,” represented by two rather sad 
little trees in pots, and a painted backdrop, against which marched the troupe, 
portraying the actors on their way from one town to the next. The real action 
opened immediately with the Unknown Heir and his adoptive family being attacked 
by bandits, and the Heir proceeding to single-handedly, acrobatically, drive the 
bandits off. But not before the bandits had managed to mortally wound the Heirs 
adoptive fatherthough how they got a knife blade through the four or five layers 
of costume he was wearing was beyond Alberichs comprehension. This worthy 
managed an amazingly long set-piece while dying in his “sons” arms. He explained 
the young mans circumstances, presumed highborn heritage, and handed over the 
medallion the child had inexplicably still been wearing (even though it was 
solid gold) when taken from the hands of his kidnappers. It was an astonishing 
monologue, especially from the lips of someone stabbed through the heart quite 
some time ago.
None of this evidently stretched the credulity of most of the audience.
With tears and histrionics, the Heir proclaimed that he would regain his 
rightful place, and wreak revenge for his fathers death.
Riotous applause called up many bows from the actors before the action resumed.
The rest of the play consisted of one improbable fight scene after another, 
taking advantage of the acrobatic abilities ofAlberich guessedroughly four of 
the actors in question. And there was no doubt in his mind before the first act 
was over that this was, indeed, where the two miscreants had gotten their 
misguided ideas, and given the wild applause that these bizarre fights managed 
to garner, he was a lot less surprised that the boys had become enamored of the 
idea of fighting like that.
As the Heir and his Best Friendboth in love with the same girl, of coursebattled 
their way through throngs of evil henchmen attempting to keep them from claiming 
the Heirs rightful place as the Duke of Dorking, Alberich had to admire their 
stamina, if not their style. In the conclusion to the first act, the Heir 
plummeted off the top of a “cliff” to flatten half a dozen evildoers, then 
engaged four at once, sword-to-sword, and after being disarmed, defeated his 
enemies with a bucket. In the second act, the Heir and the Friend, ambushed in a 
Peasant Hovel, made the most creative use of a ladder, a table, and a stool that 
Alberich had ever seen. In fact, what they most closely resembled was not a pair 
of fighters at all, but a pair of ferrets trying not to be caught. In the third 
act, the Best Friend met the end that Alberich had expected from the first, 
after yet another acrobatic exhibition, dying in the arms of the Heir and 
bravely commending the Heir and the Girl to one another, with the Heir vowing 
revenge once again
:You know,: Kantor commented, :Id steer clear of that man. People trying to kill 
him seem to keep missing and hitting his friends instead.:
But it was in the fourth act that something entirely unexpected happened, and it 
had nothing to do with the script.
Now, Alberich had noticed something a bit odd just before the play began. In the 
front benches, just off to one side, was a group of young men in clothing far 
finer than anyone else here was wearing. When the action started, he quite 
expected them to begin jeering and catcalling, but to his surprise, they did 
nothing of the sort. In fact, they were quiet and attentive to a degree all out 
of keeping with the quality of the drama unfolding. And it wasnt as if they 
werent used to better fare, either; he recognized two of them from having seen 
them moving in the fringes of Selenays Court.
Now, that was odd. So odd, in fact, that he felt a tingle of warning and kept 
his eye on them all during the play.
Then came the fourth act, and the “Grand Climax and Exhibition of Sword-play 
with Astonishing Feats of Strength and Skill, Never Before Seen on Any Stage” 
which was laid in the Grand Hall of the Duke of Dorkings Castle. The Heirs 
enemies held both the Heirs real parents and his True Love captive and were 
engaging in a spot of gloating.
And the Heir swung in over the heads of the front of the audience on a rope.
Alberich had to give them credit; it was a spectacular entrance. Not a very 
bright one for a real fighter, since while the Heir was swinging about on a rope 
he was an easy target for anyone with a knife, crossbow, spear or lance, all of 
which were in evidence among his enemiesbut it was a spectacular entrance. The 
Heir let go the rope, did a triple somersault in the air, hit the stage, and 
came up fighting.
No mistaking that move, which was one the boys had tried (in vain) to copy. The 
actor might be a phony fighter, but he was a superb athlete and tumbler.
There was more of the same wildly unrealistic combat and Alberich noted in 
passing that the actor who had been playing the Best Friend was now, with the 
assistance of a beard, playing the Chief Villain. And then
then came the break with everything Alberich had expected.
If he hadnt been watching so closely and watching the audience, in particular, 
his lot of young nobleshe might have thought it an accident.
But in the middle of the duel with the Chief Villain, a prop-sword went 
clattering across the stage, right under the lead actors feet. He apparently 
stepped on it, because the next thing that happened was that his right foot shot 
out from under him, he staggered and tried to catch his balance, and then he 
went blundering right over the edge of the stage and down onto the audience in 
the first rowlanding atop the same young highborn that Alberich had noticedto 
the gasps and shrieks of the crowd.
But all was not as it seemed.
The thing was, someone as good a tumbler as that actor was shouldnt have gone 
off the edge of the stage at all. What was more, he hadnt stepped on or tripped 
over the sword
No, as Alberich saw, just before he surged to his feet along with the rest of 
the audience, the actor had actually kicked it off to the side before making 
that spectacular “fall.”
Furthermore, the young men hed landed among had been tensed and ready to catch 
him.
If hed really fallen by accident, theyd have scattered instinctively away from 
his path, not gathered under him, broken his fall, and set him down.
He was up in a trice, as the audience applauded, bowing to them, apologizing to 
his “victims,” even brushing one of them off
Which was when Alberich distinctly saw a folded set of papers pass from the 
actor to the young highborn man, vanishing inside the latters cloak before he 
could blink.
:Great Gods!: Kantor exclaimed, as Alberich struggled to keep his expression 
precisely like that of everyone else around him. :What in the nine hells:
:I dont know,: Alberich said, as the actor got back up on the stage and resumed 
the play. :But I am going to find out.:
***
“and I do not know who it was,” Alberich told Talamir, feet stretched out toward 
the fire in Talamirs somewhat austere chamber. He had come here directly from 
the Festival, so directly that he hadnt even had a chance to properly thaw out, 
though he had stopped long enough to change out of his disguise at the Bell. But 
Kantor had warned Rolan that Alberich needed to speak to Talamir, who had in his 
turn informed Talamir that Alberich was coming and was in serious need of 
defrosting. And Talamir had arranged for hot drinks and a well-stoked fire as 
well as getting free long enough for this quick meeting.
“A young man youve seen in the Court. No one you clearly recognized.” Talamir 
frowned. “I wish the young people were a little more distinctive, or at least 
wore the same badges they put on their retainers livery. Your description doesnt 
resonate with me either.”
Alberich shrugged. “That being the case, until I discover, I am going to have to 
spend more time around the Court than it is usual. Most probably, it is you who 
shall have to identify him for me, once his face I see.”
“I can do that, certainly, but what do you suppose was the meaning of this?” 
Talamir asked, leaning over to refill Alberichs tankard. Alberich shifted a 
little, and shrugged.
“What it probably wasnt, much more easily can I say, than what it was,” Alberich 
replied, absently taking another drink and half-emptying the tankard again. “Not 
an assignation do I think; better ways there are, of passing love notes, than 
the midst of a play. Not contraband of the usual sort; papers, these were, 
nothing more.”
“Unless the contraband is too large to hand off, and the papers were directions 
telling where it was,” Talamir observed. “It could be something else 
less-than-legal. Stolen goods, perhaps a valuable horseorperhaps money to pay 
for it?”
“Only papers,” Alberich countered. “And what would the purpose be, of the poorer 
actor paying the highborn, rather than the reverse?” He shook his head. “No. And 
I think not, the papers were directions to something stolen. Which 
leavesinformation. Paid for by the highborn, gotten by the actor. Sowhy the 
exchange in the midst of the play?”
“Because our highborn fellow does not want to be seen making clandestine visits 
to a mere player.” Talamir seemed very certain of that point. “Someone like that 
would never come up the hill or be allowed even in the gates of one of the 
manors. Let me tell you, there is nothing more certain about the Great Houses 
than access to them.”
“Surely as an actor, easy would it be to feign to be the servant?” Alberich 
hazarded.
Again Talamir shook his head. “Every servant in a Great House will either have 
worked for the family for generations, have come from the familys country 
property, or have been personally vouched for by other servants. Every delivery 
person will be from a particular set of shops and will be known to the servants. 
Even the folk who come to take off the trash are personally known to the 
servantswhat the highborn discard is picked over by dozens of lower servants 
before it gets to the bins outside, and then the right to cart off what is left 
is jealously guarded.”
“Hmm.” Alberich blinked; he hadnt known that. Well, so much for ever trying to 
insinuate himself into a Great House as a servant! “And the boy could not come 
to the actor in a more secret way?”
“Hah.” Talamir raised an eyebrow. “Not where they are. And people take note when 
they see someone richly dressed hanging about a common venue. No matter how 
careful he was, someone would see him. Unless, of course, he was as practiced in 
deception as you are, which is highly unlikely.”
“And the resources have, as well,” Alberich reminded the older Herald. “Without 
the Bell, my movements could not possible be.”
Talamirs lips formed into a thin line. “The question is, what information, why, 
and to whom is it going?”
“And does the Crown have interest?” Alberich added. “It could be, we need do 
nothing about it. It could be, this is only to do with the rivalries among the 
titled.”
Talamir looked thoughtful as Alberich put the empty tankard aside on a little 
table that stood between their chairs. “It could be, I suppose,” he admitted. 
“But it seems a great deal of trouble to go to simply to acquire information 
about a rival. And why the connection with a troupe of common players?” He shook 
his head. “No. I dont like it. I scent something else here.”
Alberich was willing to bow to his experience. “So, you think it is something 
surely to do with a larger issue? Still, it could signify only that someone has 
an interest, and is not hostile.”
“Or not. The Karsites are not our only enemies.” Talamir looked pensive. “Or it 
could be agents of a putative ally, who wishes to learn more than weve told him. 
In which casewe need to establish if there is any harm in letting him continue 
to operate.”
Alberich snorted at that. “Allies can cause as much harm as enemies, and are 
less suspected.”
“Hmm. There are times, my suspicious friend, when I am glad that you are who and 
what you are,” Talamir replied after a long silence. “That had not occurred to 
me.”
Alberich shrugged. “I am, what I am,” he replied. “In Karse, one keeps ones 
friends close, and ones enemies closer.”
“And in Karse, suspicion is no bad thing.” Talamir pinched the bridge of his 
nose and closed his eyes in a grimace. “Let us start with the obvious. You might 
as well add yourself to Selenays bodyguards tomorrow. The entire Court will be 
down at the Festival, and Ive no doubt that your mysterious young man will be in 
the midst of the throng. Youll have your best chance to spot him then, and I can 
identify him for you.”
That was a shortened version of “Youll show him to Kantor, wholl pass the image 
to Rolan, wholl show it to me, and Ill put a name to him.” Alberich nodded.
But he wasnt happy. “Hoped I had, the crush to avoid,” he sighed. He still wasnt 
comfortable rubbing elbows with the titled, even when he was playing so 
“invisible” a part as that of a bodyguard.
“Well, you cant,” Talamir retorted, with an unusual level of assertion. “I wont 
be around forever, and it is well past the time when you began taking up the 
duty of spy within the Court as well as down in Haven.”
If anything, that made Alberich even more uncomfortablebecause no matter what he 
did, he couldnt take Talamirs place within the circles of the Court. For one 
thing, even if hed been Valdemaran, he wouldnt fit. For another, no one was ever 
likely to confide anything in him. He just didnt have the face for it.
But he held his peace. There were more ways of undoing a knot than splitting it 
with an ax. There were Heralds permanently assigned to the Collegium who might 
serve as his eyes and ears among the highborn, especially the women. Ylsa, 
perhaps. And there were Trainees coming up who were highborn themselves who 
might be trusted to play clandestine agent.
“My best, I will ever do,” was all he said, and he and the Queens Own got down 
to the business of trying to find other ways for Alberich to set eyes on the 
young man in question againjust in case, against all probability, he did not 
show his face at the Festival.
Because in Alberichs experience, the thing that you planned for always turned 
out to be the one that was least likely to happenand the one that you had never 
thought of was the one that landed in your lap.
6
Selenays day at “her” Festival dawned cloudless, bright, and bone-chillingly 
cold. Alberich and the others had planned on forgoing Formal Whites for the sake 
of warmth, but the ever-resourceful seamstresses had provided the entire escort 
with heavy woolen capes lined and trimmed with white fur, white fur mittens (fur 
inside and out), and heavy stockings trimmed at the top with fur, which would 
make the boots look as if they had been lined and trimmed with fur. As a result, 
they all looked smartly turned out and entirely festive.
When they had all arrived to escort Selenay down to the river, one wag suggested 
that they ought to have their capes festooned with the same bridle bells as were 
on the Companions parade tack, a suggestion which had earned him a handful of 
snow down his back. After that, he kept his thoughts on costume to himself.
They made quite a little parade, going through town. Fortunately, no one had 
thought it necessary to make a real procession out of it, though people were 
lining the streets, waving and cheering, the whole way.
“I think your people love you, Your Highness,” said one of Lord Orthallens 
hangers-on, patently hoping to curry favor, for he still had his mouth open to 
continue with a compliment when Selenay laughed.
“I think they love the Queens Bread theyre getting today, and the feast Ive 
arranged for tonight,” she replied, and Alberich smothered a smile. For this, 
the final official day of the Festival (although people would probably stretch 
things out for as long as the ice held), shed arranged for bread to be 
distributed in the morning until the supplies ran out, and meat, wine, and bread 
for the same time as the Court Feast this evening. If the fountains werent 
running with wine instead of water, it was because it was too cold; instead, 
there would be hot wine available in huge cauldrons along the bank, alongside 
fires where various beasts were roasting on spits, and more of the bread that 
had been baked well in advance, and stored cold. Although the notion of “whole 
roasted oxen” was a romantic one, for practicalitys sake, what was going to be 
offered was just about any beast that could be spitted and roasted and would 
provide enough meat to satisfy a portion of the crowd. There were quite a few 
sheep, for instance, and a great many pigs, domestic and wild.
Selenay had been as generous as her purse would allow. If anyone had seen these 
creatures alive, he would have been well aware that they were all, well, not 
exactly prime. Most of them had come from the Royal Farms, and were past 
breeding or working age. Still, theyd been well tended all their lives, and if 
they were going to provide somewhat tough eating, well, as one old man once told 
Alberich, “Forbye, much chewin makes it last the longer, and tough be tasty.” 
Most of the people who would be swarming the fires didnt taste meat more than a 
few times in a year, and it was almost never anything like beef or mutton.
And as for those who could afford better, well, they could take their purses and 
go buy it.
In fact, the fires were already being set up for the cauldrons, and the 
carcasses turning over their flames when they arrived at the river. It occurred 
to Alberich, as the scent of roasting meat filled the air, that the food 
merchants were not going to do badly out of this, after all. The meat wouldnt be 
ready for hours, but people would be hungrier with the scent of it in their 
noses.
For all that he disliked the crush, the sidelong glances, the discomfort of his 
position as Selenays shadow, Alberich could not begrudge the Queen a single 
moment of her day of relative freedom. All he had to do was to catch a glimpse 
of her face to know that she was enjoying herself for the first time inwell, in 
far too long. She was smiling a great deal, even laughing, and there was a glow 
on her that made her look more alive than she had in months.
It didnt take a MindHealer to know why either. This day at her Ice Festival was, 
perhaps, the only time she had spent since her fathers death that wasnt shadowed 
with memories. Sendar had never presided over such an occasion; guided only by 
old Chronicles, her friends, and her own imagination, this was something that 
Selenay had created for herself. It had taken Alberich a little aback to see her 
smiling.
With special nail-studded shoes to give traction on the ice (for the blacksmith 
had finally come up with something that worked as well as the ice cleats) the 
Queen, her escort of Heralds, and their Companions came down onto the rock-hard 
river just about a candlemark after dawn to view the ice sculptures. When a 
winner had been chosen and rewarded, she went on to watch the childrens races 
and present medallions, money, and skates to the winners. Alberich enjoyed that; 
the children were enthusiastic and excited without turning it into the cutthroat 
competition hed seen watching the preliminary races of the adults. The losers 
were disappointed but consoled by the sweet cakes Selenay passed out to all the 
competitors, and the winners so bursting with joy that they could hardly contain 
themselves.
By midmorning she was ready to taste the three finalists in the meat pie, the 
mulled ale, the spiced cider, and the hot and ice wine competitions. Then, 
fortified, she returned to the exhibition area for the fancy skating.
By this time, Alberich was both cold and frustrated, for he hadnt yet seen the 
young highborn fellow hed been hoping to identify. When Selenay retired to the 
Royal Pavilion set up on the ice for a hot meal and a chance to catch her 
breath, he left her in the guard of Keren and Ylsa, and went prowling.
Selenay never had her noon meal in the presence of her Court; by the time she 
had a chance for that respite, she was generally sick to death of most of them, 
and wanted nothing more than a little privacy to go along with her food. She 
wasnt going to change that habit now, so Alberich had a good candlemark to roam 
about the Royal Enclosure to see what, if anything, could be seen.
There wasnt much. Just a few of the younger set who were already sport-mad, and 
some of the older ones who never missed a chance to hover in the presence of 
royalty, and had done so even in Sendars time. Alberich decided that he would 
have the best luck if he sidled in near the former and tried to eavesdrop on 
their conversation, so he got a skewer of basted meat from one of the cooks 
serving up food alfresco, and stood just behind a likely pair, slowly eating and 
staring off at nothing in particular, doing his best to be ignored.
“. . . Jocastel may think hes clever, taking the whole house for the day,” one 
of them sniffed, “but they shant see anything but the middle of the races.”
“Well, none of them will, except for Redric. He took that warehouse.” The other 
nodded at a warehouse on the opposite bank, whose docks were festooned with 
greenery and a few pouting girls wrapped up to the eyes in expensive furs.
“Oh, yes. Well, trust him. That entire set is gambling-mad. Theyll be there all 
day.”
“And so will Jocastels, and I doubt that any of them will be watching even the 
middle of the races.” A knowing tone crept into the young mans voice. “Redric 
may have snared most of the ladies, but Jocastel got the keys to his fathers 
wine cellar.”
The first one snorted. “Idiots. The lot of them. You can guzzle wine anytime, 
but when is there likely to be another Ice Festival in our lifetimes? The last 
one was over fifty years ago, and every champion skater who could get here in 
time is going to be in the races today! Listen, the big races will begin as soon 
as the Queen comes back out Im for hunting down one of those broom-ball 
tournaments Ive heard of. The Terilee might thaw, but the pond up at the old 
pile will hold for months yet, and Ive a mind to get a bunch of the lads 
together and try the game out ourselves!”
“Oh, now theres a plan!” enthused the second, and both of them moved away, 
gesturing at each other.
Well, that explained why there was no one here to speak of . . . a gambling 
party in a warehouse, a drinking party in a rented house, and that pretty much 
accounted for most of the youngsters of the Court.
Alberich wandered over to the vicinity of a quintet of older men, who were 
glaring at the young ladies on the dock with disapproval and muttering at each 
other. “What are their fathers thinking?” grumbled one, just as Alberich got 
within earshot. “The idea! Going off to some rented hovel unescorted”
“Oh, it isnt the daylight hours that I would be concerned about,” said another 
sourly. “But whos to say whats going to happen when the Feast is going on and 
some of them slip off, unsupervised?”
Alberich eavesdropped shamelessly a little more, learning only that most of the 
“younger sets” werent even planning to come down to the Royal Enclosure until 
the sun set. The older courtiers would be trickling in during the late 
afternoon, but they werent the ones Alberich was concerned with.
He returned the skewer to the care of the cooks, and drifted back to Selenays 
Royal Pavilion feeling heartily annoyed at humankind in general and that 
feckless lot of highborn in particular. Hang it all! Why couldnt all those eager 
parents insist that the young men come down here to dance attendance on the 
youngand eligibleQueen? Why were they allowing their offspring to gamble and 
drink away the afternoon without even trying to steal moments of Selenays time? 
What were they thinking?
:Theyre probably thinking that if Selenay hasnt indicated her interest in any of 
them by now, theres no point in freezing their manhood off to try to impress her 
today,: Kantor observed dispassionately.
:Hmph.: Alberich nodded to the Guards at the entrance, and pulled back the door 
flap, feeling entirely disgruntled. :Then theres no damned point in my being 
here now.: The Royal Pavilion had been set up with a kind of antechamber to keep 
out the coldest air; he parted a second set of door flaps just inside the first.
:Yes, there is. It will get everyone used to seeing you playing bodyguard, so 
that no one will think twice about it tonight,: Kantor retorted.
It wasnt much warmer inside, but at least there were carpets laid over the ice, 
and braziers of coals on sheets of slate atop them that provided little pockets 
of warmth. The light in here was a lot more restful than out on the frozen 
river, too; the pitiless sunlight glowed through the painted canvas rather like 
the light coming in through his precious colored window. And it was out of the 
wind.
“Alberich!” Selenay called from amid a heap of furs and cushions piled on a 
high-backed settle that had been brought down from the Palace, her cheeks 
glowing, her eyes sparkling. “Whats to do between now and the Feast?”
“More races,” he replied. “The really serious ones; all the champion skaters 
that could get here in time are going to be competing. Out there will be some 
intense rivalry; the prizes for the adult races are considerable, and to claim 
one bragging rights will bestow for a decade.”
“Really!” She looked entirely pleased. “How exciting! Have we referees along the 
course?”
“Absolutely,” Keren replied, before Alberich could answer. “Not only is there 
the prospect that someone is likely to cheat, theres the fact that if someone 
goes down, there might be a fight over it. Hell probably claim he was fouled, 
and he might take a part of the field with him. We have this sort of thing every 
Midwinter where Im from.”
“And there is, I hear, much gambling over the outcome,” Alberich added. “So, 
more incentive there is, to cheat.”
“And if someones accused of cheating?” Selenay looked from Keren to Alberich and 
back again. “What do I do? Whoever is accused will deny it, no doubt.”
“Depends on how and where in the race, and if a referee saw it,” Keren said 
judiciously. “Let the referee handle it, unless enough people got taken down. 
Then, if youre inclined, you can have em run the race over again. Presumably, 
everybodyd be equally tired, so theyd all be on the same footing. If I were a 
betting person, Id lay odds youll have to rerun at least one race this 
afternoon. This is going to be the climax of the Festival for a lot of peoplenot 
even the Feast is going to eclipse it. Feelings will be running high.”
“Which is why I have plenty of the Guard stationed on the course and off it,” 
Selenay replied, nodding. “The Seneschal warned me about that, after he watched 
the semifinals.”
“You wont be able to jail everyone who starts a fight” Keren began dubiously.
Selenay laughed. “And we wont try! Instead, anybody who gets out of hand is 
going to find himself hauling wood and chopping wood for the spits and the 
cauldrons!”
Keren laughed, too. “Good enough! Work the energy out of a hothead and leave him 
too tired to fight!”
“That was the plan,” the Queen agreed, looking pleased with herself. “So, 
besides the races, is there anything else for me this afternoon?”
“Only a skating pageant,” Alberich replied, having seen the preparations going 
on for the thing nearly every day since the Festival began. “Like a street 
pageant.”
“Only instead of you riding along the street and stopping at every display, 
youll be the one sitting, and the groups doing the displays will pass in front 
of you, stop, and make their presentations,” Keren said helpfully.
Selenay made a face. “I suppose,” she sighed, “that everyone would be very 
disappointed if I didnt watch the whole thing.”
Alberich didnt blame her. There were only so many badly-rhymed paeans to ones 
beauty and goodness, sung by shrill and slightly-out-of-tune childrens choirs, 
that a sensible person could stand.
“Very,” said the Seneschal, who had just entered the Pavilion himself, in his 
firmest voice.
“Can I watch it on Caryo instead of in the grandstand?” she asked hopefully. 
“Its warmer on Caryo”
“But the purpose of the pageant is as much for you to be seen as for you to view 
the presentations,” the Seneschal pointed out, in a tone that made it very clear 
that Selenay would not be watching the affair from her saddle.
She sighed. “I hope you have lots of these furs,” she said.
***
The races were just as exciting as Keren had predicted. And a great deal more 
dangerous for the participants than Alberich had anticipated. In fine, the 
contestants were no longer holding back, at all, to save something for the 
climax. This was the climax, and every one of them was determined to go home 
bearing the champions medal. The putative honor of entire villages depended on 
the results, at least for the next year or so, and the skaters were in 
competition not only for themselves, but for all of their backers.
They wore a lot less for the actual racing than Alberich would have thought 
wise, but then, moving at the speeds these folks did, perhaps they burned up so 
much energy they simply didnt feel the cold once they got moving. Or maybe their 
exertions kept them warm. Whichever it was, when it came time to form up along 
the starting line, they all left off coats and cloaks, keeping only thin, 
knitted woolen trews bound closely to their calves, and thin, sleeved, knitted 
woolen tunics, with scarves wrapped close around face and mouth, and knitted 
hats and gloves. They all looked somber, focused, and purposeful. By this point, 
anyone left in competition had steel blades on their feet, and they were 
wickedly sharp, too. It was when he was looking at those blades glinting as the 
skaters warmed up before the first race, that Alberich suddenly realized that 
the races could be dangerous as well as competitive. These folk were wearing 
knives on their feet, and if they went down in a heap. . . .
Well, they must know that. Presumably, they would take care if they did go down. 
Or at least as much care as could be taken. The idea just made him shake his 
head, though; he couldnt imagine taking the chance of getting a leg or arm 
slashed to the bone for the sake of a race.
Interestingly enough, it was the longest of the races that started first, 
because by the time this race, of several leagues, ended, the shorter races 
would be long over. They called it simply the Long Race, and those who competed 
in it were specialized skaters indeed, and would not take part in any other race 
today. It was a lonely sort of racefar, far down the river and back again, a 
test of endurance as well as speed, and the organizers had supplied each of the 
volunteer referees stationed along the route with a fire, blankets, and 
restoratives so that they could go to the rescue of any racer who failed.
That race began with a preliminary scramble, but as the skaters passed out of 
sight beyond a bend in the river, it was clear that the pack had quickly sorted 
itself out, and the race had turned into an orderly skate in which each man 
would play out a strategy that he had predetermined for himself.
Then the fast races began. First the sprints, which were very fast indeed, and 
just as contentious as Keren had promised. There were falls, and the predicted 
fights among both skaters and spectators, and some sorting out by the Guard. 
Selenay declared that two races would be rerun.
Then came the longer races, which was where Alberich got a good look at the sort 
of pace that could rival that of a Companion at full gallop. The skaters bent 
low over their feet, with their hands clasped behind their backs, making strong, 
sure, gliding strokes that were most like the oarstrokes of men in sculls. Only 
at the beginning and the end did any real fight for position take place, 
although there were some minor exchanges back in the pack. It was fascinating to 
watch, and the slightest mishap could change everything. More than once, a bit 
of bad ice caused a fumble that could drop a skater one or more places, and 
once, a fall took out the entire back half of the pack, with the resultant 
scrambling that meant there was no chance that any of them could fight for one 
of the top positions.
The dock at that warehouse was full of people the entire time, and highborn 
though they might have been, they were shouting, gesticulating, and jumping up 
and down just as much as any of the commoners on the banks until all but one of 
the races was over.
And the crowd settled down to wait, eyes straining to the bend in the river, 
ears cocked for the first sounds of approaching blades.
Then, at long last, the first of the exhausted endurance skaters hove into 
viewthat is, Alberich assumed they were exhausted, though the ones in the lead 
showed no signs of it, just gliding on with long, sure strokes, swinging their 
arms for added momentum, looking neither to the left nor the right. The crowd 
bellowed encouragement, and in the last few furlongs, the final bits of strategy 
played out; and a skater who had been steadily in third place, hanging so close 
to the man in front of him that it looked as if they were bound together with a 
rope, suddenly pulled away. As people screamed and shouted, he put on a final 
burst of energy; he passed the man in second place. The man in first heard the 
shouts and made the mistake of looking behind him, faltering for just a moment.
That was just enough.
The fellow behind him somehow found the strength to surge ahead.
And he crossed the finish line with scarcely the length of his forearm ahead of 
the man he had just passed.
The crowd went mad, and flooded toward the skaters, screaming wildly, while the 
rest of the skaters staggered over the finish line.
Only then did the exhaustion hit the skaters, as friends swarmed the ice with 
blankets and cloaks, and legs gave out, sometimes with breathless cries of pain. 
. . .
Alberich found himself shouting and screaming along with the rest.
There was a brief period for the skaters to recover; then, wrapped warmly in 
their cloaks again, there came the moment of their glory, when Selenay rewarded 
the first three finishers with medals, purses, and pairs of the finest skating 
blades made.
It was at that point that, much to his shock, Alberich realized that he had 
screamed himself hoarse.
The skaters were all taken away to recover, and Selenay and her bodyguards 
settled into the reviewing stand, her ladies around her, and Alberich under the 
stand to ensure nothing could get to her from that point. Then came the pageant. 
And Selenay sat in the reviewing stand, patient as a statue, with a footwarmer 
under her boots and a handwarmer tucked into a muff someone had brought for her, 
smiling, while her servants showered the participants with sweets and small 
coins by way of reward. Alberich felt sorry for her; she was musical by nature, 
and the kind of cold they were experiencing did not do good things to 
instruments. Nor did all the screaming that the singers had been doing during 
the races help the quality of their voices.
Yet when the afternoon wound to a close, and the sun sank over the river, 
lending everything a tinge of red, he thought that Selenay looked as if she 
would have gladly sat through another three or four pageants rather than see the 
day come to an end.
But, of course, it hadnt. Not yet. As the horns sounded to signal that the 
common folk could begin queuing up to the roasting beasts and simmering 
cauldrons, Selenay retired once again to the Royal Pavilion to exchange her 
clothing for a gown created for this particular event. A floor of wood had been 
laid over the ice, and a special tent pitched over it. Tapestries and hangings 
brought down from the Palace to hang against the walls of the tent provided 
further insulation from the punishing cold. While it would not be warm within 
the canvas walls, it would not be nearly as cold as it was outside.
Outside, there was music, and a peculiar and very attractive kind of ice 
dancing, skaters carrying torches either in round dances or following one 
another in a close file through intricate figures that were made up on the spur 
of the moment by the skater in the lead. Inside, there was also music, and fires 
in firepits, and candles and oil lamps wherever it was safe to put them. 
Outside, the common folk feasted on meat and bread and well-watered wine drunk 
hot. Inside
Inside, it would be another Court Feast like so many others, the only novelty 
being the cold.
Alberich waited on guard just inside the main entrance to the Royal Pavilion 
until the Queen appeared, newly-attired and ready for her Feast. When she 
emerged, he saw that Selenays gownwhite, of coursewas of heavy quilted velvet, 
with a fur-lined surcoat and a heavy gold belt at her hips. Her hair was 
surmounted by a fur hat rather than her crown, with one of the great cloak 
brooches of the Royal Regalia pinned to the front of it, a great blazing diamond 
surrounded by lesser diamonds, and instead of slippers, she wore boots. Most of 
the garments would be like that tonight, he thought, and the wind would shake 
the canvas walls, reminding all the courtiers present that although they might 
mock winter by holding their feast on the ice, the winter could take them if it 
chose.
Still. When Selenay emerged from the back of the Pavilion, she was still 
smiling, and Alberich thought that she looked both charmingly young and utterly 
regal. He took her arm himself, and led her out into the torch-lit darkness. He 
brought her over the treacherous ice as far as the door to the Feasting Tent, 
where her official escort took over. He found himself a little reluctant to let 
her go, but that could have been because of the man she had chosen to partner 
her at the Feast.
Her official escort for the Feast was Lord Orthallen, who had had his tailor 
copy Selenays garb in a lush and warming golden brown. He looked extremely 
handsome, and the surcoathis ending at his calves, rather than trailing behind 
in a train as Selenays didsuited him very well. To Alberichs mind, he looked 
rather smug as well.
:Hmm,: Kantor commented. :He does, doesnt he? One wonders why.:
Well, it could only be because Selenay was showing him such preference tonight. 
Alberich hoped so. Fortunately, Orthallen was safely wedded, and there was no 
way that he could divorce his faithful, fruitful, and obedient wife without a 
major scandalso there was no way that he could imagine this sign of preference 
to be anything but Selenays choice to honor her “Uncle” Orthallen in what was, 
essentially, a meaningless gesture.
Meanwhile, he had a job to perform, and he set about doing it, following 
immediately behind the pair as they walked up the aisle between the rows of 
lower tables. The two Heralds hed chosen to play bodyguard at the High Table 
were already waiting there, flanked by Royal Guardsmen in their blue formal 
uniforms.
He and the other two Heralds hed picked as bodyguards for tonightAlton and 
Shanatehad taken the precaution of purloining some dinner from the cooks before 
the Feast began, just as the Guardsmen had. So they were able to keep their 
minds on the surroundings and not the food.
Not that there was even the slightest hint of trouble. Just a great many 
excited, animated people, who were showing clearly with their high spirits that 
this entire Festival had been a very good idea. No one looked at this High Table 
with that shadowed glance of regret. The very different setting kept any 
memories of Sendars High Feasts from intruding.
So did the food, though not as much as the setting. There were some novelties, 
which was only to be expected; a soup served iced rather than hot, many small 
ice sculptures on the tables, and clever combinations of chilled food seasoned 
with hot spices. There were sherbets and shaved ice with fruit and syrup spooned 
over the topsomething that would not have survived more than a moment in the 
heated Great Hall. There were other concoctions that were actually doused in 
liquor and set afire, that made a fine show as well, though those made Alberich 
more than a little wary until theyd been doused.
With Orthallen on Selenays right, and Talamir on her left, unfortunately Selenay 
could not have gotten much novelty in conversation. Well, she couldnt have 
everything. And she did appear to be enjoying herself.
On the whole, Alberich thought about halfway through, he and his fellow 
bodyguards had gotten the better part of the mealby the time the stuff got to 
the table, with the exception of dishes served flaming, quite a bit of it was 
lukewarm at best.
He scanned the tables for his suspect, but the full Court wasnt hereit wouldnt 
have been possible to serve them all under these conditions for one thingso 
those at the table were the most important members of the most important 
families, and his young highborn wasnt among them. Alberich stifled his 
disappointment. The time to really look for the elusive fellow was coming.
Finally the last subtlety was served and eaten, Selenay and her escort parted 
company with smiles, and everyone cleared back to huddle around the firepits and 
braziers to let the servants swarm over the place and clear out all of the 
tables and most of the benches, setting some against the tapestries so that 
those who were not dancing would have a place to sit. Now the evening could 
really begin.
And now people literally poured into the grand tent; the Royal Pavilion was even 
now being laid out with refreshments to save room here, for this was where the 
dancing was to be held. The small dais where the High Table had stood now held a 
single proper seatSelenays portable throne, which she took as soon as it had 
been set up. The musicians, teachers at Bardic Collegium all, sat near her, on 
stools, where she could give them any instructions she might have on what sorts 
of dances to play.
The musicians carefully tuned their instruments, and at a nod from Selenay, the 
first notes cut across the milling crowd. Those courtiers who did not care to 
dance cleared away to the side; the rest, including most of the younger ones, 
taking the floor, forming up into four rows of couples, waiting expectantly for 
Selenay to take the lead spot.
And Selenays first dancing partner came forward, a very tall, very 
clever-looking fellow in full Bardic Scarlet. He bowed over her hand; she stood 
up, and they took their positions.
Every dance had been arranged in advance, of course. The only deviation would be 
if Selenay elected to sit any of them out, at which time her partner would be 
expected to attend her and offer conversation. Alberich doubted that Selenay 
would do any such thing, though; she loved dancing, and shed been keyed up all 
day without having much of an outlet for her energy.
If ever his young nobleman was going to appear, it would be here. But not, 
Alberich thought, among those nearest to the Queen.
And in fact, the evening was half over before he caught a glimpse of the young 
man. It was only a glimpse, tootoo quick to be certain, much less pass the sight 
along to Kantor. But Alberich was good at remembering details, and the young man 
was wearing a hat that was reasonably identifiable. Alberich kept his eye on 
that hat, watching as it swam through the crowd, as it swayed and bent in a 
dance, as it huddled with several more hats off to one side
And, for one horrible moment, he thought it was going to duck out of the 
entrance.
But it hesitated, then bowed to an elegant plume. It joined with the 
plumeescorting it?and the pair moved along the side of the dancing-floor until, 
at last, they moved out onto it.
As luck would have it, it was a round-dance, and eventually the figures brought 
the hat, and its owner, into Alberichs line-of-sight.
He felt Kantor absorb the young mans image through his own eyes; felt Kantor 
“absent” himself for a moment.
Then Kantor “returned.”
:Devlin Gereton, third son of Lord Stevel Gereton,: Kantor reported. :Talamir 
will tell you what he knows about the young man, and his family, later. It isnt 
much; its an old family, but not particularly prosperous, and they havent done 
much to draw attention to themselves or distinguish themselves. Theres only one 
thing; theres no reason why this young man should be so interested in common 
plays or actors. His eldest brothers a sound amateur poet, and the only thing 
that Devlin is known for is that he has a good ear for poetry and letters and is 
considered a budding expert in drama.:
Well. Wasnt that interesting.
Wasnt that very interesting indeed. . . .
7
Selenay woke just before dawn; if she had had any dreams, she couldnt remember 
them.
Yesterday everything had gone perfectly. With one exception. One glaring, aching 
exception.
Her father hadnt been there.
A weight of crushing depression settled over her.
She opened her eyes and lay quietly in her bed as thin, gray light crept in 
through the cracks in her curtains. She closed her eyes again, and hot tears 
spilled from beneath her lids and down her temples to soak into her hair.
Her throat closed, and a cold, hard lump formed in it. Selenay tried to fight 
back the sobs, but one escaped anyway, and she turned over quickly and muffled 
her sobbing in her pillows. She didnt want to wake her attendants, or alert the 
servants on the other side of the door. She didnt want anyone to know she was 
crying.
They wouldnt understand. They would think that she should be thrilled, not 
choked with tears. After all, her Festival had been a triumph, and people would 
talk about it for years. The Court had loved it. The common folk had adored it. 
Even the Seneschal and Keeper of the Treasury had been happy, for she had been 
very frugal, extracting the maximum benefit from every coin shed spent, either 
overseeing the preparations herself, or sending people with stern demeanor and 
sharp eyes to do so for her. The Feast for the common folk had been a wild 
success, going on long into the night as folk brought or bought food of their 
own to extend that supplied by the Crown.
As for the entertainments for her Court, their Feast and dancing had been as 
much of a success, and for once, shed had nothing but perfect dancing partners. 
Alberich had been right; having Heralds and Bards (and even a few Healers) 
alternate with her young nobles had made all the difference. Her gownthe first 
time shed been out of mourninghad made her look beautiful; she hadnt needed 
dubious compliments to tell her so, for her mirror and the frank gazes of the 
Bards and Heralds had made that clear enough.
But Sendar hadnt been there, and it might just as well have been a total failure 
because of that. Shed tried to lose herself in the preparations, then to immerse 
herself in the happiness of other people, and shed actually forgotten for a 
littlejust a little. Shed smiled and even laughed, and when shed come back here 
to her rooms, shed been so tired shed fallen straight asleep.
But shed known, the moment that she awakened, that one day, one week, hadnt 
changed anything, hadnt filled the emptiness, hadnt given her back the part of 
herself that was gone.
Her father would have loved this. Hed have reveled in her triumph. He would have 
had so many ideas for the Festival, so many more than she had
The brief respite shed had was just thata moment of forgetfulness, nothing more. 
And now, with nothing but day after day of gray sameness stretching ahead of 
her, she missed him so much she thought she was going to break beneath the 
weight of grief.
So she sobbed into her pillow, inconsolable. How could anyone console her for 
this? She and her father should have had years and years together; she should 
have had him to cast stern eyes over would-be suitors, to advise her how to deal 
with the Council, to scold her for working too hard and send her to read a book 
or ride. And if she ever marriedhe should have been there to see it, to see his 
grandchildren, to spoil them as hed often threatened to do. All of that was 
gone, taken from her before it ever had a chance to happen.
She didnt want anyone to hear her crying; they wouldnt understand. Theyd tell 
her stupid thingsthat it had been long enough, that she needed to “pull herself 
together,” that it was “time to move on.”
How could they know? How many of them had a beloved father cut down in front of 
their eyes? How many of them were facing what she faced, the rest of her life 
without the man who had been father and mother to her, and friend, and 
counselor? None of them understood. None of them could. None of them wanted to. 
What they wanted, was for her to be something else, some biddable creature they 
called “Selenay” that had no feelings but the shallowest, and no thoughts of her 
own. Her feelings were an inconvenient obstacle to that.
Or worse than telling her to “get over this,” theyd spew some kind of platitude 
about how he was surely watching her from somewhere and was proud of her, but 
would be unhappy that she was still mourning for him. How could they know? How 
could anyone know?
It wasnt fair. It wasnt right. Sendar had been good; hed given up so much, hed 
always done so much for othersit wasnt fair! Shed always thought that when you 
did good, good came to you. What kind of a cruel god would do this to her, and 
to him?
For that matter, she wasnt entirely certain that there were any gods out there, 
not after this. And if there werent any gods, then that meant that when you 
died, you just died, and her father wasnt “out there,” looking after her. He was 
just gone, and all those platitudes were nothing but empty lies. . . .
Damn them. Damn them all, and their needs, and their platitudes, and their 
plans. They would never, could never, understand. Shed lost her best friend as 
well as her father; she had been cheated out of years of things that they all 
took for granted.
How could she possibly ever “get over” that? There would be a great, gaping 
wound in her for the rest of her life that would never be properly filled!
Except with tears, the tears that never seemed to heal anything inside her.
She had tried, these past moons at least, to do things that would keep her 
moving, keep her busy, keep her too concentrated on things outside herself to 
think. For a while, the sheer desperation of having to learn how to rule, of 
having to outwit her Council when they tried discreetly to shunt her aside or 
maneuver her into something she didnt want to do had filled that need to keep 
moving. She would work and plan and learn until she fell asleep, exhausted, and 
wake early to work againand that had helped, at least, to keep things at bay. 
Keep moving, keep busy, keep her mind full, keep it all at a distance. Then, 
just as the urgency of all that began to ease, thered been the preparations for 
the Festival to fill the silences, to force her to work, think, and not 
remember.
But nownow she had awakened this morning, knowing there was nothing, nothing 
between her and that vast, aching void that used to be filled with her fathers 
presence.
And anyone who found her crying like this would just never understand. Theyd 
wonder why, after yesterday, she could be unhappy. Even if she tried to explain, 
theyd stare at her without understanding, then tell her that it was time she 
moved on, that it was time to leave her grief behind her. As if she could!
:Of course you wont,: Caryo said, very, very quietly. :And you shouldnt. That 
would be wrong. How can you leave it behind you when its a part of you?:
The feeling that Caryo had somehow put comforting arms around her only made her 
sob harder. But Caryo didnt seem to think there was anything wrong with that.
:They keep telling me stupid things like “Time will heal it”: she said, around 
the sobs that shook her entire body.
There was an ache in Caryos mind-voice that matched the aching of her heart. 
:Time doesnt. All that Time does is make it more distant, put more space between 
you and what happened. It doesnt heal anything. I dont know how or what does the 
healing, but it isnt Time.:
:Oh, Caryo, I miss him so much!: she cried.
:So do I.:
Somehow, that was exactly the right thing for Selenay to hear; it let loose 
another torrent of weeping, but this time, it seemed as if she was weeping 
herself out, until at last she lay there, curled in her bed, her nose stuffed 
and her eyes sore, her pillow soggy
:Turn your pillow over, love.:
She sniffed hard and obeyed without thinking, and closed her aching eyes. She 
was exhausted now, limp with crying, and if the ache in her heart didnt hurt any 
less, at least she was too tired to cry any more.
:I keep thinking, if only Id gone after him:
:If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world,: Caryo sighed. :The 
best thing that I can tell you is that there is nothing that could have happened 
that would have allowed you to follow him. And there was not one scrap, one hint 
of knowledge or even Foresight that any of us had that would have let us guess 
what he was going to do, or enabled us to prevent it. If there was ever a moment 
in history where a man took his own fate in his own two hands, that was it.:
:Then I wish I could go back: But there was no use in pursuing that line of 
thought. She couldnt. No one, not even in the tales of before the Founding, had 
ever said anything about being able to go back into the past and change things.
:I dont want to get up, Caryo.: And she didnt. She didnt want to move. She didnt 
want to leave her bed. Ever. The weight of depression pressed down on her and 
filled her with lethargy. She wanted to close her eyes, and fall into oblivion, 
and never come out again. She didnt exactly want to diebut if only there was a 
way to not live
And Caryo didnt say any of the stupid things that other people might, about how 
she “had” to live for Valdemar, or how she was being hysterical, or 
overreacting. :If you dont get up, Ill miss our morning ride,: she said instead, 
wistfully, as if she was deliberately misunderstanding the “I dont want to get 
up” as merely meaning “this morning,” and not “forever.” Maybe she was.
Butthe thought of the morning ride, another of those times when she could 
forget, for a little, as Caryo moved into a gallop, and she could lean over that 
warm, white neck and let the movement and the rush of air and the rhythm all 
lull her into a kind of trance, that same state of not being that she was just 
longing forthat broke through the lethargy. It was hard to tell why, but it did; 
it made her decide that she had to get up, to keep moving, to try for another 
candlemark, another day. And as she forced her legs out from under the covers, 
it occurred to her that as long as she just kept moving, even if she didnt find 
any peace or escape in movement, she might at least find a little more 
distraction.
Distraction. She had to distract anyone from knowing shed been crying, or theyd 
want to know why, and then there would be all that stupid nonsense that she 
didnt want to hear.
She slipped out of bed and went to the table where a basin and pitcher waited; 
she splashed some of the cold water into the basin, and bathed her face until 
she thought that most of the signs of her tears were gone. Her eyes were 
probably still red, but with luck, no one would remark on it. After all, with 
all of the snow glare out there yesterday, probably theyd think it was that. If 
anyone said anything, shed claim it was snow glare. And maybe she could claim a 
headache, too, and cut the Council session short.
She blew her nose, and went back to her bed, and crawled back into it, feeling 
as exhausted as if she hadnt slept at all.
:Just close your eyes,: Caryo advised. :Theyll expect you to sleep late after 
last night. You really did look lovely, you know. All of the young Heralds, at 
least, were saying so. I cant speak for the Bards; they dont have Companions to 
gossip about them, but the Heralds were very taken with how you looked.:
:They were?: That wasif not comforting, at least it was satisfying. Nice to know 
that she did look as good as she had thought.
:Believe it or not, even Alberich thought so. In fact, I think he might have had 
just a twinge of jealousy when he handed you off to Orthallen.:
Well, that penetrated the lethargic depression, a bit. :Alberich? Surely not.: 
And anyway, it was probably only that he disliked Orthallen. Well, apparently 
the feeling was mutual, and there wasnt anything she could do about that. When 
two men decided to take a dislike to one another, there really wasnt anything to 
be done about it. It was like trying to get a pair of dominant dogs to be 
friends; no matter what you did, each of them was going to be certain that he 
should be head of the pack, and all you could do was to try and keep them 
separate as much as possible. Orthallen was one of the few people who didnt say 
anything stupid about her father. He didnt even say that she ought to be over 
her grief by now, and that made him one of the few people she felt comfortable 
being around, even if he did tend to treat her as “little Selenay” instead of 
the Queen.
Besides, it wasnt Alberich that she wanted to make jealous.
Though, on second thought, there really wasnt anyone in her entire Court or the 
Heraldic Circle she wanted to make jealous. Honestly, if the whole business of 
trying to get her to marry someone who was tied to a whole pack of special 
interests was put aside, the real reason she didnt want to marry any of the 
Councils choices was that they all bored her. There wasnt one of them that was 
worth spending an entire afternoon with, much less a lifetime. There wasnt a 
single unattached male in the entire Court that even gave her a flutter of 
interest.
She was just so tired of it all; tired of the ache in her soul, tired of the 
loneliness, tired of trying to outmaneuver the people she should have been able 
to lean on. It seemed as if her entire life was nothing more than dragging 
herself through an endless round of weariness and grief, and she just wanted an 
end to it all.
She buried her face in her pillow, not to muffle more sobs, but to block 
outeverything. If only for a moment.
It was when she woke again to the sounds of her servants and attendants bustling 
around the room that she realized she must have fallen asleep again. And if she 
didnt feel better, at least she felt a little less tired.
Enough so, that she felt she could probably face the day. She didnt want to, but 
she could.
:I think,: she told Caryo, as they came to get her out of bed and dress her, :I 
think well have our morning ride before breakfast.:
:Good,: Caryo said simply. :Id like that. Thank you.:
Keep moving. That was the only answer. Just keep moving. . . .
And if that wasnt an answer, at least it was a way to keep her from 
juststopping. Stopping and never starting again.
***
For Alberich, the day after the Festivals climax began just as any ordinary day 
didthe only differences being that now, at least, he didnt have to concern 
himself with making preparations for Selenays appearance, and now that he knew 
the identity of the young man hed been looking for, he could concentrate on 
thinking of ways to find out what was going on.
But as far as the young Trainees went, apparently, the end of the Festival meant 
restlessness and discontent. Theyd had an unexpected break in their routine, and 
as Alberich was woefully aware, any break in a youngsters routine generally 
meant trouble in getting him back into that routine.
As a consequence, the first class of the morning was a disaster. Far too much 
time was wasted in trying to get his students back on track after the excitement 
of the Ice Festival. And they fought him every step of the way, performing their 
warmups lethargically, running through the initial exercises in a state of 
distraction, and wasting time in chattering about the pleasures of the day 
before.
And part of him was still puzzling over the question of Devlin Gereton, why he 
would be receiving information from a play-actor, and what that information 
could be. It took real effort on his own part to put that aside and concentrate 
on getting some results out of the class.
But it was a futile effort. The Trainees were utterly disinclined to settle down 
and work, and finally, in desperation, he decided that if all they could do was 
chatter about ice sports, well, hed give them an ice sport they would never 
forget!
After all, they were going to have to learn to work together, in coordinated 
teams. . . .
“ Silence!” he barked. “Weapons down.”
Startled, they shut off the chatter, dropped weapon points, and stared at him.
“Weapons put away. Get the staves,” he ordered grimly. “ Now. Then on with 
cloaks, and follow me.”
Now looking apprehensive and guilty, they obeyed. He snatched up his own cloak, 
hid a little surprise inside it as he did so, and stalked out, followed by a 
suddenly subdued tail of Trainees of all four colors.
Out into the snow they went, out past the practice grounds and into Companions 
Field, following a path beaten by others into the thigh-deep snow. It was 
another cloudless, bone-chilling day, and sunlight poured pitilessly down 
through the skeletal branches of the trees. He led them to one of the frozen 
ponds in Companions Field, one that had been cleared off so that it could be 
used for skating, but was far enough from the Palace and the Collegia that it 
wasnt in use very much. In a welcome release for his temper, he kicked three 
basket-sided holes in the snow at the edge of the ice, one at each point of an 
imaginary equal-sided triangle laid on the pond, then divided the class into two 
teams. He made sure that the Trainees were fairly evenly distributed between 
both teams, and he made a point of dividing up friends as much as he could. If 
they were mad for sport, well, hed give them bloody sport indeed. . . .
:Chosen, I hope you arent releasing a wolf from a trap, here,: Kantor said, full 
of amusement. :Are you sure you know what youre doing?:
:No,: he said honestly. :But at least theyll get some stave practice out of 
this.:
Then he dropped what he had picked up onto the ice in front of them.
It was one of the little round cushions that they used over their knuckles when 
they were practicing bare-fist fighting. They looked at it, then at him, then 
back down at it, without any comprehension at all.
“Pah. You are two teams of fighters now. There are your goals. First teamthere, 
second team, there.” He pointed, He thought he saw comprehension beginning to 
dawn. He hoped so. Theyd all seen the broom-ball competition. He hoped they 
werent so dense that they couldnt figure this out! “The third goal neutral is. 
Either team may score there. The cushion, into the opposite goal, or into the 
neutral goal, you are to put,” he said icily and moved carefully off the 
slippery surface of the ice with as much dignity as he could muster, heaving a 
sigh of relief when he reached the bank and could stand there with his arms 
folded over his chest, under his cape.
“But is this like broom-ball? What are the rules?” someone asked, and “But we 
dont have skates!” protested another.
“There are rules in war? I think not,” he retorted. “Skates you will be carrying 
in the field? Enough. No rules. The cushion, in the goal, you will put. How it 
comes there, your problem is. Hit it, you may. Kick it, carry it, I care not. 
You have staves. Use them. Fight with them. No rules.”
He hadnt been altogether certain what their response would be. On the one hand, 
they were Trainees, and had a modicum of training in organization. On the other 
hand, they were overstimulated adolescents with too much restlessness to settle 
down. They could settle in and make some rules, assigning tasks and 
responsibilities before they set to their new version of broom-ball.
They could. But they didnt.
With a yell, someone broke and swatted at the cushion with his stave, and the 
melee began as someone else jumped for the cushion, and half of the other team 
piled onto the one making the move. It was, in a sadistic sort of way, rather 
entertaining for the onlooker. Staves went everywherethough not as successfully 
as if the fighting had been on solid, unslippery ground. Bodies went everywhere. 
Most of them ended up sprawled on the ice. The cushion tended not to get 
anywhere near a goal.
He had been counting on the ice to ensure that no one was able to get in any 
dangerously hard blows with the staves, and the ploy worked. Even the ones that 
were good skaters found the going slippery, and none of them were used to trying 
to stay balanced on the ice while simultaneously swatting with a stave. And all 
of them were fairly good at stave work to begin with, so if someone swung for an 
opponent instead of the cushion, there was a good chance that hed find the blow 
blocked. But none of them were doing much in the way of coordination or 
teamwork; it was pretty much every man for himself, and Alberich had ensured 
that the little amount of teamwork that might have occurred naturally was 
sidelined by breaking up friends onto opposite teams.
It got pretty wild out there, though, before it was all over. He didnt know if 
any of them were keeping track of the number of goals that were made. He 
certainly wasnt. All he was interested in was to make sure that no one was 
injured beyond falls and bruises and bumps on the head. Putting them on the ice 
had another effect; even when someone connected with a stave, most of the force 
of the blow went into sending the opponent flying like a giant version of the 
cushion. Oh, they were going to be aching and stiff when it was over.
:Theres going to be competition for the bathtubs today,: Kantor observed, 
sounding highly amused. :And calls for liniment, I suspect.:
:They wanted excitement,: he told his Companion.
:So they did.:
If they were going to act like a lot of wild hill brats, then by the Sunlord, 
they were going to learn why discipline and organization were necessary if you 
wanted to win a fight.
By the time that class was overmore to the point, by the time he broke up the 
melee that the “game” had turned into and sent them all back to their other 
classesit didnt appear that the lesson had sunk in yet.
But he was relatively certain that eventually it would, as they thought back 
over the chaos on the ice. Certainly they were, one and all, winded, weary, 
aching in every limb, and there wasnt one of them that wasnt sporting some sort 
of injury. There were a hefty number of black eyes, and lots of bruises in 
places that didnt show. And a strain or two, and lumps on the skull. And he 
would have laid money on the fact that not one of them was going to give the 
other instructors any trouble for the rest of the day.
But most of all, for the sake of the lesson in teamwork, it was painfully clear 
that no one had any idea who had won.
So when the next class showed the early symptoms of the same “disease,” he 
administered the same “cure.” It was only when he got the final-year students 
that he got any signs of sense and steadiness out of them, and managed to run a 
normal class.
He didnt have the option of thinking much past the fact that at least hed gotten 
some work out of them, and a lesson of sorts into them. After classes were over, 
some of the Guard appeared for a little training, and he was able to work out 
some of his own frustration in a satisfying series of bouts. When the last of 
the adults had gone, and the last of the daylight faded, leaving the salle in 
blue gloom, he was more concerned with a hot shower than anything else.
He went back into his quarters and got himself cleaned up, coming out of his 
bathing room to find that the servants had come and gone from the Collegium, 
leaving behind both his dinner and a visitor.
“What in the bloody blue blazes did you infect your students with today?” Myste 
demanded, peering at him through her thick glass lenses, pausing in the midst of 
laying out plates, cups, and cutlery. “They look like theyve been through the 
Wars, and theyre chattering like magpies about some ice exercise you invented.”
He stared at her for a moment, bemused both by her presence and by the question. 
He hadnt thought much beyond exhausting the worst offenders; it hadnt occurred 
to him that theyd actually take to the exercise. Well, not really, anyway. Maybe 
some of the Blues, the courtiers children, who hadnt anything better to do with 
their time. “They would not settle,” he replied after a moment. “So, to exhaust 
them, I decided. And to show them, organization is needed, a battle to win.”
“Well, your little experiment in ice warfare is being talked about over all 
three Collegia,” she said in a rueful tone, as if she could hardly believe it. 
“And the ones that hadnt tried it yet were mad to, while the rest are trying to 
come up with rules, so-called proper equipment, scoring. Its all anyone could 
talk about over luncheon and dinner, and they want to do it in their free time”
He interrupted her with a gust of incredulous laughter. “Nothey mean to make a 
sport?”
“Evidently.” She shook her head, and dished out food for both of them. Then she 
sat down, next to the fire, with a bowl of stew in hand. “I suppose we should be 
grateful. Its new, its a good alternative to tavern hopping and getting into 
pranks, and its exercise.”
“And they will weary of it, soon enough,” he said. “If they do not, when the ice 
melts, over it is.” He couldnt believe that anything as ridiculous as the 
foolish melee hed put them through had suddenly become an all-consuming 
interest.
“Hmm.” She ate a little, chewing thoughtfully, as the fire crackled beside her. 
“I think whats likeliest to happen is that theyll all try it, but the only way 
to keep from getting bruised up and battered over it is to have a lot of rules, 
and maybe purloin the padding and helms used for weapons practice into the 
bargain. But having a lot of rules means that theyll have to agree over the 
rules. No two sets of would-be players are going to have the same idea of what 
the rules should be. And in the end, they wont have agreed before the ice 
melts.”
“Probably,” he agreed, feeling relieved and irritated at the same time. Cadets 
would never have been allowed such foolishness. But then again, as he had noted 
before, Heraldic Trainees were not Karsite Cadets. . . . “I had noted that on 
the river, the players of the broom-ball game required much drinking of wine and 
beer to continue the game past the first few goals.”
“And without that, it isnt nearly as much fun.” She chuckled. “Right. Thats what 
Ill tell the others. They were afraid it was going to take over the Collegia.”
He thought about that for a moment. Thought about the fact that a certain level 
of madness seemed to come out of the confinement of winter. And thought about 
all the high spirits generated by the Festival. “It will, probably, for a short 
time,” he decided. “But that gives a painless punishment as well. For those of 
the Collegia at least, who will not settle and study, forbid them from playing. 
Make playing contingent upon good marks. Blues, we can do little about, if they 
are highborn children. But then againtime, they have, to waste. At least melees 
on ice harm them only.”
“Ohouch. Very good indeed,” Myste laughed. “That should do the trick.”
They finished dinner quickly; so much time spent out in the cold used up a lot 
of energy, and he was wolf-hungry.
Only after they had cleared the dishes away into the hampers did it occur to him 
to wonder why she had come there tonight. It couldnt have been because she 
wanted his companycould it?
At that thought, he got a very odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not 
unpleasant, no, butfluttery. It disconcerted him. It disconcerted him so much 
that he just blurted out what was in his head.
“Why are you here?” he heard himself saying, and could have hit himself for how 
it sounded.
But she didnt seem to take offense at his words or his tone.
“Well” she began, and hesitated. “Mixed motives, actually. I wanted to find out 
what youd done with the youngsters. I must say that the ones who had gotten your 
lesson were nicely subdued for my classes; it was only the ones that hadnt 
gotten to play that were wound up like tops. And, um” another hesitation, “I, 
um, enjoy your company. And one other thing” she added, hastily, before he could 
decide if she was blushing or not. “Keren slipped a little. Well, she didnt 
really slip, so much as I browbeat it out of her when she brought me a dress, of 
all things, to mend for her.” She laughed. “I mean, Keren? In a dress? Please! 
That was odd enough, but a dress that looked like that?”
“Like what?” he asked, unthinking.
“A dockside whore,” she replied, with cheerful bluntness, and it was his turn to 
flush. “She said she didnt want to take it to the Collegium seamstresses, 
because it was supposed to be a secret, and then tried to backtrack. Well, 
needless to say, I got the whole story out of her.”
“So you know?” he asked, feeling a little guilty that he hadnt told her before 
this, seeing that hed been thinking about asking for her help anyway.
“Hmm. I guessed, before this. Too many evenings when you werent here in the 
Complex, too many times when you knew things you shouldnt have about parts of 
Haven you werent supposed to have ever visited,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, 
I can put two and two togetherand unlike some of our colleagues with some rather 
lofty ideas about Heraldic duties and honor, I know a bit about the 
practicalities of life. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that if I can help, 
without getting in the way, Id like to. Keren might fit in some of the wilder 
parts of Haven, but I know the craftsmens districts inside and out.”
That stopped him cold. It hadnt occurred to him that Myste might want to 
volunteer. Or that she would actually have some inside knowledge that he didnt. 
Hed thought he would have to persuade her, then train her.
“Its not as if Id have to act a part, like Keren,” she continued. “Id just have 
to be what I was before I was Chosen. An accountant, a clerk, ordinary. Believe 
me, people like me are just invisible as long as we keep our mouths shut. No one 
thinks anything about having us around. Were a kind of servant, and no one ever 
pays any attention to the servants.”
He didnt know how true the latter statement was, but the former was true enough. 
“There could be danger in this,” he warned.
She raised an eyebrow. “You might not think it, but theres danger in being an 
independent clerk. You dont always know just who is hiring you, or for whator at 
least, not until they ask you to run two sets of books, or you get a look at 
papers you werent supposed to see. That never happened to me, personally, but I 
know those it did happen to. And theres stories about people turning up missing 
after taking certain jobs.” She chuckled weakly. “Well, thats probably what most 
of the people who knew me think is what happened to me. I know for a fact that 
none of them realize I was Chosen.”
Well, she was on that last battlefield for the Tedrel Wars, and shed volunteered 
for that, too. Shed faced danger there, certainly enough. “I might then ask you 
for help,” he said carefully.
“Ask, and youll have it,” she said. And then seemed at a loss for anything else 
to say.
But he didnt want her to leave. They sat in awkward silence for a long time. And 
when the silence was broken, they both broke it at once.
“Can you tell me”
“What of interest have you”
They both broke off, flushing. Alberich was just a little angryat himself. 
Surely he was more than old enough to have a simple conversation with an 
interesting woman without blushing like a boy! Particularly this one, that he 
had shouted at, cursed at, and forced to learn things she adamantly did not want 
to learn!
“You first,” she said, gesturing.
He paused. What did he want to say? It suddenly occurred to him that there was a 
lot he didnt know about her. He might as well start with that.
“So. What was Myste, the clerk, like?” he asked. “What was her life?”
She laughed. “Boring. But” Her eyes grew thoughtful behind those thick lenses. 
“But you dont know much of anything about the ordinary person in Valdemar, of 
the middling classes, do you? I know a lot about all of that, in Haven, in 
particular. So even if Id be bored by it”
“Please,” he said, with a slow smile. “Tell me.”
And so, she did. And being Myste, she got as much about Alberich of Karse out of 
him, as he did about Myste of Haven.
It was, on the whole, an equitable exchange. And perhaps, best of all, it was 
one that would take some time in telling.
8
The Ice Festival had taken place a fortnight after Midwinter. Now, another 
fortnight later, the deep cold finally broke with a gray day, vastly warmer than 
the ones that had brought the Ice Festival, and with a dampness to the air that 
warned of snow. By a candlemark after sunrise, the snow had begun, and it fell, 
thick and soft, all day and into the night. Alberich, for one, was very happy to 
see it, for it meant that all the frozen ponds were covered over, and at least 
until the would-be athletes shoveled them clear again, there would be no more 
ice melees.
Or, as the Trainees had decided to call it, Hurlee. Yes, they had given it a 
name. They had agreed on that much, and more. It had taken on a life of its own.
He had, unwittingly, created a monster. Yet at the same time, it was a very 
useful monster. If, at times, it seemed that the vast majority of the free time 
of both Trainees and young courtiers was taken up with creating rules and 
scoring for this combative game, and arguing over both endlessly, at least they 
were learning about teamwork, cooperation in combat, and negotiation. If they 
seemed obsessed, at least, as several teachers said with a sigh, there were 
worse things to get obsessed about, and the slightest hint that falling marks 
would occasion being forbidden to play or even discuss the game often worked 
miracles.
Still, it seemed that there was nowhere in Court or Collegia that one could go 
to escape the wretched game. Even some of the younger Guards had started to take 
it up. For all Alberich knew, it was spreading down into Haven by now, and many 
older members of the Court, decidedly unamused by the racketing teams of 
youngsters surging here and there and practicing on every open bit of ice, or 
even creating unauthorized bits of ice to practice on, often gave Alberich 
unfriendly glares when he saw them.
The cushion had been replaced by first a childs beanbag, then a tough leather 
ball filled with heavy buckwheat in its husks, of the sort that jugglers 
practiced with. The staves now had small scoops on one end. The holes in the 
snow were now nets, and the teams had been stabilized at five members each, one 
of which was supposed to guard his teams net.
Combat with the staves was still very much allowed; Alberich had the feeling 
that no few little feuds were being worked out during the games. Half-helms of 
padded leather and elbow, kidney, and kneepads had been agreed upon. Skates were 
not allowed, on order of the Healers, who didnt want to deal with the results. 
Other additions were being argued about, or rather, forcefully argued for by 
Healers Collegium, which did not want an influx of Trainees and other youngsters 
with missing teeth or broken jawbones. At this point, Alberich had washed his 
hands of the entire project and disclaimed any involvement with it. Like the 
other instructors, he had declared that inattention and falling marks would be 
grounds for being forbidden to play.
He was rather desperately hoping that a thaw would put an end to it, and 
depressingly afraid that, given the new changes in it, they would be able to 
play without ice.
At least, by this point, it was very clear that no more than half of the 
Heraldic Trainees, and substantially, very substantially less than a quarter of 
the Healers and Bardic Trainees, were going to actually be playing this game. 
The rest lacked the coordination and, after the initial excitement was over, the 
inclination. That did not, however, mean that the rest werent interested. Oh, 
no. They were still just as mad about watching it as the rest were about playing 
it.
But he could not spare much time to worry about a mere game. He had decided to 
start taking Keren out on some of his prowls through Haven. And he had yet to 
come up with a plan to let him discover just what Devlin and that actor were up 
to.
The main stumbling block was that he could not think of a way to shadow the 
young courtier or the actor without alerting them to the fact that someone was 
watching them. For one thing, he was more than a little wary about trying to 
disguise himself around the actor, at all. He could fool ordinary folk, but an 
actor? The fellow might have a style that was ridiculously flamboyant, and 
exaggerated, but that, Alberich suspected, was for the benefit of his audience, 
which was not going to react to a subtle performance. The man could not have 
come up with so clever a plan for passing information if he was not clever and 
subtle himself. And if Alberich tried to pass himself off as someone who had 
business being around either Devlin or the actors
It seemed impossible; Alberich was certain hed be caught. He might be able to 
pass off his Karsite accent as Hardornan or Rethwellan down in the slums, but 
actors had an ear for accents, and might even be able to correctly identify his. 
And just how many Karsites were there in Haven? Not many; not many that still 
had their accent. The paste he used to disguise his scars passed muster after 
dark, but actors knew about makeup and false hairhed never get by an actor 
without him noticing. How many Karsite Heralds were there? A sufficiently clever 
man could easily put two and two together.
As for getting in close, that was impossible. The man finally Alberich had 
learned who he was (Norris Lettyn), and where his troupe was operating from (the 
Three Sheaves in the Cattle Market area)seldom went anywhere outside of the inn, 
and never consorted with anyone except his fellow actors and exceedingly 
attractive, buxom, adoring women. Neither of which Alberich wasnor were Keren or 
Myste. They might be able to feign the adoration, but the kind of ladies that 
Norris kept company with were the sort that made men turn in the street and 
stare after them.
Not surprisingly, no few of them were ladies of negotiable virtue, but the price 
they placed on their services was very, very high. They were nothing like the 
common whores of the Exiles Gate neighborhood. And Alberich could not make up 
his mind if Norris was paying for their company, or getting it on the basis of 
his reputation, popularity, stunningly handsome face, and muscular body. If he 
was paying for itwhere was a mere actor getting the money? On the other hand, 
someone who looked like Norris did generally had women fawning on him, and 
Alberich saw no reason to suppose that expensive courtesans were any less likely 
to fawn than supposedly “honest” women.
Thanks to Norris face and flamboyant style, the troupe was certainly prospering, 
as was the inn to which they were attached. They didnt even have to give plays 
every day for the public anymore. Once every two days, the courtyard was packed 
with spectators for one of the repertoire of plays they put on, and it certainly 
wasnt because of the high literary standards of the things. Moving to that tent 
on the riverbank during the Festival had been a shrewd moveputting on their play 
there spread their reputation to the entire city, and the city evidently 
followed them back to their home ground when the Festival was over. Norris even 
was beginning to get something of a following among the highborn of the 
Courtwhile the plays they put on for the public were hardly great literature, 
evidently they had in their repertoire a number of classical works, and the 
troupe had been hired to give private performances at least twice now. There 
would, without a doubt, be more of those, though how lucrative they were in 
contrast to the public performances, Alberich had no way of telling.
Which created another problem. It seemed to Alberich that Norris was living 
somewhat beyond his means, but without getting close to the man, there was no 
way to know that for certain. He didnt know how Norris was paid, or if, now that 
he had a bit of a following among the highborn, he was getting gifts or 
patronage.
If so, then young Devlin would have the perfect excuse to add to that patronage, 
and even visit the actor openly. So Alberich still did not know what was being 
exchanged, whether or not it mattered to the Crown, nor how dangerous it was, 
and at the moment he had no way of finding these things out.
And there was another thing that worried him, that had nothing to do with the 
Devlin problem. It seemed to him that Selenay was not looking entirely well. It 
wasnt that she looked ill, exactly, but that she looked far more subdued than he 
liked. It was the death of her father, of course; it couldnt be anything else. 
The Festival had been an all-too-brief diversion from her grief, he suspected. 
He wished he could do something for her, but the honest truth was that he was 
completely unsuited to that sort of task. All he could do was what he was good 
at, and let othersTalamir, who was, after all, Queens Owndo their job without 
any interference.
Assuming that the Hurlee players didnt drive him utterly mad before spring.
***
“The problem is,” Myste said, over a good slice of beef in the Bell, “you dont 
understand the sports-minded.” Both of them were in disguise; he as a middling 
craftsman, she in some of her old garb from her previous life, including the 
spectacles she had worn then, lenses held in frames of wire. This was the first 
time he had brought Myste down into Haven to try out her disguise, but it was 
more for his benefit than for hers. He wanted to look like an ordinary craftsman 
in the audience at the Three Sheaves, and if he didnt have to talk, he stood a 
better chance of passing as Valdemaran.
“The bloody-minded, not the sports-minded,” he muttered under his breath, then 
said, louder. “And you do?” It seemed unlikely. Bespectacled Myste held as much 
aloof from the Hurlee madness as he did, as far as he could tell.
“As a matter of fact,” she retorted, “I do. I was raised here, in an ordinary 
family, and not in a Cadet School. People with a bit of leisure time. Ordinary 
folk like sport, even if they dont play a game, or at least, dont play it well. 
Thats why they like to cheer on those who do.”
“That, I do not understand, at all,” he admitted, reluctantly.
She sniffed. “You ought to. Its part of what makes it easy for a sufficiently 
unscrupulous leader to get his people involved in a needless war. Look, its like 
this, as I reckon it. People like to be in groups, on one side, so they can tell 
themselves that their side is better than the other. They can get the excitement 
and the thrill of being worked up about just how much better they are than the 
other side is. And when theyre in a group doing that, then the excitement is 
doubled just because everyone else is doing the same.”
“That, I understand,” he said darkly. “So you are saying that being 
sports-minded, a little like being in a war is?”
“Without the bloodshed,” she replied, and sighed. “Without the consequences. 
People like competition, but at the same time, they like cooperation almost as 
much. With something like Hurlee, you get to either be on a team, or for a team, 
and you get cooperation, like being in a special tribe. But then, your team goes 
against someone elses team, and theres your competition. It satisfies a whole 
lot of cravings all at once. Its like a bloodless war, and then you get to go 
out and buy each other beer afterward, and you get cooperation all over again.”
He shrugged. It made sense, he supposed. He thought about how he had been 
shouting at the end of the last skating-race, along with everyone else. If even 
he could get caught up in a sport to that extent, then what Myste said made 
sense.
And there wasnt any warfare going on. People who had been used to living with a 
conflict and an enemy now found themselves with nothing of the sort. Maybe those 
who had actually fought were perfectly comfortable without having an enemy, but 
those who hadntparticularly all those youngstersmight be looking for a focus for 
all that energy.
So maybe that was why Hurlee had suddenly become an obsession. And probably, as 
Myste expected, within a couple of months it would turn into a sport like any 
other. At least, now that the rules had been agreed on, and things had sorted 
out into a round-robin of regular teams with exact rosters, the situation wasnt 
quite so out-of-hand. Certainly the whole scheme of forbidding participation if 
marks fell off was workingmiraculously, even with the highborn Blues, and 
heretofore, if their parents werent concerned with marks, there had been no way 
to effectively discipline them.
Maybe Hurlee wasnt so bad after all.
“So where exactly is it that were going?” she asked.
“The Three Sheaves Inn,” he told her. She nodded, though she looked surprised. 
He had explained his situation with regard to young Devlin and his contact 
Norris, and the difficulty he found himself in trying to get close enough to 
make some sort of judgment about it. “I thought, at the least, into the 
play-going crowd we can insert ourselves. Good for me, for open my mouth I 
cannot, without myself betraying, so you can do the speaking for us both. Good 
for you, it would be, and it may be that an opportunity you will see that I 
cannot.”
“Fair enough,” she agreed, and glanced out the window into the thickening gloom 
of twilight. “And I might. You never know. Besides, I wouldnt mind seeing this 
actor fellow, if hes setting young hearts afire.”
Alberich snorted. “Not just young,” he corrected, and finished the last of his 
meal.
“All the better, then.” She chuckled at the expression on his face, and pushed 
off from the table without another word.
“Now, something did occur to me,” she said, as they moved out into the cold, 
snowy streets, passing a lamplighter who was climbing up to light one of his 
charges. “Had you considered paying one of those low-life pickpockets you hang 
about with to snatch young Devlins purse when you think hes carrying what youre 
looking for? Tell him you want the papers, he gets anything else.”
Since it had not occurred to him, he almost stopped dead in the street to stare 
at her. “Ah. No,” he managed at last.
“Should be easy enough,” she pointed out. “I suppose youd have to make up some 
cock-and-bull tale about why you wanted it done. And youd have to work the whole 
setup just for the other lad to do the snatch-and-run so hell get away clean, 
maybe even interfere with some of the constables to keep them from nobbling him. 
But between what you paid the fellow and what hed get off Devlin, Id have to 
think that itd more than pay him to keep his mouth shut about it.”
His mind was already at work on the problem. He could sacrifice one of the 
problematic personae if he needed to. If one of them was never seen again after 
getting the papers, it wouldnt matter if the thief in question couldnt keep his 
mouth shut, because thered be no one to betray. It was definitely an idea, and a 
good one. Not perfect, but
but it opened up a whole new set of ideas. It hadnt occurred to him to make use 
of the criminal element. There were other possibilities here. If, for instance, 
he could discover which room in the inn Norris used, perhaps he could send 
someone to search it. . . .
“You do know that someone might recognize me at this inn, dont you?” she 
continued conversationally. “Not as a Herald, of courseIm certain nobody 
actually knows thats where I went when I quit my job. My Choosing was pretty 
quiet, actually, and since I was right in Haven, I persuaded Aleirian to let me 
finish out my work for the day, hand in my notice, and slip out without a fuss.”
“Modest of you” he began.
She laughed. “Hardly. I didnt want anyone who wanted a favor showing up at the 
Collegium looking for me. Anybody who knew me would recognize me as Myste 
Willenger, the accountant and clerk, not Herald Myste. Except for the Wars, I 
havent set foot outside the Collegium Complex since I was Chosen.”
“Really? Well, that would not harm anything,” He pulled the hood closer around 
his neck; this damp cold seemed to be more penetrating than the dry cold of 
Festival Week. “In fact, it might be a good thing.”
“Reestablish myself in my old haunts?” She glanced at him sideways. “Well, if 
you want me to do that, I can. Ill think up something to tell anyone who asks 
where Ive been”
He had to snort at that. “Where else, but for the Army working?” he asked. “At 
least until the Wars ended.”
She stared at him a moment, and stumbled over a rut, then smiled. “Youve got a 
good head for this,” she said. “Youre right, of course. All those soldiers 
needed feeding, supplying, payingthat needs clerks.”
“And now, half of them disbanded are, and no more need for extra clerks.” That 
was certainly true enough. Just as it was true that an Army the size of the one 
that Sendar had assembled had required a vast force of people to support it.
“Which is why Im back” Her smile spread. “But of course, the reason Im not back 
at my old job is because I was replaced. Which I was, but when I was Chosen. So”
“A job you must have.” He frowned over that thought.
“Not necessarily”
“No, waitan idea I have. The Bell. That is safe enough. A note I will leave; it 
will be arranged, should anyone ask.” Not that anyone would; no one was likely 
to ask about a minor clerk and accountant, but it was best to cover every 
contingency. “For the master, you do the records, and the taproom clerk you are, 
also. You board there as well.” This was common enough. Just because people were 
supposed to be literate didnt mean they were good at reading and writing. Often 
enough, they were willing to pay someone else to write a letter for themand of 
course, any legal documents absolutely required a clerk to draw them up.
“Thatll do.” She sighed with satisfaction. “I like to have everything set out, 
just in case.”
“As do I. Alike, we think, in that way.” And before he could say anything else, 
although there were a couple of half-formed ideas in the back of his head, it 
was too late to say anything.
Because the Three Sheaves was looming before them, and with it, a good-sized 
crowd milling about at the door, waiting to get into the courtyard for the 
performance. They joined it, and at that point, kept their conversation to 
commonplaces.
***
The one excellent thing about having Bardic Collegium right on the grounds of 
the Palace was that there were always musicians of the finest available at a 
moments notice. The Hardornan Ambassador from King Alessandar had expressed an 
interest that afternoon in hearing some of the purely instrumental music that 
Valdemarans took for granted, and Selenay had been able to arrange for that wish 
to be gratified with an impromptu concert after dinner. Ambassador Isadere was 
finally rested enough from his journey and formal reception to show some 
interest in the less formal pastimes of the Courtwhich meant, to Selenay, the 
ones where she wasnt required to pay exclusive attention to him, or indeed, to 
anyone. Bardic Collegium responded to her request for an instrumental ensemble 
with what almost seemed to be gratitude; shed been puzzled by that at first, but 
then, after a moment of thought, she realized that she had not made such 
requests more than a handful of times since shed become Queen, whereas her 
father had called on Bardic, either for simple musicians or true Bards, at least 
every two or three days. Perhaps they took this as a sign that things were 
getting back to “normal.”
Well, even if she didnt feel that way, was it right for her to impose her 
depressed spirits on everyone else?
No, it wasnt. No matter what she felt like, wasnt it her duty to put on a 
sociable mask?
Besides, entertainments like this meant she wouldnt really have to put on more 
than the mask. When she thought about it, she realized that anyone who was 
really listening to the music wouldnt require anything from her except that she 
not be dissolved in tears.
So when she sent a note back to Bardic thanking them, she asked if it would be 
possible for them to supply musicians of the various levels of expertise to her 
as they had to her fatherand as often. The immediate response was that they 
would be overjoyed to do so, and would even save her the trouble of trying to 
decide on informal entertainments by setting them up with her household, as they 
had done for Sendar.
With great relief, she let them know that this was perfect. And she led her 
Court into the Great Hall for the concert, then settled into her seat, enthroned 
among the courtiers, with Ambassador Isadere at her left, thinking that tonight 
was turning out to be something of a respite after all. And the gods knew she 
needed one. She wasnt feeling up to an evening of bright conversation with her 
foreign guests tonight; shed been fighting melancholy all day, knowing that it 
would take next to nothing to make her break out in tears. Now, with not only 
the ambassador, but his entire entourage listening with rapt attention to the 
musicians, she could lean back in her chair and wait for the evening to be over.
Or so she thought.
“Majesty, are you well?” whispered Lord Orthallen. He leaned over the arm of his 
chair toward her, his voice pitched so that it would not disturb anyone else, 
and to his credit, he really did look concerned.
She smiled faintly at him, and nodded. He raised an eyebrow, as if he didnt 
entirely believe her, but turned his attention back to the music.
She glanced over at Herald Talamir, who did not appear to have noticed the 
interchange. But then, it was difficult to tell, these days, what Talamir did 
and did not see. It was even more difficult to tell what he thought about what 
he saw.
In fact, he was sitting back in his chair, eyes half-closed, and he looked 
exactly like a statueexcept that there was nothing of the solidity of a statue 
about him. How he managed this, she could not tell, but these days Talamir didnt 
entirely seem to be in the here and now, as it were. His manner was often 
preoccupied, as if listening to and watching something no one else could hear or 
see. And to her mind, there was a suggestion of translucency about him, the 
spirit somehow shining through the flesh. When there was something that really 
required his attention, he was almost like his old self, but when there wasnt, 
he was almost like a ghost-made-flesh, and not altogether contented with that 
state.
He made a great many people uneasy, without any of them being able to articulate 
why. He made Selenay uneasy, as a matter of fact; she could never glance at 
himexcept in the times when he was very much in the here-and-nowwithout an 
involuntary shiver.
And yet, there were plenty of people who saw no difference in him at all. People 
like Orthallen, for instance; they acted in Talamirs presence now exactly as 
they had acted in Talamirs presence before the last battle.
Before he died, and was dragged back to life. . . .
That was the crux of it, of course. Heralds, Healers, and Bards almost all 
sensed it. Talamir was a man in two worlds now, and most of his concentration 
seemed to be taken up with the unseen world. That was why Selenay just could not 
bring herself to confide in him, even though that was what the function of the 
Queens Own was supposed to be.
How could I sit there and tell him things? she wondered wearily. Even if he 
wasnt a man, and as old as my father. It would be like trying to share 
girl-secrets with a particularly unworldly priest. . . .
And anyway, Talamir had been her fathers closest friendwhich was only as it 
should have been, of course, but how could she tell him how much she missed her 
father and cry on his shoulder, when surely Talamir missed him as much, or more? 
It would be too cruel, too cruel for words. Talamir had already suffered so much 
pain, losing his own Companion to death as well as Sendar and so many other 
friendsNo, it would be too cruel to inflict further pain on him that way.
As for sharing her scarcely-articulate longing for, well, romance
Oh, no. He would never, ever understand. And shed get a grave, well-considered, 
perfectly reasonable lecture about her duties as Queen, and how great power 
required great responsibility.
As if she didnt know, as if she didnt feel all that with every pulse of blood 
through her veins.
But that didnt stop her from wanting it. Even though most of the younger members 
of her Court were probably going to make arranged marriages in the end, that 
didnt stop them from flirtations and even outright courtship. After all, there 
was always the chance that both sets of parents would be pleased to find that an 
alliance had been made.
And even if they werent, well, as one young lady had tearfully put it, unaware 
that Selenay was eavesdropping from the other side of the hedge, “It will give 
me something to remember when Im wedded to that awful old man”
But a Queen couldnt have flirtations. And of course she knew that only too well. 
Knowing she couldnt was bad enough, but being reminded of that fact by someone 
like Talamir would only make it worse. Her father would have understood; hed 
been able to marry for love. Hed always said he didnt want to see her sacrificed 
to a marriage of state, but with him gone, and with no telling what needs might 
arise, she had to count on sacrificing herself.
She felt a lump rising in her throat and closed her eyes against the sting of 
tears, fighting them back. This was neither the place nor the time to display 
weakness.
It was at that moment that she felt, with a sense of shock, someone press a 
folded bit of paper into her hand.
Her eyes flew open in time for her to see Lord Orthallen, removing his hand from 
hers. Their eyes met, and he nodded gravely, then sat back again.
For one brief moment, an incredulous thought came into her head. A love note? 
From Orthallen?
No, surely not. He was married. He was older than her father. And besides, every 
other Councilor would spontaneously combust with rage at the very idea.
She looked down at the scrap of paper, and opened it.
Selenay, you used to call me your “ Lord-Uncle,” and told me all your childish 
woes, she read. And if I have, in recent days, often forgotten that you are no 
longer my “ Little Niece” but my Queen and fully adult, please forgive an old 
man for clinging to his illusions longer than he should have. I have seen you 
fall into melancholy more than once these past few days; I think you might be in 
need of a friend with whom you can unburden yourself freely; if that is the 
case, will you honor your fathers friend by putting me in that place as he did, 
so that this old man can begin to see the grown lady of reality instead of the 
child of the past? Perhaps we can help each other in our shared sorrow.
Selenay blinked. This was unexpected. First of all, Lord Orthallen was, above 
all else, a very proud man. He seldom apologized. Secondly, he had been one of 
those on her Council that had seemed the most adamant about keeping her from 
taking the reins of power into her own hands
But this was an apology, and a tacit admission that he was ready and willing to 
see her as the Queen in fact as well as in title.
And the part about shared sorrowthat made the lump in her throat swell all over 
again. Orthallen had been her fathers good and trusted friend. She hadnt thought 
about how he must be feeling. But that pride of his might well have prevented 
him from making any great show of his own grief. . . .
And who better to talk to? He was safe enough, with a wife he honored; he had 
never, ever given rise to a single rumor about his fidelity (unlike far too many 
men in her Court). She had known him all her life; shed cried on his shoulder 
before this.
Who else was there, reallyand she was beginning to think that if she didnt find 
someone she could talk to, someone besides Caryo, that is, she was going to 
crack. Talking to Caryo was a little too much like talking to herself. And 
besides, even Caryo was getting tired of how depressed and burdened with grief 
she was.
She looked up and met his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, in grave 
inquiry. She nodded. He smiled; it was a sad, weary smile, the same sort that 
she often found on her own lips of late.
She smiled back, folded the piece of paper, and put it into her sleeve pocket 
for safekeeping, feeling a little better already. Better enough, at least, to 
give the musicians her full attention for the rest of the concert.
***
Rather than joining the people in the courtyard on their benches, Alberich paid 
out enough for seats on the second-floor balcony that ran along the inside walls 
facing the courtyard, a balcony that made up a sort of makeshift gallery. It was 
marginally warmer here, and the folks in the cheap seats were notoriously rowdy. 
When the troupe had been playing in that tent, there had been no balcony, and 
the expensive seats had been in the first several rows. Not so here.
The courtyard was entirely enclosed by inn buildings. Behind the stage and the 
curtains that closed off the back of it, were the stables. Not the sort of place 
where anyone would care to sit, so using that wall as the back of the stage 
wasted no valuable space that could have accommodated paying customers. The 
other three wings were the three stories of what was a typical market inn, with 
an arched passage in the middle of what was, in this configuration, the “back” 
of the courtyard leading out into the street outside. The ground floor of that 
wing, divided as it was by the passage, held two separate dining rooms, a 
taproom for the common sorts of folk, the drovers, the shepherds, the farmers 
who came to the market, and the second an actual set of dining rooms, one large 
dining room for the better-off sort, and several private parlors for the 
“gentry,” or at least, those with enough money that the innkeepers servants 
called them “mlord” and “mlady,” whether or not they had any right to the title.
Above that, in the second and third stories, since that wing both had the noisy 
dining areas on the first floor, and faced the street, were the cheapest of the 
sleeping rooms. These were the sort where strangers packed in several to a room 
together, on pallets laid so closely together that the room might just as well 
have been one big bed.
The right and left wings held more expensive sleeping rooms on the second and 
third floors, with the kitchens on the ground floor of the left-hand wing, and 
the servants quarters on the ground floor of the right-hand wing.
When there wasnt a play on, the balconies gave access to those rooms. Now, 
however, there were benches there, where those willing to spend a bit extra 
could sit along the balcony railing. The view was good from here, and you werent 
going to find yourself harassed by someone whod paid less than the cost of a 
pint for his seat.
Normally, at least with most acting troupes, the truly expensive seats were on 
the stage itself, to the left and the right. Not with this lottheir energetic 
acrobatics made that a dangerous place to be, and the entire stage was free of 
any such obstructions.
Myste laid her arms along the balcony rail and parked her chin on them, peering 
down at the stage with interest. The courtyard was lit almost as well as the 
Great Hall of the Palace, with torches in holders on every supporting beam, and 
shielded lanterns around the stage. The thing about holding a play at night 
meant that the players could actually do some things with the scenerylike a 
paper moon with a lantern behind it, or using foxfire smeared all over someones 
face if he was a ghost. Or, as had occurred in the scene theyd just watched, the 
softer, dimmer light had made the shabby costumes and tinsel and paste gems of 
the “lords and ladies” at a grand Festival look positively genuine. :This isnt 
as bad as I thought it would be,: she remarked to Alberich in Mindspeech.
:True,: he replied. :This is actually one of the plays they do privately.: It 
was a tale of unlucky lovers, who came from feuding families, who met by 
accident at some celebration, and of course, were lifebonded at first sight. The 
troupe were playing on current events by making the place of their first meeting 
the Ice Festivalwhich worked out very well, since it allowed them to bundle up 
in their warmest costumes. And of course, the feud allowed for several of the 
signature acrobatic fight scenes.
Down there on the stage, the feud had been acted out by means of a confrontation 
in the first scene, then several of the youngsters of both clans had gotten 
caught up by accident in the party following a wedding. The hero and heroine had 
met and fallen instantly in love, and had retired. Down on the stage, the 
stagehands were scuttling about in the pause for the scenery change between the 
first and second acts.
:I suppose theyre both going to end up dead in the end,: Myste sighed.
Alberich had seen this play before. :Well, it is a tragedy.: And in fact, that 
was exactly what was going to happen. Hero and heroine would be wedded in secret 
in the second act. In the third, the feud would escalate into open warfare, 
isolating them from one another as the city turned into a battlefield. In the 
fourth act, the lovers would arrange a desperate meeting, intending to flee the 
city and seek the help of the King. The heroines brother would discover the hero 
waiting with horses, and challenge him. The hero would attempt to placate him, 
but to no avail. He would find himself forced into the duel, the brother would 
disarm him, and just as the heroine arrived, fatally wound him. She would run 
screaming toward them both; startled, the brother would turn, and she would be 
accidentally impaled on his sword, and the lovers would die in each others arms.
Not before forgiving the stricken brother, however, and extracting his vow to 
end the feud for all time.
Not the worst of plays, by any means, and with enough action to please the male 
members of the audience.
:I see at least a dozen people I know down in the audience,: Myste remarked. 
:The most interesting thing is, though, that Look, see that bald-headed fellow 
down there, stage left? The one who seems to be in charge of the scene changing? 
I know him very well. The last time I saw him, he was the butler for an 
officious little mercer I did regular work for. I wonder how he got this job?:
:Really?: Well, that could be interesting, if he happened to recognize Myste.
And even as that thought passed through Alberichs mind, the man looked up at 
their gallery, blinked, and peered upward at them, through the torch smoke and 
lantern light.
He gave a tentative wave. Myste nodded, and waved back. He grabbed a passing 
boy, said something to him, pointed at Myste, and shoved him in the direction of 
the stairs. A few moments later, the boy clambered toward them.
“Scuze me, mum, but Laric wants tknow, if youre Myste, Myste Willenger, the 
clerk?” the boy asked.
“That I am,” Myste replied, without a moment of hesitation.
The boy grinned. “Well, mum, then Laric ud like ter talk with you arter the 
play, if youve time, an could use some work,” the boy continued. “Cause hes got 
a job that needs doin.”
Myste grinned. “Tell him, thanks. Who cant use extra work?”
The boy grinned back. “Ill tell im, mum.”
With that, he scrambled back down the stairs, presumably to find the 
now-vanished Laric. Myste settled down for the second act, with a smile like a 
cat in cream.
:Well. How about that for an opportunity dropping into our laps?: she asked.
Alberich could only shake his head in amazement.
9
Alberich and Myste lingered after the end of the last act, assuming that Laric 
would seek them out as soon as the audience cleared out. It was a reasonable 
assumption; both of them assumed he would not have interrupted his urgent work 
to send up a boy if he hadnt intended to get to Myste as soon as he could. It 
wasnt comfortable, sitting out there in the cold, on the hard benches, but both 
Alberich and Myste had the feeling that it just might be worth the wait.
And they were right. As soon as the actors took their final bows, the audience 
began to shove its way out. Once the actors were gone, the audience lost 
interest in what, to Alberich, was actually more interesting than the play 
itself. In the torchlight, there had been a certainsomethingthat had given an 
illusion of reality to the play. Now the illusion was coming apart, bit by bit, 
and it was fascinating to Alberich to see how it had been put together in the 
first place.
First, the lamps at the edge of the stage were blown out and gathered up, and 
the stagehands began clearing away the properties on the stage, carrying them 
back behind what had looked like a false front of several buildings made rather 
solidly of wood. But it was now apparent that it wasnt wood at all, nor solid, 
but another canvas backdrop of the same sort that the troupe had used during the 
Festival. With no one being careful about how they moved around it, the thing 
rippled and waved as people went behind it. Two other bits of business that 
stood on either side of the canvas, hiding the edges, looked a bit more solid. 
They were only a single story tall, though they had a pair of doors in them that 
the actors had used to come and go. As two stagehands hauled off the “horses” 
that the hero and heroine were to have escaped on, Laric dashed out of one of 
the doors in the scenery onto the edge of the stage, and peered up at the 
balcony. “Heyla!” he shouted, and waved at her. She waved back. “Myste! Stay 
right there for a bit while I tie things up!”
Myste nodded vigorously; evidently that was enough for Laric, who dashed back 
through the false door again. “Tie things up, hmm?” she said cheerfully to 
Alberich. “I hope that isnt literal.”
“That, I could not tell you. I know nothing ofall this,” Alberich admitted, 
waving vaguely at the stage. And at precisely that moment, the painted cloth at 
the back of the stage, depicting the outer walls of several buildings, dropped 
down to the stage with a bang, along with the pole it was fastened to along the 
top. Behind it was another, with a forest or garden scene; it came down next. 
And finally, a third, showing stalls of a market and skythat was the setting for 
the Ice Festival. Down it came, revealing the bare front of the stables, which 
was three stories tall, like the rest of the inn, though Alberich could not for 
a moment imagine what they would need three stories for.
Well, this was a busy place, with a lot of animals coming and going. Maybe they 
needed all that space for hay and straw storage.
A cheerful-looking little boy had been up at the top, where there was a crane 
and a pulley with a rope still hanging from it. Apparently that was what the 
backdrops had been fastened to. Now he slid down from the upper loft of the 
stables on the rope there, and he and another stagehand began rolling up the 
three backdrops on their poles. With another bang, one of the two pieces of 
scenery that screened each side of the backcloth fell over, and two more men 
came up to haul it away. The second one followed in short order. In a remarkably 
short period of time, not only had the sets and properties vanished into the 
stable, so had the stage itself, which apparently came apart, although it seemed 
solid enough even with all of those actors leaping about on it. That explained 
how the troupe had been able to get a stage into their tent that could take the 
amount of abuse they had been delivering with every performance. Alberich 
watched in fascination until there was nothing to be seen but a perfectly 
ordinary-looking inn courtyard with the stables at the rear.
And that was when Laric emerged from the stable door again and wearily climbed 
the nearest staircase, heading in their direction. He mopped his red face with a 
handkerchief the size of a small sail as he came. He was a very big man, with an 
imposing belly, red-faced, with hair going thin at his temples and surprisingly 
honest eyes. Not that Alberich was going to trust how someone looked to tell him 
anything about that persons real nature.
His clothing was ordinary enough: a sheepskin vest over a heavy knitted tunic 
and moleskin breeches. He wore shoes, rather than boots, but most city dwellers 
did. If you had to go out in fresh snow that hadnt been shoveled or packed down 
yet, and you didnt have boots, you just wrapped your feet, shoes and all, in 
canvas, and tied it around your calves with twine.
“Damme, but if makin an honest livin aint the hardest work going!” he exclaimed 
as they both stood up. “Myste, where you been? I got hauled in to stage manage 
for this idiot lot, and just when I had some work for ye, ye ups and vanishes!”
She shrugged. “Army needed clerks,” she said simply. “Now it dont, so they let 
me go. Back I came. Got some work at the Companions Bell, but it aint 
full-time.”
“Well, thats a break fer both of us,” he said genially. “Whos yer friend?”
“Bret,” she said, without batting an eye. “Carter. From down-country, on the 
border. Army dont need carters now, neither; nothing more to haul down or up.”
“Ah, hard luck, man,” the stage manager said, with sympathy.
“Dont feel too sorry for him!” Myste laughed. “The Army may not need im, but 
damn-near everyone else does! He paid my way in tonight!”
“Owed her one,” Alberich said, gruffly, but with as much good humor as Myste, 
and doing his level best to minimize his accent. “Bet er a meal an a raree-show, 
an she picked this. Warn ye, mandont play cards with this one!”
He hoped that someone who wasnt an actor wouldnt think twice about his accent, 
and took the chance on actually saying something. It was worth the risk; the big 
man let out a belly-laugh without a single look askance.
“Myste! You conned another country boy! Listen, man youre lucky the stakes wasnt 
more than just a meal and a seat at a play!” Laric responded, wiping his eyes 
with that kerchief. “I learned that one a long time ago!”
“Well, a man looks at her face, he dont think of card sharp!” Alberich replied. 
“He thinks pen pusher!”
“Which she is, she is, but shes got some system,” Laric replied earnestly. “It 
aint cheatin, but shes got the cards in her head, somehow, an she can figger the 
odds of whats coming up” he shook his head. “ I cant make it work, but she can. 
So we know bettern t play against her.”
“You get along, Bret,” Myste said, in a kindly tone of voice. “You got a load in 
the morning, and we might be a while. I can get back by myself.”
:Im safe enough with Laric,: she added. Just go wait at the Bell, and Ill catch 
up with you.:
“Right-on,” he responded, as if he was just a casual friend, and leftthough with 
a lot more reluctance than he showed. He didnt like leaving her alone, even if 
she knew the man. He didnt like the idea that she would be walking back to the 
Bell alone, even though this neighborhood, and the ones between here and the 
Bell, were safe enough.
But he had no excuse to linger, once Myste had “dismissed” him, and no place to 
wait for her to finish her business with the stage manager. Now he was sorry he 
hadnt scouted this area beforehand and found some place he could have holed up 
nearby. If she was going to actually get involved with these people
Still. She had her “throwaway purse,” just like hed taught her. If someone tried 
to rob her, shed toss that purse away and run in the opposite direction. And the 
Three Sheaves was very public. Even near the sleeping quarters, there were 
people coming and going all night. If something happened, her Companion would be 
out of the Bells stable in a trice and on the way to help. Surely she couldnt 
get into trouble . . . he hoped.
He returned to the Bell alone, going in through the hidden door in the back of 
the stable to the secret room. There he changed his disguise for his gray 
leathers, and waited impatiently in the Heralds common room for her to return, 
sitting right at the window so he could see her when she did. Or at least, see 
her if she came anywhere near the front.
:She wont,: Kantor reminded him. :Shell use the back, just like you did. 
Alberich, shes more used to moving around in a city than you are.:
Well, that was true enough. Especially this city, at least the reasonable parts 
of it.
It felt like half the night, rather than just a candlemark or so, before he 
“heard”rather than sawthe Herald-Chronicler at last.
:Im back. Everything went smoothly; its a distinct advantage to go disguised as 
yourself. Dont get yourself in a knot, Alberich,: she said cheerfully. :Ive got 
good news for you. Just let me change into my uniform.:
He signaled a girl and ordered hot wine for both of them, knowing that by now 
she must be frozen. She was, thankfully, faster at changing her clothing than 
most women he had encountered. The hot wine he ordered was barely on the table 
when she came in, lenses glittering in the lamplightand fogging up in the 
transition from cold outside to warm and humid inside.
“So,” she said, without preamble, sliding onto the bench across from him. She 
took off her lenses to polish them on a napkin before replacing them on her 
nose. “Heres what weve got. You want to know how Norris started up this whole 
show in the first place?”
“All information is useful,” he admitted.
“So Ive learned.” She took a sip of wine. “There were a lot of people displaced 
by the Tedrels as you know, and quite a few of them ended up here in Haven. Your 
boy Norris is supposed to be from near the Rethwellan Border, and managed to get 
separated from the entertainment troupe hed been with. Laric didnt say how, and 
I didnt ask. Supposedly, he hitched up with a caravan, doing acrobatics to amuse 
everyone around the fire at night, and ended up at the Three Sheaves along with 
the caravan. Supposedly, the rest of his group was going to come up to Haven and 
find him, and they never did. He wasnt minded to sign up with the Army, but he 
was running up a big bill at the inn, when he got the idea to put together his 
own new troupe from some of the other ragtags of entertainers that were drifting 
in so he could pay that bill without getting put to work in the kitchen. Thats 
the story, anyway; I suspect at least part of its true. Hes definitely an actor, 
and hes better than anyone else of the bunch. Hes got em all charmed, thats for 
sure, and now that theyre doing just as well as he promised they would, there 
isnt a one of them will hear a word against him. I dont know if hes from 
Rethwellen, because hes damn good at putting on and taking off accents. He did 
at least four in my presence.”
Alberich almost choked on his wine. “You saw him? You talked to him?”
Myste shrugged. “It was after I made the bargain with Laric; we were looking 
over the office Im going to use. He swanned in with two women on his arms, Laric 
told him I was going to be checking the books. He looked at me, saw a dowdy 
lump, wafted a little charm in my direction just to keep his hand in, and 
promptly forgot me as soon as he turned around and headed out the door. I told 
you that its useful being a clerk. Nobody ever pays any attention to us. Even 
that business with card counting; Larics the only one who ever caught on I was 
doing it. Everybody else just figured I was lucky.”
“Evidently so,” Alberich managed. How close a call had it been? He wished he had 
been there to see Norris reaction with his own eyes.
“Anyway, heres the thing; the innkeeper is the one taking in the receipts at the 
door, because he takes his room and board for the troupe right off the top, and 
now that theyve gotten popular, Laric thinks hes skimming. But nobody else can 
manage to cipher for the numbers that theyre bringing in of an evening now. So 
from now on, Im going to go every night theyre putting on a playwhich is once 
every two nightsand go over the books, the head-count, and the innkeepers 
tally.” She grinned. “And Im doing it all from the room next to Norris, which is 
Larics office. Which means that Ill be in a position to tell you when hes there, 
where hes gone if he isnt, when hes likely to be back, and to leave my own 
window open for someone to come and go. If you want to search his room for 
papers, I can make it happen.”
Alberich stared at her. “And for how long will this go on?”
“That, I dont know,” she admitted. “Laric wants me to come regularly at first, 
then taper off. He thinks, and I agree with him, that if the innkeeper is 
skimming, its going to be better not to confront him on it, just bring me in. 
They know what I was at the Three Sheaves, and theyll know why Im in Larics 
office with the tally boards. If the innkeeper knows were watching him, hell be 
honest, and by comparing the take over time, well know if hes been honest in the 
past. And knowing that Laric has me on tap will probably keep him honest when I 
stop coming around.”
“So, earliest on the best of our chances will be.” Alberich didnt like that, 
particularly, but there was an old saying that beggars didnt get to pick what 
they were given. And another that it didnt pay to inquire too closely about the 
age of a gift horse.
:Or, in my case, the color of his eyes,: Kantor said wickedly.
And Myste was right. The best way to find out what Norris was passing was to 
search his room for the papers before he got rid of them. Which meant that 
Alberich was going to have to find a way to copy them, because they might be in 
code, and he certainly wasnt going to be able to memorize them even if they 
werent
“Is there, perhaps, a way to copy such things?” he asked.
“Several,” she assured him. “Rubbings, if hes using graphite or a crayon, 
damp-paper transfer if hes using ink. I can show you. We do that all the time to 
make emergency copies. Of course,” she added judiciously, “when you do that, you 
get a mirror-image, but thats no great problem.”
Alberich took in a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh. “Mystevery well have 
you done. Thank you.”
She made a face. “Well, if youre doing the dangerous bitand I assume itll be you 
climbing in that window and not some lowlife from around Exiles Gate that you 
hiredIm doing the tedious part. Here I was, pleased Id finally gotten out of 
doing accounts, and here I am back into it!” Then she sighed and looked out the 
window. “And on top of my real work, too.”
“Worse, it could be,” Alberich reminded her. “On the battlefield, we could be.”
She gave him a wry glance. “Well,” she admitted. “There is that. Ill try to keep 
it in mind when Im trying to hide you or throw you out a window because your lad 
Norris came back early.”
And there just wasnt much he could say to that, so wisely, he said nothing at 
all.
***
But as Myste had pointed out, just because they were involved in this 
after-hours clandestine work it did not make their normal duties go away. He had 
his full set of classes to train, and as the season edged toward spring, the 
snow began to thaw, and the blustery winds began to blow, it became more and 
more of a challenge to hold classes out of doors. At least that wretched game of 
Hurlee was put on hold, for the ice on the ponds was getting rotten and not to 
be trusted, but the ground was alternately frozen mud or slushy snow, so the 
game couldnt be transferred to some sort of playing field. And, oh yes, he had 
already heard that there were plans afoot for that, though the players would 
have to run, rather than sliding. The next thing hed probably hear was that the 
Heraldic Trainees were going to try it Companion-back. . . .
Meanwhile, the replacement mirror finally arrived and was installed. The two 
miscreants who began that particular adventure were as responsible for creating 
the new one as destroying the old one, being the ones who had spent an 
interminable amount of time polishing it to rid it of as many defects as 
possible. Both Deans decreed that their term of punishment at the glassworks was 
at an end although they would still be serving double-chores at the Collegium 
for well into the summer. They had missed the entire Hurlee season, and whenever 
an animated discussion of the game began, their faces were a study in adolescent 
disappointment. Alberich wasnt at all surprised. If ever there were two rascals 
who might have been born to play a game like Hurlee, it was those two. And it 
occurred to him that this, alone, might be the worst punishment that could have 
been inflicted on them. They had missed out on the creation of the game, they 
had missed out on becoming some of the first experts. From now on, the best they 
could hope for was to play catch-up to some other ascendant star.
And in a way he felt just a little guilty, for if it hadnt been for his own 
curiosity about where they had picked up their wild ideas, he would never have 
investigated the actors, and never have known that there was something going on.
He still didnt know what it was, of course, but at least he knew there was 
something. Now he had a fighting chance to discover what it was, and whether or 
not it was dangerous.
Nevertheless, he had an important duty to perform, right there at the Collegium, 
and it was one that he could not give less than his total attention to during 
the hours when he was teaching, and no few of the hours outside of that time.
He was training those who would one day become Heralds how to stay alive, when 
other people wanted them dead.
And that was a massive task.
It began with the youngest or the least experiencednot necessarily the same 
thing, as his tutelage of Myste had provenand the basic skills of hand and eye 
coordination, and familiarity with weapons. And while they were learning these 
things, he was studying them, to determine what their lifelong weaknesses would 
be (for there had never been a person born who had so perfect a physique that he 
didnt have one) and how to make them aware of the fact.
Then, he would move them into the next stage of their traininghow to compensate 
for those weaknesses.
By then, they were roughly halfway through their years as Trainees; they had 
mastered basic skills, and they were as strong and flexible and coordinated as 
they were ever likely to get. There were exceptions to that last, of course, but 
those were the exceptions that proved the rule. If they had found him a hard 
master before, he was harder still at that point, because no one, no one, ever 
likes having a weakness pointed out, and human nature is such that when one is 
pointed out, the natural reaction is to try to deny it exists.
Which was why he would go from master to monster at that point, until not even 
the most persistently self-delusional could continue to believe anything other 
than that the problem was real, and Something had to be done about the problem.
Sometimes the weaknesses were physicalrestricted peripheral vision, for 
instance. Sometimes they were mental. Often, they were emotional, and the 
biggest lay in the very natures of those who were Chosen as Heralds. These 
youngsters did not believe in the goodness and decency of their fellow man, they 
knew it. It was fundamental to their souls.
And he had to, somehow, prove to them that their fellow man was very likely to 
plant a knife in the middle of their backs without destroying that deep and 
primitive knowledge. As Heralds, they had to go into every day expecting that 
the people around them would all act as ordinary, fallible, but decent human 
beings who, given the chance, would act decently and humanely. They also had to 
be prepared for the eventuality that those around them would do nothing of the 
sortand be able to cope with such a contradiction without going a little mad.
Not that all Heralds werent already a little mad, butnot that kind of mad.
Then, once the weaknesses had been identified and acknowledged, he had to train 
them to compensate for the weaknesses.
It would have been infinitely easier to do this had his students been, say, 
Karsite Cadets. Only physical and mental weaknesses would have to be dealt with, 
because emotional weaknesses literally did not matter to the Sunsguard so long 
as they were locked down tightlyand he could have proven those weaknesses to 
them with sheer, brute force, by persistently attacking them at those weak 
points until even a blind man could see what was wrong. Persuasion always took a 
lot longer than hammering something home.
He was generally in that last stage only with those who were in the last year of 
their Trainee statusit was far, far easier to work with these Trainees, who were 
quite ready for Whites if only they had a little more experience and skill. For 
them, he was a mentor, not a monster.
It had occurred to him, and more than once, that here in the Collegium the 
Trainees were put through a kind of forced-maturation process that sent them out 
into the greater world at eighteen, nineteen, or twenty with the mental and 
emotional skills of someone well in his thirties or older.
Alas, most of his time was spent in being the tyrant with the heart of stone.
This was never more true than when the energy level of those in his class was 
such that the students were near to bouncing off walls as they entered the door 
of the salle, and he turned them right around and took them outside to run their 
drills in the mud, the slush, the half-frozen snow, and no matter if it was too 
wretched out to be doing any such thing. Cold, dampness, and dirt werent going 
to harm them any; if they got too cold, he knew the signs and always sent them 
back into the salle to warm up at the oven. Not that there was any chance of 
getting cold enough to fall ill, unless something odd happened to keep them 
standing about soaked to the skin.
The Blues, of course, were exempt from this if they chose. However, if they 
declared their unwillingness in such a way as to be insubordinate, rather than 
merely electing not to show up for lessons, he had a weapon to either bring them 
to heel or get rid of them entirely.
Such as todaywith one of the classes that was in their middle, and most 
difficult period of development.
And they roared into his salle already in full antagonist mode.
The battle lines were already drawn; Blues versus Trainees, one ringleader 
facing off for each side. The insults were flying. Blows would follow, in a 
moment.
Except that Alberich waded right into the middle of it, and sent both of them to 
the floor with a blow to the ear, and the silence that descended was absolute.
“Well,” he said crisply. “Before it begins, I care not how it started, nor who 
started it. You brought it into my salle. You will take it out again. There will 
be no second mirror to be replaced.”
A nervous titter came from behind him. He didnt turn to look. Neither boy had 
moved, and he gave them both looks that should have turned them to ice. “I 
said,” he enunciated carefully. “You will take it outside. You wish to fight? 
Well enough. Outside. It ends when I say it ends, and I will be the judge of the 
winner.”
The Trainee on the floor had the sense to go pale; he, at least, must have some 
inkling of what Alberich meantwhich was to let the fight go on until they were 
both too exhausted, bruised, and battered to stand. There would be no winner, 
short of one of the two being knocked unconscious, which, with the bare hands of 
a pair of boys fundamentally unskilled in bare-hand fighting, was unlikely. This 
was, actually, why Alberich did not teach bare-hand fighting to anyone who had 
not passed into that third and final stage of development. . . .
But the Blue was one of Alberichs personal headaches. Arrogant, assertive and, 
unfortunately, skilled enough to have earned the right to a part of that 
arrogance. Alberich would have gladly rid himself of the boyKadhael Corbieif he 
could have. Unfortunately, that was out of his hands. Kadhael was in the class 
unless and until he took himself out of it.
The boy looked him up and down, and sneered. “No,” he said.
Someone gasped.
Alberich did not move, and did not change his expression by so much as a hair. 
“I do not believe I heard you correctly,” he said evenly, trying to suppress the 
thrill of glee the boys insolent answer gave him. “What, precisely, did you 
say?”
“I said, no. No, I am not going outside. No, I am not fighting by your rules. 
Who are you to give me orders, old man?”
Alberich smiledand Kadhael took one look at the smile and suddenly realized that 
he had made so fundamental a mistake that there was not going to be any evasion 
of the consequences.
“I,” he said quietly, and with the perfect and precise control of Valdemaran 
grammar that came upon him in moments of stress “am the Collegium Weaponsmaster. 
As such, when I choose to exercise my rank, within the four walls of my salle 
and on its grounds, I outrank, by Valdemaran law, every man, woman, and child in 
Valdemar save only the Monarch. And within these four walls, the Monarch is my 
equal, not my superior.”
And it was all perfectly true. How else could he properly teach the sons and 
daughters of the highborn? How else could he train high-ranking Guards? How 
could he drill the greatest warriors and nobles of the realm? How could he ever 
train the Heirs, if he did not outrank them? To properly train, there would be 
injuries. They might be serious. And the Weaponsmaster could not be held 
responsible for such injuries. To be trained, the Weaponsmaster must know his 
orders would be obeyed, and the only way to be sure of that was to see that his 
rank on these grounds was higher than anyone elses in the land.
Which was whythough he had not learned this until after Dethor had retiredhe had 
that special status within the salle and on the grounds.
Kadhael looked as if the blow Alberich had given him had knocked every particle 
of sense right out of his head. He stared, he gaped, he looked as if he could 
not rightly understand a word of what had been said. “But”
“And since you choose not to abide by the laws of this, my Kingdom,” Alberich 
continued, still smiling. “I banish you. Now and forever.”
“What?” Kadhael stammered.
“Out. Go. Do not ever present yourself as my pupil. You may tell your father why 
you are not here, or not. I care not. I will report this matter to the Queen, 
the Lord Marshal, and the Provost Marshalsince you are not a Trainee, I shall 
not trouble any of the Deans with it.”
“You cant do this!” Kadhael protested wildly, paling. Alberich knew why. 
Kadhaels father had watched Alberich fight and train the Guards for months 
before the boy had been sent to the salle with a class. Kadhaels father knew 
that there was not enough money in Valdemar to purchase the services of a 
trainer as good as Alberich.
Kadhaels father would be very, very unhappy about this.
“I can. I have.” Alberich eyed the boy consideringly. Should he?
:Oh, go ahead, do,: Kantor answered.
He bent down, and grabbed the boy by the back of his tunic and hauled him to his 
feet. Without much effort, be it addedKadhael was just about Alberichs size and 
weight, but he was still an uncoordinated adolescent, not a trained, honed 
warrior. Alberich tightened his grip just enough that the fabric half-choked the 
boy, eliminating any more babble out of him.
“I will, because you do not seem to understand your own tongue properly, repeat 
myself,” Alberich said, with no anger whatsoever. “You are banished from the 
salle and the grounds. You are no longer a student here. You are leaving now, 
and you will never return. If you do, I will personally thrash you until you 
cannot stand, and throw you off the grounds again. Training here is a privilege, 
not a right. You have just proved you do not deserve to enjoy that privilege.”
And with that, he frog-marched the boy out the door, down the path, to the very 
edge of the training grounds. And with great care and utmost precision, he 
pitched the insolent brat right into the biggest, muddiest patch of slush that 
he thought he could reach.
He did not even wait to see if Kadhael went headfirst into it, or managed to 
somehow save himself. He turned on his heel and marched back into his salle.
No one had moved. This was good. He wasnt going to have to discipline anyone 
elseyet.
He raked them all with his stony gaze. “More objections, do I hear?” he asked, 
raising one eyebrow.
Silence.
“Then outside you will go. All of you.” He turned a stern gaze on the Trainee, 
who was still sitting on the floorOsberic, that was the boys name. “Osberic,” he 
continued, and the Trainee flinched. “Since no opponent you have now, yet 
equally of guilt you are to have brought a fight within my walls, it will be me 
that you face. Fetch two staves, and follow. Even practice swords, I will not 
ruin in this muck.”
He would not be too hard on him. Putting him on his face or back into the mud 
two or three times would be enough.
:He started the fight,: Kantor put in. :Not that Kadhael wasnt trying to goad 
him into starting it, but he did start it.:
All right. Four. Teach the boy to hold his temper.
:Good answer. Im going to watch.:
Alberich smiled as he walked out into the cold again and saw that there was no 
sign of Kadhael, other than a vaguely human-shaped depression in the slush. 
:Please do.:
The boys had formed up in a rough circle, and Osberic came up to Alberich with 
two fighting staffs and a hangdog look. Alberich took one without looking at it,
“Consequences, Osberic,” he said as he squared off against the boy, who began 
circling him warily. “Say I will not, that a Herald loses not his temperbut 
aware a Herald is, that consequences there are for doing so.”
His staff shot out at ankle-level, tripping Osberic. Down he went.
He picked himself back up, and aimed a blow at Alberichs head. Alberich blocked 
it, riposted, and let the boy block him. “So think youhad there a fight been, 
what consequences there would be?”
“Uh” Osberic tried again, was blocked again. “Lord Corbie would get me in 
trouble?”
“Wrong.” Alberich flipped the staff at Osberics ankles; the boy dodged, and 
Alberich flipped the other end around to thwack him in the buttocks and send him 
into the slush again. “Lord Corbie would protest to the Queen, who would be 
forced to go to the Dean, who would have to answer to why discipline was so lax 
among the Trainees that a highborn fought a Trainee.”
Osberic picked himself up, flushing. “My fight would get the Heralds in 
trouble?”
“Correct.” Alberich let the boy try a few more blows; not bad, but he wasnt 
going to get through Alberichs defenses any time soon. “And who else?”
“The Queen?” Osberic hazarded.
“Correct. Now, why will there be no trouble for what I did with Kadhael Corbie?”
Osberic didnt answer, being a little too busy fending off a flurry of blows from 
Alberich, only to trip over a hardened lump of snow and land on his backside in 
an icy puddle.
:That should count,: Kantor said from the sideline.
:I agree.:
“Because,” Alberich continued as Osberic picked himself back up for the third 
time, “A proper and correct order gave I. Insolence I was given. My proper 
authority I exertedno temper, no beatings, no punishments, and only when more 
insolence and refusal was I given, did I remove Kadhael with prejudice. To his 
father he will go, yes, but his father will likely box his ears. Now, know you 
why I am drilling you thus?” Osberic came at Alberich yet again, Alberich let 
the boy drive him back.
“To punish me!” Osberic shouted, his cheeks burning with humiliation. “To make 
me look stupid in front of everyone!”
“No, that would the act of a bully be,” Alberich told him. “So that, should Lord 
Corbie protest it was you who began the fight, I can tell the Queen that you 
were punished, and all here will swear to that. This is not for you, it is for 
the Heralds, that all know that we tend to the misdeeds of our own in proper 
measure.” He then neatly sidestepped the last rush and tripped Osberic as he 
went past. Once again, Osberic measured his length in the mud. “A Herald cannot 
merely right be, Osberic. A Herald must guided by the law be. He cannot dispense 
the law, if he follows it not himself. He cannot dispense the law, if he thinks 
himself immune from it. He cannot dispense the law, if he will not deal it to 
his fellows in the same measure as he does to those whom he has in charge.”
“Yessir, Herald Alberich,” Osberic groaned from the ground.
“And that is why, for fighting, you have also been punished in this way,” 
Alberich continued. “Now, back into the salle. There is work to be done.”
They were all quick to follow the order, but none so quick as Osberic.
10
Kadhael Corbie disappeared from the Court and Collegia entirely. Not that 
Alberich would have noticed his absence, having banned the boy from the salle, 
but it wasnt long before there were murmurs and speculations among his students 
and the Courtand being that it was his business to know things, he heard every 
one of them. Rumor had it that the boys father was so enraged that he had gotten 
himself thrown out of Alberichs class and forbidden to enter the salle that hed 
sent the boy straight down to the family manor, there to languish in what the 
young lords and ladies called “rustification.” Since it was said to be a 
particularly dull and cheerless place, lacking in anything that a young man 
might find amusing, and since rumor also had it that Lord Corbie had sent orders 
for his son to be confined to the house and grounds until further notice, 
Alberich was perfectly satisfied that the punishment fit the crime.
On the other side of the table, Lord Corbie went to Selenay and also demanded 
the punishment of “the Trainee who started it,” and allegedly was nonplussed to 
learn that “the Trainee” had already been punished. And that the punishment fit 
his crime, since all he had done was to bring a fight into the salle and after 
being reprimanded, had behaved with the proper respect for the Weaponsmaster. 
The trouncingwith lectureat the hands of the Weaponsmaster in front of his peers 
was deemed both painful and humiliating enough, even for Lord Corbie.
And Lord Corbie had been quite taken aback to learn that it had all happened 
within moments of Kadhaels expulsion.
Without knowing much about the man, but intuiting a great deal from the behavior 
of his son, Alberich doubted that humiliation of Kadhael at the hands of “that 
foreigner” would ever be forgotten or forgiven, but at least there was nothing 
overt that Lord Corbie could do about the incident. Alberich had exercised 
precisely the correct amount of authority: hed been defied, he banished the 
offender. Not from any other classes at any other part of the three Collegia, 
only from his own. He had indeed ejected the boy by forcebecause the boy would 
have gone on defying him if Alberich hadnt physically thrown him off the 
premises. He had not exceeded his authority, and in point of fact, Alberich 
could have given the boy a taste of what Osberic had gotten, and hadnt. In fact, 
Kadhael had gotten off lightly at Alberichs hands, and not only was there no 
denying it, but both the Lord Marshal and the Provost Marshal (who was in charge 
of discipline on and off the Collegia grounds) said loudly and publicly that 
they would have boxed both his ears until he was deaf.
Nevertheless, Lord Corbie would not like the man who had rejected his son; he 
would not like the Collegium nor the organization that had given him the 
authority to do so.
One more enemy . . . but Alberich was used to those by now. He would have to 
watch his back, but when had he ever done anything else? And sure enough, within 
days, there were rumors in the Court about how the Weaponsmaster was abusing his 
pupils, abusing his authority, treating Heraldic Trainees with indulgence and 
punishing Blues arbitrarily. A few Blues were quietly absent from his class 
after that. But there was not a great deal that he could do about thatnor, truth 
to be told, wished to do.
As for Osbericaccording to Kantor, that very evening, when the Trainees bruises 
started aching and he started feeling particularly sorry for himself, his 
Companion had given him a good talking-to. Whether this was delivered in the 
form of a lecture or with sympathy, Kantor didnt saybut one thing was certain: 
when Companions took it upon themselves to correct their Chosen, the lesson 
tended to stick. Osberic was certainly properly contrite the next day, and if 
there was still a great deal of moaning about Alberichs hardheartedness, at 
least no one among the Heraldic Trainees was claiming he was a bully or a 
sadist. Hardhearted, he could live with. In fact, the more hardhearted they 
thought him, the better off they would be in the long run.
Though shortly after the Kadhael incident, there was one little lad who would 
not have agreed with that estimation.
He was one of the “Tedrel orphans,” brought in by the Companion Cheric the very 
same day as Osberic and Kadhaels chastisement. It took a day or two to get him 
settled into the Collegium, so Alberich didnt see him until his mentor, Trainee 
Rotherven, brought him by himself to the salle, shortly after the last class of 
the day.
Alberich was overseeing a set of Guards working out with maces, when the door to 
the salle opened and a final-year Trainee came in with a very small boy at his 
side. Alberich left the two to continue their bout, and walked over to the door 
where they waited politely.
“This is a new Trainee, Weaponsmaster,” Rotherven said, leading the young boy by 
the handa very young boy indeed, no more than seven, if Alberich was any judge. 
He was rather angular, with an unruly thatch of no-colored hair, but very 
intelligent eyes, and a look about him that was vaguely familiar. And when he 
got a good look at the Weaponsmaster, the boy gaped at him with shockthen 
awethen spun to look up at his mentor with a look just short of accusation.
“You did not tell me this was the Great Rider!” the child exclaimed, and 
Alberich knew immediately by the trace of a Karsite accent that this must be one 
of the children brought out of the Tedrel camp after the end of that final 
battle.
“Great rider?” Rotherven said, his brow furrowed with puzzlement. “But”
“Never mind, I understand him,” Alberich interrupted. He looked down at the boy 
with some bemusement. So that was why the boy looked vaguely familiar; he was 
Karsite, or at least, half Karsite. Most of the hill-folk shepherds were 
mongrels by Sunpriest standards anyway. “So,” he saidin Karsite, “we have 
another of the Suns children come to be a White Rider, eh?” This one must not 
have been too damaged by his experiences, or he wouldnt have been Chosen so very 
young. “There are others here, not as White Riders, but as Selenays pages. You 
wont be alone.”
“Oh.” Relief suffused the boys features. “I did not know that, Great Rider”
Alberich looked up at Rotherven. “Selenay has perhaps five or six Tedrel 
orphans; in her service as pages they are. See that this lad meeting them is, 
please. Perhaps a playfellow he will find among them.”
Then he looked back down at the boy and continued the conversation in Karsite. 
“Also, there is Priest Gerichen, a true man of the Sunlord. You may go with the 
others to the Temple of the Sunlord if you wishthough they do not call it that 
here, but rather, the Temple of the Lord of Light. And if you do not wish to do 
so, you need not. You are free to serve who you wish, here.”
“I still serve the Sunlord, Great Rider,” the boy said quietly. “The Sunlord of 
the Prophecy.”
“Then you will find His House yonder in Haven, and Gerichen at His altar,” 
Alberich replied, suppressing a smile at the childs solemn demeanor. It was 
quaint and charming, but a little sad also. Those children had been forced to 
grow up far too quickly. “I have it on the best authority that He approves of 
the White Riders and all they stand for, and that there is nothing in the 
pledges that a White Rider must make that run counter to His will. Quite the 
opposite, in fact. In serving as a White Rider, you will also serve Him. You 
will be a hope and an example to our people, and repay some of the debt to those 
who saved and succored us, as I try to do.”
The childs face took on a look of fierce pride and determination. “I will not 
fail you, Great Rider!” he said, in tones that made it a vow. “I will not fail 
the Prophecy!”
Rothervens expression of bemusement, as he looked from Alberich to the boy and 
back again, made Alberich very glad that he had a great deal of practice in 
keeping his own face under control, or he might have laughed aloud.
“It is a great responsibility,” Alberich replied, as gravely as if the child was 
three times his actual age. “And a signal honor.”
“I do know that, Great Rider,” the child said, nodding. “Cheric has told me so. 
And it isall I could ever wish to be.”
“Excuse me, Herald Alberich, but I was supposed to tell you that young Theodren 
here is one of the orphans,” Rotherven said, then laughed self-consciously, “but 
obviously you already know that.”
“I do, but I thank you,” Alberich replied, and turned back to the boy. “So. I am 
glad to see you, Theodren. You will be learning weapons at my handsas any other 
Trainee. And you must call me Herald Alberich, not Great Rider. I am no greater 
than any of the other Heraldsthe White Riders. We are all brothers and sisters.”
“Yes, Herald Alberich.” The boy gave an odd little salute that he must have 
learned from the Tedrels. “I was afraid, when my friend Rotherven said I was to 
be given over to weapons lessons. Now I am not.” He smiled. “I was afraid the 
training would be likethe bad place.”
“It will be hard, but not like that other place, I promise you,” Alberich said, 
and turned back again to Rotherven. “He will be in the beginners class, of 
coursejust following luncheon, that would be.”
“Yes, sir.” The Trainees expression told Alberich everything he needed to know; 
evidently Theodren had been properly terrified when hed been told he was to 
learn weapons work, and Rothervens solution had been to bring him directly to 
Alberich so that he could see his teacher for himself. Or, perhaps, the 
suggestion had come from Rothervens Companion, who had been no mere colt when 
Rotherven was Chosen. “Thank you for talking to him; I think hell settle now, 
and I was a bit worried about him”
Alberich nodded. “You have done exactly what was needed, bringing him here. My 
thanks.” And to Theodren, “This young man is also my pupil, and he will be as a 
brother to you as well as a Brother Rider. You may give him your trust. He will 
also see that you meet the others brought out of the camp that are now in 
Selenays service, and perhaps you may find a friend or two among them, as well.”
The childs eyes shone with gratitude. “Thank you, Herald Alberich.”
Then Theodren looked up at Rotherven, and said, in Valdemaran that was much 
better than Alberichs, “Thank you for bringing me to the salle, Rotherven. 
Herald Alberich is the chief of those who came to save us, and I am honored to 
be taught by him.”
It was so formal, and so charming, that Rotherven couldnt help but smile. It was 
a kind smile, and Alberich knew at that moment that the older boy had been a 
good choice to watch over Theodren. “Well, good. And now youve met all your 
teachers, so lets get some dinner. Youll be back here after luncheon tomorrow.”
Alberich escorted them to the door of the salle, then watched the two of them 
off up the path back to the Collegium. As they disappeared into the twilight 
shadows, he felt Kantor coming up beside him. He put his hand on Kantors 
shoulder, and felt the Companions silken hide beneath his palm, warm and smooth.
:Cheric cant Mindspeak him very clearly yet, and the little lad was petrified,: 
Kantor told him. :He thought he was about to be put into one of those vile Boys 
Bands that the Tedrels used to “ toughen” the boys. Nasty training, if you could 
call it training. Kept them on short rations, more or less forced them to steal 
if they were going to keep from going hungry, but beat them within an inch of 
their lives if they got caught. Weapons training with real, edged weapons if you 
got hurt or died, too bad. Every infraction was punished with a beating, in 
fact. Small wonder he was terrified.:
:Well, Im glad he recognized me. I only hope he doesnt hero-worship me.: 
Alberich sighed. :Though it might be pleasant for me, it would do him no good.:
:I wouldnt necessarily agree with that.: Kantor nudged him affectionately. :You 
could do with a little hero-worship.:
:Adoration is for the Sunlord. I am content with respect,: Alberich replied, but 
rubbed Kantors ears with affection. :So long as I have the friendship of my 
Companion and a few good comrades, I am content,:
:Piff. I can think of one other thing you could do with.: Kantors eyes sparkled 
with mischief, and Alberich had a very good idea what he was talking about, but 
he pretended otherwise. After all, it was usually Kantor who managed a jest on 
Alberich, rather than the other way around.
:Yes, indeed,: he replied blandly. :I could do with my dinner.:
And he laughed aloud at Kantors exasperated snort.
***
The following day was very much business as usual, although during the day he 
found himself looking forward much more than usual to dinner, because Myste had 
sent down a note asking if she could join him then. He didnt know why, and she 
didnt tell him; probably it had something to do with the players. Since she 
clearly was comfortable with them and was not going to have to act in order to 
fit herself into a persona, he had elected to leave her to get used to the 
situation, and her “employers” to get used to her, before he asked her to 
actually do anything. Hed told her to let him know when she thought she was 
ready, and that was probably why she wanted to meet him over dinner.
And yetwell, he wouldnt be disappointed if it wasnt the business of the actors 
that brought her.
When she arrived with the servant that brought his dinner, as usual, helping to 
carry the baskets, he did note that her step was definitely light, and that 
there was more than a mere suspicion of a smile on her face. But she only spoke 
of commonplace thingsmore rumors about Kadhael, in fact, and more slurs about 
Alberich himselfuntil the servant had gone. And when he bent to uncover the 
first of the supper dishes, she held out a hand, forestalling him.
“Dinner can wait for a moment,” she said, as always when she was with him, 
speaking in Karsite. It was an effective hedge against anyone who might, 
somehow, have gotten in close enough to be listening. Not that Alberich expected 
anyone to manage, for hed have to get past the Companions to do so, but 
sometimes Trainees dared each other to particularly stupid pranks and it would 
be just his luck for one of them to sneak in to eavesdrop on the Weaponsmaster 
and overhear something he shouldnt.
“I assume you have a reason?” he replied.
She nodded. “First, I want you to see these.”
And she handed him a folded packet of paper; the paper itself was odd, thin, 
very light, very strong. He unfolded it.
And knew immediately what it was, because it was in cipher, and there was only 
one place at the moment where Myste would have gotten a packet of papers in 
cipher. They were the same papersor more of the samethat hed seen passed from 
Norris to Devlin!
“No, theyre not,” Myste said immediately, as if she had read his mind. Not that 
she needed to; she would know exactly what he was thinking at that moment. “In 
this case, its a packet that was passed the other way, from Devlin to Norris.”
He looked from it, to her, and back again, speechless for a moment. “Buthow did 
you”
Her grin widened, and she sat down with an air of triumph. “He gave them to me.”
Alberich also sat down, then. He had to. His knees wouldnt hold him. “If youre 
joking”
“Im not,” she replied with satisfaction. “I swear Im not. He gave them to me 
with his own lily-white hands. And do you know why?” She laughed, a rich and 
satisfied chuckle. “Because, my friend, he wanted me to copy them for him.”
Alberich had thought himself too surprised to react to anything by that point, 
but he felt his mouth gaping open, and shut it, and swallowed. “I think,” he 
said at last, “that you must tell me this from the beginning.”
But first, he leaned over and poured both of them a full cup of wine. He had a 
strong need for a drink, just now. Myste laced the fingers of both hands 
together over her knee, and looked as satisfied as a cat with a jug full of 
cream in front of her. “Sometimes,” she said, with a touch of pardonable 
smugness, “the person you need to keep an eye on someone isnt a spy, or a tough 
bully-boy. Sometimes it is exactly the kind of middle-aged, dowdy, forgettable 
little frump that no one looks twice at.”
“You arent dowdy or forgettable,” he said without thinking. “Or a frump.”
She looked inordinately pleased at that, but didnt interrupt her story. “It 
didnt take me long to get their books straight, and yes, the innkeeper has been 
skimming, and yes, he stopped immediately when he knew I was there to check on 
him. So since I was there anyway, both the players and their other staff started 
coming to me for other little things. You know, the odd letter from home to be 
read or written, arranging with a goldsmith to put something away for a rainy 
day, that sort of thing. And King Norris would come sailing by now and again, 
vaguely note that I was there, and be off againand whenever he came by, I always 
made sheeps eyes at him, which is exactly what he expected. Women throw 
themselves at him all the time, and if I hadnt acted infatuated, he might have 
suspected something. Well, that was how things stood, right up until last night, 
when we had aninteresting situation.”
“Oh?” Alberich prompted.
“Theyd done a reduced-cast play for a private audience in the afternoon, and all 
the leads had to hurry back to the inn to do the main play that evening,” she 
said, her lenses gleaming. He didnt have to see her eyes to know that there was 
great satisfaction in them. “So Im sitting there in the office with folded 
hands, nothing much to do, and in comes Norris himself and for once, hes looking 
for me. Can you make a fair copy of something without knowing the language? he 
asks. I gave him a look”
She tilted her head slightly, and showed Alberich the expression of dazzled 
infatuation she must have given Norris.
“and I said, Of course I can, Im a clerk! If we stopped to actually read what 
were copying, wed never get half the work done that we do! Eye to hand to paper, 
and no stopping at the brain, thats us And before I can say anything else, he 
dropped this in front of me.” She indicated the packet. “And some paperif you 
can believe itthats even lighter than this is. Im in a hurry, says he, and I 
havent time to do this myself. I need that transcribed in the smallest hand you 
can manage onto that paper, then burn the original. And I need it by the time Im 
off the stage tonight. I looked at him like I didnt care so long as the job was 
for him, and didnt ask why. He didnt tell me, he just rushed straight out, and I 
heard the wardrobe mistress screeching for him, so he must have been late for 
costuming. The rest is easy enough. I made his copy and tossed the original out 
the window to Aleirian, who carried it away.”
“Good God,” he breathed. “I wouldnt have thought of that.”
“I didnt,” she admitted. “Aleirian did. Anyway, then I kept an ear out to gauge 
the progress of the play, copied as many pages of the original again in the 
original size as I could fit in the time left, made them the top sheets in a 
stack of blanks, and when he got offstage and came for his papers, he saw that 
packet merrily burning away and assumed Id burned the original the way I was 
told. He was damned careful, too; he stayed there until all the papers were 
burned, then broke up the ash until there wasnt a fragment the size of the head 
of a nail. Then he went off. I assume that he must have gotten the originals at 
that private performance. And I guess that my copies must have gone out that 
night, because he just flew out the door with them. It wouldnt have been hard. 
You could have rolled the lot up and hidden them practically anywhere.”
“I can probably find out who and where when we know what is in these,” he 
replied absently, unable to believe his good luck. “What did he do when you gave 
him the copy, besides watch the papers burn?”
“Well, he made an excuse for hanging about while he made sure the papers were 
gone by pouring charm all over me until I was practically gagging on it,” she 
replied, a chuckle in her voice. “And I gazed at him adoringly like he expected 
me to, and hung on his every word, and vowed that if I could ever do something 
for him again, he had only to ask. He went away never thinking twice about 
having entrusted me with papers in cipher.”
Surely they couldnt be that lucky. “Youre sure it wasnt some sort of trap” he 
said warningly.
“Well, of course anything is possible,” she replied. “But he wasnt expecting a 
Herald, or Aleirian, and, wellAlberich, I know that kind of man. I ran into them 
all the time when I was a girl and my best friend was the prettiest girl in our 
quarter.” She sighed, and for a moment, that good humor and sparkle faded. “The 
first time, and even the second and third, that a handsome boy came and poured 
that kind of charm and flattery all over me, I fell for itbut after three times 
of being fooled and finding out that they were only being nice to me because 
they wanted to meet my friend, I became immune to it.”
His mouth formed a silent “Oh.”
She shrugged. “Its one of those things that plain girls learn, Alberich. You 
just get used to it after a while. Well, your lad Norris might be one of the 
best in Valdemar at charming people, but someone like me” she shook her head. 
“Actually, hes never encountered someone like me, I suspect, because we wont 
throw ourselves at him; we know better. Hell never even see the plain ones who 
are on to his little gamethey might be at the performances, and theyll certainly 
admire his acting ability, but so far as lingering on the off chance theyll meet 
him, it will never happen. So he looked at me and saw a plain, frumpy little 
mouse with a little mouses job, who looked at him with eyes of adoration, and 
figured he knew exactly what I was and how he could use me. And best of all, he 
wouldnt have to actually do more than give me a bit of attention, because 
someone like me would never, ever expect someone like him would want to romance 
me.” The cynical laugh she uttered at that moment made him wince, and he 
wondered then about the young girl in lenses whod been tricked three times by 
manipulative boys. “Oh, no, a crumb of attention to cherish in the darkness of 
my little closet of a room, thats all he needed to give. Id be his slave 
forever, and never demand anything out of him.”
“Myste” He swallowed. “I apologize.”
She started, and stared at him. “For what?” she asked.
“For people like him.” He shook his head. “I am sorry.”
She laughed again, but this time the humor was back in her voice. “Good gods, 
Alberich, dont be. Trust me, the injuries to my heart, such as they were, 
scabbed over a long time ago, and the scar is a useful reminder. If I hadnt been 
hurt and used by all those heartless boys back in the day, Id never have been 
able to see right through your lad Norris, would I? So dont think Im living with 
a tragic past! Good gods, compared to at least half of the others that have gone 
through these walls, its a teacup tragedy at worst, and a farce at best.” She 
winked at him. “Besides, I saw my pretty best friend not long ago. Shes tripled 
in size, shes had a baby a year, and her handsome husband chases tavern girls. 
Have pity for her, not me.”
“Ah.” He felt a good deal better. At least she wasnt likely to reject him out of 
hand if
“Besides,” she chuckled again, “it gives me an appreciation for men who blurt 
out youre not a frump, and not some carefully rehearsed speech, who say it 
without even thinking about it, and who then go on to apologize for the vagaries 
of their sex.”
“Ah” he felt his face burning. “Er”
“I think you might be sitting too near the fire,” was all she said then. “Now, 
about dinner? We shouldnt let it get cold.”
***
Lord Orthallen had asked, had requested, in writing, an informal meeting with 
Selenay. She had invited him to dinner, in her own suite. Not alone, of course; 
theyd be surrounded by servants, but it would certainly be informal. She was 
intensely curious; the note had a certain apologetic tone to it that she couldnt 
quite put her finger on.
The first course arrived, and was complimented, without her curiosity being 
satisfied. She sipped her wine as the second course was plated and served. She 
felt she could afford to be patient.
“My dear Selenay,” said Lord Orthallen at last, over the third course. “I have 
done you a grave disservice.”
She motioned to a page to refill his wineglass. “Yes, my lord,” she said 
somberly, “I think you have.” She was not going to pretend that she did not know 
exactly what he was talking about. He had been the prime instigator of that 
wretched plot to get her married off, and she was not in the least happy about 
it, and what was more, she intended for him to know it.
He sighed, and grimaced a little. “In my own defense, I was trying to protect 
Valdemar from being in the precarious position of having no Heir. But I am 
afraidtruly and sincerely, Selenay, I was afraid, I was dreadfully afraid, and I 
still am. I never dreamed we would be in this position. Sendar should have been 
King for decades yet. You are a very young woman, and we have just fought a 
hideous war”
“And Valdemar needs to look strong, not vulnerable, I know, Orthallen,” she 
replied with spirit, and with some heat. “But didnt it occur to you that rushing 
me into a marriage is going to do the very opposite of making us look strong? 
Why would I suddenly wed the first candidate presented to me, if I wasnt 
desperate? I might as well send out letters to every likely ally we have, saying 
that Im up for sale to the highest bidder!” She frowned at him, and he looked 
pained.
“I know, I know,” Orthallen replied, flushing. “And if I had possessed any 
sensitivity or common sense where you are concerned, I would have come directly 
to you, rather than laying it all out in front of the Council”
“So it was your idea.” Selenay gave him a hint of the anger she felt in her 
gaze. Shed been certain it was all along, as had some of the others, but now, at 
last, he had admitted it.
“To my shame.” He nodded. “Not that the men we presented are not fine”
“My lord,” she said, interrupting him with exasperation as well as a feeling of 
real depression, “although I would give a very great deal to be like other young 
ladies and at least be able to dream of finding a great romantic love, I am not, 
and I know it.” She heard her own voice retaining its steady, reasonable tone, 
despite the lump in her throat, and felt a moment of pride at her own 
self-control. “I am Queen, and when I wedwhich I must, for the people would not 
accept an Heir born out of wedlockit is for Valdemar, not myself. But my father 
did find a lady who suited him well enough that he never remarried, and I at 
least hope to be able to find a friend, if not a lover. I will not find such a 
Consort by being rushed into an imprudent marriage. And I cannot find one if I 
have twelve dozen potential husbands shoved at me every time I turn about!”
Orthallen flushed again. “Sendar might not have been in love with your mother 
when they agreed to marry,” he said quietly, “but he came to love her, deeply, 
and she him. And they were great, good friends before they wed.”
She spread her hands wide, ignoring the fork in one of them. “So you see that I 
am right.”
“Indeed, I do see,” he agreed. “And I was wrong, very wrong. I was just afraid 
that” he laughed, self-consciously, “well, there are a number of fine young 
foreign princes out there, younger sons, whose fathers would be very happy to 
cement an advantageous alliance with us. Perhaps too advantageous. Especially if 
one of them managed to make you infatuated with him. My thought was thatWell, at 
the least, we could keep your interest here at home.”
She sniffed. He took the hint. “Well, you have given me every reason to agree 
with your point of view, and I believe you have convinced me. I will approach my 
fellow Councilors and suggest that the subject should be tabled for the 
foreseeable futureand I will insist that our Queen is wise enough to choose her 
own future husband without our help.”
She exhaled a long sigh of genuine relief “And I thank you for that, Orthallen. 
You cannot know just how much easier that makes me feel.”
“Oh, perhaps I do, I little,” he replied genially. “Your father was none too 
pleased at the prospect himself, and he was not even King when the idea of 
marriage was first broached to him.”
As the meal progressed, Orthallen first told her about her fathers reluctant 
search for a prospective bride, and how he had eventually settled on her mother 
when after a month went by without her throwing herself at his feet, he asked 
her whyor rather, why not. After all, every other young woman of rank and spirit 
had. . . .
“And she told him that she would, on the whole, prefer to be his sister than his 
wife!” Orthallen laughed, shaking his head. “And when he asked her why, she told 
him that she had more desire for his library than for him!”
All this was new to Selenay; she stared at him, not quite believing it. “And 
what did he say?”
“That he would rather at least have someone he could talk to, and that anyone 
who wanted his books that badly was someone who could hold an interesting 
conversation.” Orthallen smiled. “She certainly intrigued him; and I think most 
of what intrigued him at first was that she wasnt trying to intrigue him, she 
really felt that way. She was inordinately shy, you know. And then, when she 
proposed to him, she made him agree that she would participate as little as 
possible in Court life before shed even entertain the merest idea of marriage 
with him.”
“But she was happy?” Selenay felt she had to know.
“Oh, very,” Orthallen assured her. “And by the end of a year of marriage, as 
much in love with Sendar as any woman could be. And he with her. Remarkable, 
really. Usually the most one can expect from a marriage of state is an easy 
partnershipa business relationship, of a kind.”
Her heart sank a little at that, and Selenay couldnt help wondering if that was 
what she was fated to have. And she changed the subject.
Nevertheless, before the dinner was half over, she found that she had confided a 
great deal in Lord Orthallen, and not the least of those confidences involved 
her own, barely-articulate wishes forwellromance.
She was rather surprised at herself for spilling so much into his willing ears, 
and even more surprised when he seemed sympathetic and not at all dismissive.
:Hes certainly easier to talk to than Talamir,: she said to Caryo, after hed 
gone.
:On that subject, a doorpost would be easier to talk to than Talamir,: Caryo 
replied sadly. :At least Orthallen is well rooted in the here-and-now, enough to 
know that a young woman, Queen though she is, deserves to at least be able to 
dream. Poor Talamir.:
Poor Talamir, indeed. But at least now, and with Caryos tacit approval, Selenay 
had someone she could confide in.
And to her mild surprise, she found that it helped, a little.
Enough that she went to sleep that night, for the first time since the end of 
the Wars, without first lying awake for a candlemark staring into the darkness.
11
Something teased at the back of Selenays mind for the next several days, making 
her feel restless, full of nervous energy. Perhaps it was the season; spring was 
almost upon them, the early crocuses were already pushing their way up through 
the flower beds, the last of the snow was gone, the really wretched 
end-of-winter rains had begun, and now the days were long enough to make you 
believe that winter might actually end, after all. The air still felt raw, and 
other than the optimistic crocuses there was no sign of anything growing, but 
there were moments when the sun felt warm as a hand on the cheek, and when there 
was a hint of green-scent in the wind. Winter would end. Spring would come, and 
after it, summer, and a year would have gone by without her father. Time, they 
said, was a great healer. Some of her depression eased a little more with the 
lengthening days, certainly. Maybe it was due to the season, maybe she was just 
getting used to Sendar not being there anymore; there was no longer the blow to 
the heart when she entered the Throne Room and did not see him there, nor quite 
the feeling of emptiness when she took what had been his chair at the Council 
meetings. Not all of itoh, by no means. But enough that she was sleeping the 
night through, and not waking up to weep in the darkness.
Sometimes she even slept until her maids woke her, and it was a deep and 
thankfully dreamless sleep.
Orthallen was as good as his word. At the next meeting of the Full Council, 
before it was called officially into session, he asked for a moment to address 
the group personally. “This is not Council business, precisely,” he said. “But 
it is something that I would like the Council to hear.”
They all looked at Selenay; she nodded. The Seneschal called the meeting to 
order, and gestured to Orthallen. And when he had the silent regard of everyone 
around the table, he cleared his throat awkwardly, which was not like him at 
all. That alone got him the full and alert attention of everyone sitting there.
“My lords, my ladies, I believe that we have been pressing the Queen on an issue 
that really has no urgency at all,” he said, looking embarrassed. “And by that, 
I mean the issue of her choosing a spouse immediately. After due consideration, 
and more thought, I believe we have been overly hasty.”
Selenay inclined her head, accepting what he had said without saying a word 
herself. This was not the time to add her own thoughts. She wanted Orthallen to 
explain it all to the rest of the Council in his own words. Though there was one 
thing that struck her as odd, and that was the phrasing Orthallen had used. 
Spouse was a peculiar choice of word, when it came to the Queen of Valdemar. Why 
not say Consort, which was the traditional title if the ruler was the Queen, and 
the husband was not a Herald?
Perhaps it was because she had shown no real interest in any of the Heralds, but 
Orthallen did not want to make that too obvious. Now if shed had a candidate 
among the Heralds, shed have made her choice known immediately. It was a given 
that unless her husband was also a Herald, he could never be King and co-ruler. 
But stillgiven that none of the candidates were Heralds, why not just say 
Consort?
Maybe it was just that Orthallen was keeping the options open in their minds, 
eliminating neither the possibility of Consort nor King. Its been a long time 
since Valdemar had a Queen. Maybe its just slipped their mind that no husband of 
mine can rule unless hes a Herald. It might be just as well not to remind those 
of the Council who had forgotten that fact.
“It should be obvious to all of us by this time, that while the Queen is a young 
woman, she is not only capable, she is wise enough to know when she needs advice 
and guidance. She could lawfully have replaced all of us, and has not, because 
she trusts us as her father trusted us, and believes that we, who were her 
fathers advisers, are capable in ourselves.” He coughed, as a murmur went around 
the table. “We may be flailing about in the wake of our loss and casting for 
solutions to situations that are not actually problems.”
Selenay exchanged looks with the other Heralds on the Council; Kyril, the 
Seneschals Herald, Elcarth, and Talamir. Although Orthallen had included the 
rest of the Councilors in this “admission,” it was a signal departure for him to 
admit to making a mistake.
And they had been flailing about, as if she herself was a problem, before there 
had been any evidence of anything of the sort!
Orthallen cleared his throat again, and continued, reluctantly. She held her 
breath. Was he? Was he going to admit it? “Furthermore, by seeming to cast about 
frantically for a suitable candidate, we may be giving an impression of weakness 
to those who do not wish us well. As if we do not trust our Queen and our own 
ability to carry on in the absence of her father. We could be giving the same 
impression as a herd of sheep, milling about anxiously without a shepherd, and I 
do not need to tell you that there are wolves about.”
Another murmur, and Selenay stifled a smile, hearing Orthallen borrowing so 
heavily from her own argument. He did. He admitted Im right. I may only get 
apologies from him in private, but at least hes admitting that Im right in 
public. It was a triumph, but she was not going to gloat over it.
“I know that I was the one pressing most eagerly for such a weddingor betrothal, 
at leastbut I should like to urge that we drop the subject for now.” He 
shrugged, and no few of the other Councilors looked as embarrassed as he did.
“If you recommend so, Orthallen,” Lord Gartheser said hesitantly. “You know more 
about foreign affairs than the rest of us do.”
“I think it would be the wisest course.” And in that moment, Orthallen all but 
said, I was wrong. But he went on quickly, making an attempt to regain the face 
he had lost. “In all events, having the Queen so blatantly unattached can also 
work to our benefit. There are a number of young men of rank, of valuable 
connectionprinces, evenin other lands, who are also unattached. No doubt, their 
rulers will soon see that there is a way to bring Valdemar into close alliance 
by the closest of ties. So let us table this search for now, and get on with the 
business of the realm.”
Nods all around the table, a few reluctantwell, not surprising that the oldest 
Councilors were less than comfortable about a Queen, and a young one at that, 
and the oldest men were the ones least inclined to trust her to rule alone. Only 
time will cure that, she decided. Time or perhaps a change of Councilors. It 
wouldnt hurt for the Bardic and Healer representatives to retire, for instance. 
It would be better if there were more women on the Council. A woman who has made 
her own way in the world will be more inclined to see me as a leader and less as 
someone needing to be led. Perhaps she should also add an entirely new seat or 
two. Someone from one of the newer Guilds, perhaps? To have more people whose 
wealth was self-made rather than inherited could be of real benefit.
Orthallen moved on to some dispute between the Guilds of the Mercers and the 
Weavers while Selenays thoughts were elsewhere. She quickly brought her own 
attention to bear on the situation; it would not be a good idea to undo all of 
Orthallens work by seeming to be lost in other thoughts. She did notice that 
several of the Councilors actually waited to hear her opinion before voicing 
theirs, which was a pleasant change. The rest of the meeting proceeded in the 
same atmosphere, and if she felt a momentary resentment that shed had to get 
Orthallens “approval” before being granted the respect she was due, at least now 
she had that respect. And though it might be temporary, having gotten it once, 
it would be easier to regain it.
But once the meeting was over, as she and she and her escort of Guards and 
ladies wound their way back to her quarters, she allowed her thoughts to tend in 
other directions. Orthallens comment about foreign princes that struck a chord, 
and told her that that was what had been nagging at her all this time, since the 
Councilor had first voiced that idea over dinner.
What foreign princes? Certainly there had been no hints of such a possibility 
before now. No envoys had presented themselves, no inquiries had been voiced via 
ambassadors.
But perhaps they had all been waiting until her year of mourning was over. That 
would only be appropriate, really.
Assuming there are such mythical creatures, she told herself, as she entered the 
door to her suite, and the Guards took up their stations outside.
But they might not be mythical
Surely, though, if there were such young men wandering about unpartnered, she 
would be aware of them. Granted, her knowledge of highborn families outside of 
Valdemar was sketchy to say the least, but the only royal that she knew of was 
the King of Hardorn, and he had married an allegedly lissome young creature out 
of his own Court a little more than a year ago.
But would Orthallen have mentioned the possibility twice if it didnt exist?
So just what foreign princes were there, out there? She dismissed her ladies, 
and selected a gown to be worn at dinner while her maids drew a hot bath.
Did the Shinain have princes? She couldnt remember anything of the sort. :Caryo, 
is there such a thing as a Shinain prince?:
:Ive never heard of one.: Caryo sounded surprised. :I think they dont have 
things like Kings and Princes. I think they are an alliance of Clans.:
That tallied with the little that Selenay recalled, but perhaps some of the 
Clans were big enough that their Chiefs would qualify as princes. There were a 
great many Shinain after all. It was an interesting possibility.
She stepped into the bath that had been prepared for her, and chased the maids 
away while she soaked. As she relaxed in the hot lavender-scented water, she had 
a silly little vision of a strong, wild warrior, raven hair down to his waist, 
riding into Haven dressed in black furs and leathers, astridebareback, of 
coursea horse as black as his hair. And wouldnt that make a pretty picture, the 
two of them riding together, she all in Whites on Caryo, he on his midnight 
steed. . . .
She gave herself a mental shake. Ridiculous, of course; what Shinain nomad would 
ever leave the Plains, much less do so with the intention of marrying a foreign, 
civilized queen? Besides, even if he came here looking for her, he wouldnt stay. 
The Shinain never stayed away from the Plains for long, and she could scarcely 
leave Valdemar. What would the Shinain get out of such a marriage, anyway? 
Valdemar was too far from the Plains for there to be any advantage in an 
alliance at all. No, no, notoo easy to burst that particular bubble of illusion.
But who else did that leave? Rethwellan? Were there unmarried princes in 
Rethwellan? If there were, well, they at least shared a border with Valdemar, 
and it would be an advantage to them to have such an alliance, if only for trade 
advantages. Menmellith? Menmellith was a principality of Rethwellan, but she 
couldnt really recall anything at all about their ruling family. Not Karse, of 
course
Could there be interest as far away as Jkatha or Ceejay, which were just names 
on a map to her? Surely not; Valdemar didnt even trade directly that far away, 
so why would any stray princeling come wandering up here?
But there might be places she had never heard of. To the Northwell, Iftel was 
out of the question; no one ever came past their borders except a few favored 
traders who were remarkably close-mouthed about the place.
The bath was cooling; time to finish and get out, before someone came in here to 
scrub her. Stupid; shed bathed herself for the last fourteen years and more, so 
what was it about being a Queen that rendered her incapable of bathing herself 
now?
But the splashing as she emerged from the bath seemed to be some sort of signal 
that caused maids to swarm around her with towels and robes and scents and 
lotions. And for once, involved in her own thoughts, she let them fuss over her.
Once she was properly clothed in a lounging robe, they messed about with her 
hair while she continued her ruminations. North, other than Iftel, were the 
barbarians above the Forest of Sorrows. Surely not. Surely not. The idea of a 
greasy, violent, fur-clad brute was even more repulsive than some of the 
octogenarians the Council had suggested.
Were there little secretive kingdoms out in the West, in the Pelagiris Forest or 
past it? It was possible. There were certainly people out there, and not just 
the half-mythical Hawkbrothers. There were entire villages that looked to the 
Hawkbrothers for protection, so maybe there were Kingdoms in the West. But 
stillwhat possible advantage could they have in an alliance with Valdemar? 
Nothing that she could imagine.
Or were there men in other Kingdoms who were like the Great Dukes of Valdemar, 
who held enough power that they qualified as princes? There might well be; she 
hadnt had time to study such things. In such a case, for a younger son, there 
would be a great deal of prestige and advantage in marrying a Queen, even if it 
left the young man as nothing more than a Consort without ruling powers. His 
children would rule, if they were Chosen, and that might be enough. Separate 
trade agreements could be made with the family, and that might be enough. There 
was a great deal of difference between royal marrying royal, and royal stooping 
to wed a rank below hers. In that case, the advantages to be gained were almost 
all on the side of the lower rank.
:Surely theres something in the archives of letters from ambassadors and trade 
envoys,: Caryo said helpfully. :Or Seneschals Herald Kyril will know where to 
look. I should think that someone would know if we might expect a spate of 
foreign suitors.:
A foreign princeor more than onethe idea gave her a kind of fluttery feeling of 
excitement inside. Oh, they might well all be as impossible or even repulsive as 
the candidates shed been presented with so far, butat least they would be 
someone different.
And surely one would be older than an adolescent and younger than a graybeard. 
Maybe even handsomethough she wouldnt necessarily care, as long as he wasnt a 
monster. Someone she didnt know, that she couldnt predict, someone with entirely 
new ways and mannersEven if she didnt want to marry him, it would be interesting 
to have him in her Court.
It would be more than interestingit would be fascinating! She licked her lips, 
and hardly noticed the maids tugging at her hair.
I mustnt get my hopes up, she told herself. There might not be any such thing. 
If they exist, they might all be old. Or feeble-minded. Or already married. She 
shuddered involuntarily, as she realized that shed had a narrow escape without 
realizing it. If King Alessandar hadnt gotten wedded to his sweet young thingif 
hed still been alone
Well, he would not have let the opportunity to propose slip past, no matter how 
many sweet young things were in his Court. And the Council would never have 
allowed her to reject his suit. Hardorn and Valdemar had been allies for so very 
long that there had even been cases of Heralds coming to the rescue of 
Hardornans in the past. Even Herald Vanyel had done so; that was how he earned 
his title of “Demonsbane.” There would have been no way to gracefully turn down 
such a proposal.
Bright Havens, what a narrow escape!
She suddenly needed to know, and know with certainty, if there really was a 
possibility for a foreign suitor.
I have to know. And I truly have to know if there are any unwedded Alessandars 
just waiting for my year of mourning to be over
Well, there was one person to ask, and it wasnt Herald Kyril, however 
knowledgeable Kyril might be. No, Orthallen would be the one to ask. After all, 
he was the one who had brought it all up in the first place. If there had been 
such a position in her Council as Foreign Minister, he surely would have been 
the one to fill it; his knowledge of the lands outside of Valdemar was as 
exacting as hers was vague.
A foreign prince. . . . An easy thought to kick off daydreams, and it was a good 
thing that she was safely away in her own suite where no one would notice if her 
attention wandered.
When the maids were finished with her, she chased them out, all but one, whom 
she sent off with a note to Orthallen. They would discuss this tonight, after 
her dinner with the Court, for certain.
***
Alberich had a meeting of his own after dinner, and he had, with some regret, 
decided against inviting Myste to share it. No, there could only be one invitee 
to this “gathering,” and it had to be the Queens Own.
Talamir was, for once, very much alert and in the here and now as he examined 
the documents that Myste had purloined. Alberich had been reluctant to let them 
out of the salle; he was even more reluctant to let them out of his sight. 
Fortunately for all concerned, Talamir had no trouble in getting about, though 
he was stillwellfragile.
It was hard on a man to have been through all that Talamir haddying and being 
dragged back to life again must have been unthinkably grim. At Talamirs age, it 
had been more that, and Alberich was still surprised that he was reasonably sane 
afterward. In a way, he was doing far better than anyone had any right to 
expect.
:Yes, hes fragile, rather than frail,: Kantor agreed. :And a good half of that 
is mental, Id say.:
Except when something that required all of his attention was before him. Then he 
was the old Talamir again. It was the old Talamir that had appeared, unescorted, 
at the door of Alberichs rooms. It was the old Talamir, alert and in possession 
of all of his wits and wiles, who heard him out, and examined the documents with 
great care. Alberich hopedwildly, he knew, but stranger things had happenedthat 
Talamir would recognize the cipher, even be able to read it a little. The odds 
were very much against it, butwell, ciphers and secret messages were not part of 
the training of a Karsite Cadet, and the denizens of the vile dens down near 
Exiles Gate that he usually trafficked with were barely literate. Asking them to 
manage a cipher would be like asking a pig to dance on a tightrope.
“Well,” the Queens Own said, putting the pages down carefully. “I dont know 
enough about ciphers to make any sense of this. In fact, theres something we 
should consider, and thats the possibility that this might not even be in 
Valdemaran.”
Curses. Oh, well.
“Actually,” Alberich said with extreme reluctance, “it probably is not. If 
consider we do that it was intended for someone in another land, in that 
language it would be. Which could be anything.”
“So we have two puzzles to crack; the cipher itself, and which language its in. 
Still” Talamir rested his index finger along his upper lip, his eyes opaque with 
thought. “Still, were very much further on than we were before. If someone is 
going to this extreme to send messages in cipher, I think we can be pretty 
certain it isnt just Guild secrets or messages to a mistress. I will need to 
take these to an expert, I think.”
“I should, the originals prefer to keep here,” Alberich ventured, wondering how 
Talamir would take that. “Evidence, they may become.”
“Oh, certainly!” Talamir waved his hand dismissively, as if the idea of taking 
the originals was out of the question. “I would rather you did, too. Myste can 
make copies for me to give to” He hesitated a moment. “Well, forgive me, if I 
just tell you it is a fellow whose hobby is ciphers, one Ive taken such problems 
to before this. Odd little chap, but solid and true, and youd be surprised if 
you knew who he was. I wont tell you his name, though, if you dont mind.”
“Safer for him, if you do not,” Alberich agreed. “Secrets are secrets between 
two, in danger between three, and often lost between more than three.”
Talamir nodded, but with an air of assurance that he had been certain that 
Alberich would understand before hed asked the question.
“And, if you dont mind my saying it, it would be safer for Myste if she can get 
away from those actors,” Talamir replied. “But I doubt either of us could 
persuade her.”
“Of that, you may be sure,” Alberich sighed, having spent several marks 
fruitlessly attempting to persuade her to do just that. “ If I leave now, theyll 
be suspicious, and youll never get a chance to follow Norris and find out who 
hes meeting!” shed said, which, alas, was true enough. “ And if he trusted me 
once, hell likely trust me again. Think of what else I could get! What if he 
really runs out of time some day, and asks me to do the ciphering!” “More of 
these, she hopes to obtain,” he added.
“Well, the more samples, the better. If they change the cipher key, my man will 
spot that much right off.” Talamir pushed the papers across the table to 
Alberich. “Put those somewhere safe, and Ill come and get the copy”
“Tomorrow, Myste says,” Alberich began. “Two copies”
Talamir smiled. “Good! Then instead of my coming alone, lets have a little 
get-together with Jadus, and Crathach, too. With the originals hidden, you 
should be all right bringing the copies up to the Collegiumwe can meet in Jadus 
rooms. No one would see anything amiss in that, and you can safely give me the 
copies then. Clandestinely, if you like. Or just come along to my rooms to 
remind me of our gathering, and pass me the copies then.”
“That is the best plan. And I should like to see the others. Jadus isI have not 
seen much of him” Alberich said, feeling guilty.
“Because it isnt easy, learning to get about on one leg, and once he got his 
strength back, hes been working hard at it,” Talamir replied. “He hasnt had much 
time to spare for any of us but Crathach, my friend, but I think hes well on the 
road to feeling useful again. He wont be doing any dancing, but therell be a 
vacancy for a Herald in the Courts of Justice in Haven, and hell do well there.”
Alberich was relieved; Jadus probably would do well there, for his sound common 
sense if nothing else, and his soft ways would put frightened people at their 
ease. But when the time came for stern justice, Jadus was not a man to be put 
off by anything, or anyone.
“Tomorrow night, then,” Alberich agreed, and gathered up the papers.
Talamir stood. “I dont want to see where you put them, so Ill take my leave 
now.” He glanced at the stained-glass window, and raised an eyebrow. “Now I see 
why you put that bit of artwork in. Or one reason, anyway.”
“Yes. We cannot be watched, through such a thing,” Alberich replied.
“Hmm. And when I think of all the people who said you were the last person to 
put in Dethors shoes. . . .”
“Myself, included,” Alberich replied. Talamir gave him a penetrating look, then 
shrugged.
“I wouldnt have picked Myste as a spy either,” he said. “Good night, 
Weaponsmaster.”
When he was gone, Alberich folded the papers into their original packet, and 
felt carefully under the table until he found the catch that released a little 
drawer inside one of the thick legs. Dethor had shown it to him, so he was 
reasonably sure that no one else knew about it. There were hiding places like 
this all over the private quarters of the salle, but this was the only one that 
he could use without getting up. Probably there was no one out there trying to 
make sense of the shadows on the other side of the colored glass, but just in 
case there was, there would be no way to tell that Alberich had hidden 
something. It only looked as if he was reaching for his drink.
And there was another set of papers on the tabletop, just in case the shadows 
had betrayed that Talamir had been looking at papers. This was a report about 
bandit activity along the Karsite Border, something that Alberich could 
reasonably have an interest and expertise in. If someone came to the salle in 
the next mark or so, Alberich would take great pains to mention that report. It 
wasnt just that he was taking precautions about the papers Myste had stolen, he 
was protecting himself. There were a great many people in Court circles who 
distrusted “the Karsite,” besides those who had no reason to love him because he 
did not cosset their children. Sometimes he grew very tired of it all.
Layers upon layers; he envied Jadus and Elcarth and all the others who didnt 
have to live their lives weaving webs of subterfuge. He wished
Well, it didnt matter what he wished. He would, as a gambling friend of his had 
often said, play out the cards he had been dealt.
Complications, complications.
“My life is full of complications,” he said aloud. There was no answer. Vkandis 
knew it was true enough.
Another complication: Myste herself. Shed been on his mind all day. There had 
been no doubt in his mind that Myste had been discreetly flirting with him last 
night. And hed liked it. Hed even tried a little clumsy flirting back
:Not as clumsy as you think,: Kantor put in. :I was pleasantly surprised. Youve 
got a light: touch, when you care to use it.:
He felt himself blushing, but it was at least partly with pleasure. But what 
would the other Heralds think of this, if they realized that she and he were 
attracted to one another.?
:If they bothered to take any notice, theyll wait to see if you mind teasing, 
then give you both a bit of a word about it, now and again,: Kantor told him. 
:Other than that, theyd probably begin a betting pool as to when the two of you 
decided to stop flirting and get down to something serious.:
:Serious: he ventured.
:Bedding,: Kantor said bluntly.
Alberich bit his tongue. Quite by accidentKantor had startled him. :But:
:Sorry. Didnt mean to shock you. But if this gets past flirting, Myste is going 
to expect it to go there. Heralds are well, by the standards of a Karsite, 
theyre flagrantly immoral and utterly hedonistic when it comes to the ways of 
man with maid. Not that she is. Myste, I mean. Shes not a maid.:
Maybe he should have been shocked, but he wasnt. Startled, yes, but not shocked. 
Well, not that Myste wasnt a maid, anyway.
In fact, he was relieved. It had been a long time since hedwelland then it had 
been someone hed paid. He didnt have any practice in the more polite forms of 
congress, and he was probably going to step on his own feet more than once if 
thingsgot past flirting. And the ache in certain parts of him let him know in no 
uncertain terms that his body certainly wanted it to get past flirting. Far past 
flirting.
As for how she came to be not a maid, well that was her business.
Unless she made it his. And then it was even more her business. . . .
:Good man. Slow and cautious. Shes in no hurry and neither should you be.:
:As long as she doesnt run in terror from my face,: he said dryly, :I doubt 
there is anything else about me that cows her. Underneath, that woman is someone 
that would appal people if they only knew her. There are things she will not 
compromise on. And things that she would kill over, if it came to that.:
Which was, of course, how she was getting away with purloining secrets out from 
under the very noses of the owners, and with their cooperation. At some point, 
perhaps in that last battle, Myste had found, or gotten, her courage. Now he 
doubted that anything could effectively stand in her way if she believed in or 
wanted something badly enough.
Like me ?
He sat firmly on that thought and crammed it back into the little mental 
cupboard it had come out of.
Back to business. :What do you Companions know about ciphers?: he asked. After 
all, better to cover all possible avenues with this one.
:Nothing much,: Kantor said with regret. :Nobody here at the Collegium for sure, 
and I think not anybody alive. Just because were good at Mindspeech doesnt mean 
were good at everything. Working ciphers takes a particular kind of mind the 
kind that can see patterns where the rest of us would see only chaos.:
Well, hed had to ask. :Should I just leave all this to Talamir, then?:
:He knows more about who to trust in this than you do. I think I know who hell 
be taking the papers to, and no one is safer.:
Well, that was a dismissal if he had ever heard one. Time to stop worrying about 
that end of the situation, and think about the part he could do something about.
Such as discovering just who, besides young Lord Devlin, his contact in the 
Court, Norris was meeting.
12
It was spring, at long last, and the gardens were bursting with greenery and 
blossoms, as if to make up for last years sorrowful season. With every breeze, 
the ornamental cherries carpeted the ground beneath their boughs with pink and 
white petals; the air was full of a hundred different scents. Kingdom business 
be hanged; Selenay was going to walk in her gardens before the season ripened 
any further into summer.
So she told the Seneschal at their morning meeting over breakfast that she 
wanted him to shorten the usual afternoon audiences by half.
“If I stay within walls for much longer Im going to shred something,” she said a 
little crossly, expecting him to object. “Im tired of never seeing the sun 
except through windows, and I am exceedingly tired of hearing people whining. I 
would like to hear birds for a change, and if I must hear voices, I would prefer 
it to be the voices of people who are not complaining to me, at least for a 
candlemark or two.”
But he only nodded his graying head, and regarded her kindly. “If Your Majesty 
will recall,” he told her, “your father was exactly the same, in the spring.”
And now that he had reminded her, she did remember it, but not as a memory of 
him ordering shorter audiences, but as seeing him in the gardens every fine 
afternoon, and walking there with two or three friends in the evening, too. But 
she
I was taking classes, or practicing, and hed always done that, every spring, so 
it never struck me as odd, she decided. I didnt know then that the business of 
government takes up so much time, and that he must have been stealing time from 
it for a little while.
Or perhaps, it wasnt that he had been stealing time at all, though she would 
certainly have to, and the only place where she felt she could in good 
conscience take it was from the Audiences. Now that she thought about it, her 
father had definitely had more “leisure” time than she seemed to.
But then, he had been King for all of her life (obviously) so hed had some 
practice at it. Maybe it would get easier as she went along; perhaps the more 
practiced she became, the less of her time it would take . . . perhaps, some 
day, she would have some candlemarks of leisure for herself.
She felt guilty; then decided that feeling guilty was stupid. If she was ready 
to rip someones throat out now, how would she be without taking some time, at 
last, for herself? A pox on that. Bridges were not going to fall down, nor 
buildings collapse, because she walked in her garden and played at games a 
little while with her ladies.
“Well, then schedule fewer petitioners for the foreseeable future,” she ordered, 
adding, “if you please.”
Surely some of those people can manage to sort out their troubles by themselves.
“Certainly, Majesty,” the Seneschal said, with a little smile. “If Your Majesty 
will forgive my voicing my own opinion, you are just a trifle too accessible. 
Restricting your availability will make people think before they request an 
audience for which they might have to wait several days.”
She blinked, then nodded. And here she had thought he was going to disapprove! 
But the prospect of a simple walk in her gardens was enough to elevate her 
spirits for the entire morning, even though the Exchequer occupied her for most 
of that time with budget and tax allotments. Just the simple knowledge that she 
was going to escape his stuffy little office was enough to set her to work with 
more energy than shed had in weeks for such things.
And the audiences did not seem as tedious either. And when the Seneschal 
announced that she would not be seeing any more petitioners that day, it was all 
she could do to keep from leaping up out of the throne and flying out the Privy 
Door behind the dais to get to her chambers and out of her robes of state.
She changed into a simple, split-skirt gown without calling for her maids, 
collected a ball and racquets, then gathered up her rather startled 
ladies-in-waiting, and bustled them all down the hall like a goose-girl hurrying 
her geese to the pond.
And when they were out into the garden, she acted like a child newly-freed from 
lessons, dropping every bit of her dignity to lead them all in a game of “tag,” 
then taking each of them on in turn at racquets. In fact, she wore some of them 
out with her energy, until they all begged, laughing, for a moment of rest.
Which she graciously gave them. And while they sprawled on the lawn, or lounged 
on benches, she walked alone among the flower beds. She hadnt intended to 
actually pick any flowers, but this spring there was a superabundance of 
blossoms, and she found herself taking one here, one there, not deliberately 
selecting anything, just picking them from places where the blooms seemed 
crowded or scents were especially intoxicating. Ill put them in my bedroom, she 
decided, feeling an unaccustomed glee. Just stick them all in a vase full of 
water. No formal flower arranging, no careful selection of “ harmonious colors.” 
The kind of bouquet no, bunch of flowers! I used to pick for myself as a child!
She didntthank goodnesshave to think twice about wandering about here alone 
either. It was safe enough for her to be unguarded here in the Queens Garden. 
There were Royal Guards all around the grounds, and the grounds themselves were 
walled off, of course. No one could come here who wasnt a member of the Court or 
Collegia, and it was a matter of etiquette not to invade the Queens Garden when 
the Queen was in it unless you were specifically invited.
So she was a little surprised to look up from picking another bloom and see the 
Rethwellan Ambassador, followed at a slight distance by a young man she did not 
recognize, coming toward her on the path.
He dropped to one knee when he reached her, and she automatically extended her 
hand for him to kiss, then gave it a slight tug, indicating that he should rise.
“Ambassador Brenthalarian, whatever is it that brings you here?” she asked. “I 
hope you arent going to trouble my afternoon with a problem”
“Nothing of the sort, Majesty,” the Ambassador said smoothly. “Indeed, I only 
wished to inquire if your Majesty would be willing to receive King Megrarthons 
second son, Prince Karathanelan. He has come bringing His Majestys belated 
personal condolences, for you have already had His Majestys official ones.”
“Yes, I recall,” she replied, looking at him with a feeling of interest tinged 
with excitement. Sohere was her answer to the question “what foreign princes 
were there?” before she had even asked anyone about it. A foreign prince, from 
Rethwellan! Princes did not travel abroad unless they had very compelling 
reasons for doing so. . . .
She cast a surreptitious glance at the young man who waited just out of earshot, 
and felt another thrill, this time of pleasure. He was handsome. Very handsome. 
His coloring was an intriguing mixturedark chestnut hair, quite curly and almost 
shoulder length, and blue eyes that were a lighter color than her own, the color 
of a sky with a thin, high haze of cloud over it. He had a long nose, high 
cheekbones, and a narrow face with a cleft chin. He looked
: Like centuries of inbreeding,: Caryo said sardonically.
:Oh, hush, silly!: she replied, keeping a watch on him out of the corner of her 
eye. :What he looks like is not like a Valdemaran, which is a refreshing change. 
I think hes lovely.:
“When could the Prince come to Court, do you think?” she asked, pretending that 
she had not already guessed that the Prince was right here in her own garden. 
The Ambassador knew very well that she knew, and so did the Prince, but greeting 
him straightaway would spoil the game. And it was likely to be a very amusing 
little game. Surely this is one of the “foreign princes” that Orthallen was 
talking about! ”I would, of course, be delighted to receive him at any time.“
“Then in that case, gracious lady, let the Prince prevail upon your noble nature 
and present himself!” the young man said, flinging himself at her feet in the 
most romantic posture possible. “My curiosity brought me here, but my heart will 
not allow me to remain outside of your regard for a single moment more!” He 
seized her hand and kissed it, and she flushed with pleasure. He spoke very good 
Valdemaran, with scarcely a trace of accent.
“Then, welcome, Prince Karathanelan,” she said, tugging his hand. He took the 
hint and rose gracefully. “How could I be less than gracious enough to welcome 
you when confronted with such a gallant gentleman?”
She was trying to be queenly and dignified, but she felt her flush turning into 
a blush. He gave her a sidelong glance and smiled. “You are as gracious as you 
are beautiful, Queen Selenay,” the Prince replied. “Will you permit me to 
conduct you back to your ladies?”
“With pleasure,” she said. And now it was the Rethwellan Ambassadors turn to 
smile.
The Prince offered his arm; she took it. The first play of the game was over, 
and it had been very pleasant. Selenay could hardly wait to see what the next 
move would be.
***
One of the most difficult things Alberich had ever done was to put that cipher 
out of his mind and concentrate on the rest of his duties. And yet, there was 
nothing he could do about the message except to guard the original. Hed sealed 
the panel of its hiding place shut to make certain that it wouldnt be tampered 
with, and short of locking it in a strongbox and burying the strongbox under the 
floor of his room, he couldnt make it any safer. So at this point, there was 
nothing he could do about it. No man could be an expert at all things, and it 
was a bit late in his life to begin studying ciphers.
Instead, he went on with his own double life. He taught his students, and 
drilled those Heralds and Guards who came to him for extra tutoring and practice 
by day. And when his work for the day was over, and everyone assumed he was 
resting in his own quarters, he went out into the city by night in one of his 
assumed personae.
There was one distinct improvement in his clandestine tasks, however, and that 
was that the City Guard and constabulary were back up to full strength. He no 
longer needed to ferret out ordinary criminals; they had their own agents for 
that again. In fact, he knew one or two City Guards who did such things by 
sight, and they knew him. If he spotted them in one of his haunts of a night, he 
would move on to a different spot, knowing that they were probably on the trail 
of something or someone, and the very best thing he could do would be to get out 
of their way. There was, after all, no point in spoiling someone elses hunt, and 
too many hunters in one spot sometimes made the “game” shy of being around.
And he suspected that they did the same, on seeing him.
At any rate, with the Tedrel Wars over and Karse busy with its own internal 
problems, the market for information on Valdemars strengths and weaknesses had 
dried up somewhat. He also suspected that the market for information of interest 
to Valdemar was not what it had been. For now, anyway, there just was not as 
much trafficking in that sort of thing going on. Now the highest prices were 
being paid for more mundane informationusually having to do with who was in 
possession of what valuable goods, and how strongly a treasure was guarded, and 
so on. The most interesting trafficking he saw now was the manufacture of new 
identities, and he had the strong suspicion that the people who were buying 
these identities had once called themselves “Tedrels.” How they managed to get 
as far north as Haven he could not imagine; even he hadnt done it without having 
a Companion. The journeys must have been terrifying. He was not, however, 
concerned. Selenay was in no danger from them; there were no Tedrel leaders for 
her to be taken to as hostage or as forced-bride, and he doubted that any of the 
men purchasing new lives for themselves wasted a moment of thought on her.
Well, as long as they stayed on the right side of the law, hed be hanged if he 
turned any of them in, or the people who were helping them (for a price) either. 
And if they broke the law, well, he might be the one to catch them, but it was 
up to the Guard and constabulary to deal with it.
Information trafficking was mostly going the other way now, and even those 
prices were deflated. He could almost feel sorryalmostfor the fellows whose sole 
stock in trade was in intelligence.
On the other hand, this made two of his personae very popular fellows with those 
selling information about Valdemars neighbors, since both those personae were 
still buying. Though for information about Karse, he was relying on Geri and the 
informal network that the Sunpriests who had escaped to or been born in Valdemar 
had built over the years.
As a consequence, he had known well in advance of today that one of the younger 
Princes of Rethwellan was arriving “secretly” with the intention of paying court 
to the Queen. He had told Talamir, and neither of them had seen any reason to 
spoil the surprise by informing Selenay. “Let her have a little romance,” 
Talamir had opined, and his opinion was seconded by Herald Kyril. “She is 
sensible enough to know that whatever courting or romantic attention he pays her 
is only an illusion, and that he is here purely for the purpose of making an 
advantageous alliance. She will bear in mind, I am sure, that he would pay her 
the same compliments if she was stooped and squint-eyed. This will amuse her, 
and she has had little enough pure amusement since the Ice Festival.”
Illusion or not, romance was not in Alberichs area of expertise, nor were the 
doings of princes. He would leave that to Talamir, and had said as much. His 
personal opinion was that the arrival of this princeling was a damned good thing 
for Talamir. Between the discovery of the ciphered papers and the advent of the 
Rethwellan Prince, Talamir was looking more centered than he had since the 
Coronation.
Alberich had filed that observation away for further thought, but there was one 
conclusion to be made from it that was obviousTalamir needed real things to do, 
too, things he could get his metaphorical teeth into, things that focused him on 
what was going on around him. Alberich made up his mind to find more such tasks.
Now, following that actor fellow that was something he could do.
Though once the weather turned and spring was well and truly in bloom, he began 
to wonder where the man got his energy, and whether he could manage to follow 
him without dropping over.
It wasnt only that Norris was performing every evening with the full company at 
the inn and rehearsing new productions every afternoon
That is, when he wasnt performing with a reduced company at special private 
performances of an afternoon
No, it was that once those evening performances were over, he scarcely had time 
to wipe the paint from his face and change out of his costume before he was off 
somewhere. Most of the time it was with a female. Alberich couldnt call them 
“ladies,” though some of them had that title, even if they acted more like cats 
in heat. When he wasnt with a female, he went roistering off with a gang of male 
friends, drinking and carousing through several tavernsand usually then ended up 
in a womans bed in some bawdy house anyway.
It was astonishing. Because then, no matter how late hed been out, there he was 
again, looking alert and fresh and ready to go, no later than noon, to rehearse 
with the company.
“I know not how he does it,” Alberich said, as he accompanied Myste, in his 
guise as “her friend from the Army, the carter,” back to the Companions Bell 
where she was ostensibly staying. They had just watched Norris drink enough to 
make Alberichs head reel, then take three whores up to his room. Only one thing 
was certain; he wouldnt be going anywhere tonight. Thank the Sunlord. Alberich 
didnt think he could have made another late night of it himself.
“Nor does anyone else,” Myste admitted. “Especially not his head for drink! That 
man can drink any three under the table, and I am not exaggerating, because Ive 
seen it with my own eyes. And the next day, youd never know hed taken a drop.”
Alberich licked his lips thoughtfully. “A useful talent, for an agent.”
“Damn right it is.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, and adjusted her 
lenses. “Whats moreand this is a womans intuitive observation, so take it with 
whatever grains of salt you chooseI dont see that he has anything that you could 
exploit as a weakness. Not even for women.”
Alberich gave her a dubious glance. “Pardon?”
“He uses them,” she elaborated, “but he has no use for them. I think, theyre 
like food for himhe satisfies his appetite, and he does have a hearty appetite, 
but once hes through, he pays no more attention to them than he would to the 
shepherds pie he just finished eating. He pushes away the leftovers, and wants 
them cleared away. Ive watched him with his women, remember. Quite a lot more 
than he thinks I have, actually. I have yet to see him show any emotional 
attachment to anyone, woman or man. He acts as if he does, says all the right 
things, and it is superb acting, yesactually quite a bit better and far more 
subtle than anything he does on stage. But so far as I can tell, theres nothing 
genuine behind the words and the gestures.”
“Well,” Alberich said thoughtfully. “Well, well, well. I think it is good that I 
have never tried to come too near to him, or I might have been swiftly found 
out. But that makes me concerned for you”
She nodded. “It makes me concerned for me, too, believe me, and the only things 
I have in my favor are that he thinks Im besotted and under his thumb, that Im 
not ornamental to look at so he spends as little time as he can get away with 
doing so, and that he does not think that women in general are particularly 
intelligent. I expect,” she added thoughtfully, “that he regards me rather in 
the line of a trained dog. Quite clever at performing the tricks Ive been 
taught, and utterly devoted to my masters, but not really capable of thinking 
for myself.”
“Which would make, I think, other women his lap dogs,” Alberich pointed out, 
continuing the analogy. “Good for ornament, and sensually pleasant, but 
otherwise utterly useless.”
She laughed aloud at that. “Oh, I wish some of his lightoloves could hear you 
say that of them! How he manages to keep them from tearing him to bits in 
jealousy is beyond me.”
“Perhaps they are in truth as utterly besotted as he thinks you to be,” Alberich 
observed. “Or else, he has the gift of golden speech.”
“Both, I think.” She shook her head. “You know, as often as I see it, Im still 
amazed at how self-deluded a lot of women are. A man says one thing, and does 
something else, and they believe the words and not the actions.”
“That behavior is not restricted to women,” Alberich pointed out. “Are his 
fellow actors not equally deceived in thinking him a grand fellow?”
“Hmm. Thats true enough.” They were nearly at the Bell, but neither of them made 
the turn that would take them into the alley and the back way. “Alberich, I dont 
believe were alone.”
“So you have noticed.” Someone had been following them for some time. Alberich 
had been certain of it about a third of the way back.
“Im not usually good at this, but I heard a footstep that I know just before I 
said something. Its Norris.”
Well, that put a different complexion on things. “So the three bawds?”
“A ruse. Maybe he isnt as sure of me as I thought. Sohmm. Now what do we do?”
“You go up to your room, and I say good night. Then I see what your friend does 
next.”
They had, because Alberich always liked to plan for every possible contingency, 
planned for this one as well. Myste did have a room herein fact, it was one of 
several that Heralds could use if they needed one; if, for instance, there was a 
major convocation of Heralds and all the beds at the Collegium were full. They 
were very spartan in nature, hardly more than closets with bunks in them, 
identical to the servants rooms and exactly the sort of thing that a clerk would 
get in trade for his services to an inn. So when they reached the door of the 
Bell, they parted company as old friends rather than anything more intimate, and 
Myste used her key to the side entrance where the long-term residents and inn 
servants had their rooms. Alberich clumped off, made certain that their follower 
hadnt followed him, then reversed his coat to the matte-black side, and ghosted 
back.
Sure enough, there was Norris, hidden, and hidden relatively well, in a shadow 
across the street. After a moment, one of the little windows in the garret rooms 
glowed as a candle was brought inside. Alberich was about to suggest to Myste 
with Mindspeech that she go to the window, when she did just that without his 
needing to prompt her. She not only went to it, she opened it, and sat in it for 
several moments, as if enjoying the warm, spring night. Even though she was 
probably dying to peer down into the street to look for their follower, she did 
nothing of the sort; instead, she took off her lenses, rubbed her eyes as if she 
was tired, and sat back with her head against the side of the window frame and 
her eyesas far as Alberich could tellclosed.
:Is the kitty still stalking me?:
:Yes, he is,: Alberich replied.
:Persistent beast. I dont suppose you can think of anything that will make him 
go away?:
:I am working on just that,: he told her, although in truth, he was coming up 
rather dry as to ideas.
After all the times when his admirers have been a nuisance to get around, this 
is one time when I wish some of them would appear, he thought crossly.
:How many would you like?: came Kantors interested query.
He blinked. :Why do you ask?:
:Because there is an entire table full of young women from the audience this 
evening here. They wanted to get a table there, but you know how it is:
Yes, indeed, Alberich knew very well how it was. Norris company was, by far, the 
most popular in Haven in a very long time. On the nights when there were plays, 
it was impossible to get a table in his inn, either before or after the play. 
The innkeeper had taken to doing the unheard ofmaking reservations for tables. 
There were people who had waited as long as three weeks before being able to 
take their pre-play dinner or after-play supper in Norris presumed presence.
:at any rate, all theyve done is talk about Norris since they got here. Theyre 
very loud, and I think, a bit tipsy.: There were distinct overtones of snigger 
in Kantors voice. :I cant imagine how theyd be useful to you, though.:
:Oh, I can:
He slipped away from his hiding place, went into the alley, in through the 
secret room at the back of the stables, and changed into, not his clothing, but 
his uniform. This was not even his gray Weaponsmasters garb, but the Heraldic 
Whites that he seldom, if ever, wore. He had kept a set down here for just this 
reason. He wanted to be noticed this time, but he wanted all the attention to be 
on his clothing, not his face.
Then he strolled openly into the Bell, and listened for the sound of female 
voices. It didnt take him long to hear them, for as Kantor had said, they were 
both loud and tipsy, the latter probably being the cause of the former.
:All right, Myste,: he Mindspoke. :Yawn, stretch, put out your candle and go to 
bed. You shouldnt have to stay there much longer.:
:Im alive with curiosity.:
The Bell had more than one public room; there was the main tavern area, and 
several supper rooms that were intended more for eating in than drinking. He 
entered the room where the youngand not so youngwomen were, as if looking about, 
possibly for a place to sit.
They were, so far as he could tell, not highborn. But they definitely were 
prosperous; their gowns were all new, of good quality, and they wore a moderate 
amount of silver jewelry. Middling well-off merchant or craft families, he 
guessed; the younger ones had probably persuaded their families to let them see 
the players, and the older ones had come along as chaperones, and they all had 
fallen under the spell of the handsome leading man. They were already planning 
their next outing to see him perform.
A Herald always got noticed, even in Haven, and when he entered the room, they 
all looked up and at him. He concentrated very hard on his words, and his 
accent. This was not the time to sound like a foreigner. If Norris went to the 
effort of trying to track back who betrayed himAlberich just wanted to be “a 
Herald.” He gave a little bow, and said, “Your pardon, my ladies. I wouldnt want 
to interrupt your party”
One of the older ones giggled; it was one of the young ones who called out, “Oh, 
thats quite all right, Herald, you werent interrupting anything. We were just 
talking about the play weve been to.”
“The play be hanged!” said one of the tipsier ones. “Its that actor Norris way 
of filling out tights that we were talking about!”
Some of them laughed hilariously, some with embarrassment, and Alberich smiled. 
“Hes a fine actor, that one,” he said agreeably. “Very impressive indeed. I 
think all of us managed to get to one or more of his performances during the Ice 
Festival.” Then he added, as if the idea had suddenly struck him, “He wouldnt be 
waiting for any of you, would he?”
Oddly enough, it was one of the drunker ones who caught the implications of that 
last question, which slipped right by most of them. “What dye mean, waiting for 
one of us?” she asked, not quite slurring her words. “Ymean, now? Right now?”
“Why, yes,” Alberich replied, feigning surprise. “I saw him just across the 
street, lingering in the doorway, as if he was waiting for someone to come out 
of the Bell”
Well, that was all he needed to say, and the only thing he needed to do was to 
press himself against the wall to get out of the way of the avalanche of gowns 
heading for the door.
They piled past him and rushed for the front exit. A moment later, and there was 
something like a little chorus of squeals as they tumbled out into the street. 
“Is that” “It is!” “Its him!”
:You wicked, wicked man!: Myste chortled, as the sounds became a bit 
inarticulate and much louder.
There was a single, masculine voice, saying desperately over the torrent of 
giggles and little shrieks, “Ladies! Ladies!” and the owner was clearly getting 
nowhere.
Alberich strolled out to the door, and stood there with his face in shadow, 
leaning against the doorpost with his arms crossed, enjoying the havoc he had 
created. Norris was in the center of a tight knot of women, all of them 
breathlessly telling him of their admiration at the tops of their lungs, all of 
them trying to elbow each other aside to get closer to him. He looked like a 
very desperate man at the moment.
:Oh, this is choice,: Myste said. :I cant resist.:
From overhead and to the right came her familiar voice. “Will you please be 
quiet?” If Alberich hadnt known Myste so well, he would have been certain that 
she was angry, not trying with might and main to hold back gales of laughter. 
“People are trying to sleep!”
Her window slammed shut.
Then Mystes plaint was joined by several other, genuinely irritated voices, 
calling down to the gaggle of women surrounding to shut up! and go away! and Ill 
get the constables on you, see if I dont!
And it wasnt long before a constable did appear, and suggest to Norris (as the 
apparent center of the disturbance), that “It would be very nice, sir, if you 
and your friends were somewhere else right now.”
And there was nothing else that Norris could do at that point, except to bow to 
the inevitable. He was going to be stuck with these women for the next 
candlemark at least. And the only way he was going to get rid of them was back 
at his own inn, where he knew the ground, and could slip away from them under 
the guise of attending to natures call or something of the sortor getting one of 
the cast to find one of his regular bawds to come down and drag him back to his 
room. The one thing that would embarrass them enough to go away even in their 
present state of intoxication would be the presence of a real whore.
But it would have to be done there, not here
Somehow, perhaps by sheer force of personality, he got the group moving, and 
away they went, still surrounding him on all sides, chattering like a flock of 
noisy little birds, and he with the look of a man being nibbled to death by 
ducks.
When they were all out of both sight and hearing, he Mindcalled up to Myste. :I 
think you can come out now.:
:Just a moment. I was not exactly dressed. I wanted to add some verisimilitude 
to the illusion that I had gone to bed.:
Now he wished hed looked up when she leaned out of her window.
Then it struck him; thered been a hint ofsomethingin her mind-voice. Was it what 
he thought it was? Should he? Did he dare?
:If you didnt read that as an invitation, youre denser than I thought,: said 
Kantor.
He couldnt clear his throat in mind-voice, but he managed a combination of 
eagerness and diffidence. :I dont suppose you would care for me to come up 
instead?:
He heard the purr in her mind-voice, and almost tangled his own feet together, 
trying to whip himself around and head for the stairs. :Ah, yes. Indeed I would. 
Please, do.:
13
The journey back up to the Palace was surreal. Dreamlike, as the four of them 
made their way through peace-filled, cool air scented with honeysuckle. Alberich 
held onto the moment fiercely; no matter what had happened in the past, or what 
would happen in the future, hed had this night, this time. His heart was, for 
the moment, at peace, and he could not have been more content with his lot. He 
hopedhe thoughtMyste felt the same.
They parted with a touch of lips and hands at the branching of paths, one 
leading up to the Heralds Wing at the Palace, the other to the salle. He and 
Kantor moved off into the velvet night.
:I told you that you were worrying too much,: Kantor said, when he and Alberich 
were finally settled back in their respective “beds,” in, and beside, the salle.
:Hmm. You were right.: Stillno, there was no “still.” Kantor was right. The 
benefit of being Gifted; there was no question of how ones partner felt. There 
had been a little initial fumbling, but
No “buts.”
He sighed, and started to settle into sleep
Then something popped up into his mind and jolted him into wakefulness again. 
:Now, why did she tell you “ Thank you, you were right” ?:
:Ah. You werent supposed to hear that.: Kantor sighed. :I gave her some advice, 
some time back. Through her Companion, of course, but she knew it was from me, 
because she asked me directly.:
:Yes?: He decided that, no matter what it was, he wasnt going to be annoyed. 
After all, look what it had gotten him.
:I told her, “He wont make the first move; youll have to. And dont be subtle. In 
this situation, hes trying so hard to be a gentleman that he wont notice if 
youre subtle.” But if youre wondering, I dont think this was planned; I think 
she just seized the opportunity when it was too good to be passed up. I know 
shes felt diffident about approaching you here, in your own place, and more than 
a bit shy about inviting you up to the Collegium where:
:Where everyone would notice and gossip.: Alberich finished for him, and mulled 
it all over. No, he definitely was not going to be annoyed. :Thank you. You were 
right.:
Of course, now that the first move had been made in the game. . . .
He chuckled to himself in the darkness. The next time she showed up here, it 
wasnt all going to be business. Not that he was going to forget his duty, far 
from it.
Now he did let his doubly-tired body relax. And his last thought was, perhaps 
not oddly, Norris is a fool.
***
Selenay sat at her open window, and breathed in the honeysuckle-scented air 
dreamily. Karathhe had insisted almost immediately that she call him Karathhad 
been officially presented at Court two days ago. He had gone out of his way to 
be charming, and Selenay was by no means the only one to have been affected by 
that charm. But his attention had been directed, like a focused beam of light, 
on her.
This was not the first time that she had been the focus of someones attention, 
but it was the first time the attention had been completely positive, and 
universally directed to the sole object of pleasing her. Heady stuff.
And it didnt hurt at all that Karath was so very good to look upon. . . .
No, not at all. But there was more, as impossible as it seemed. Karath 
understood her.
It was magical, how well he understood her. Already they had shared 
commiserations on how heavy the burden of duty was for a royal child, and how 
unfair it was that they had less freedom than the lowest of their subjects. How 
very unfair. . . .
And he had looked straight into her eyes and said, “It is a sad pity that you 
have no one to share your burden with.”
Oh, she had laughed at that, and demurred that she had an entire Council to help 
her, but his words had rung very true, and she wondered if there was something 
behind them. As ifcould it be
No, of course not. Hes a Prince of Rethwellan. If he can charm me into giving 
Rethwellan advantages, he will. He may even be courting me with an eye to a 
marriage of state. Right now, though, hes simply being friendly; hes a Prince, 
and there cant be too many people that he can confide in. It isnt as if he has a 
Companion to talk to, or even someone like Lord Orthallen. He was, she thought, 
a very proud young man. It would be hard for him to confide in anyone that he 
considered below him. Yes, that is certainly it. She rested her head against the 
window frame, feeling suddenly melancholy, for herself, for him.
No, there could be nothing more to it than that. Besides, he cant possibly stay 
for very long. Hell have to return home soon.
The thought made her feel cheated, somehow, and even more melancholy.
But after a moment, she shook it off resolutely. The Seneschal had decided that 
having a Prince of the blood here was an occasion of great import, and had 
arranged that his days should be enlivened by all manner of amusements, and that 
it was Selenays duty to take part in at least some of them. The Vernal Equinox 
was in a few days, and although it was the wrong season for hunting, it was the 
best season for other sorts of outdoor excursions. They were all going to watch 
a new version of the Hurlee game, played Companion-back by the oldest of the 
Trainees. Others had been trying to come up with warm-weather variations on 
Hurlee, but this was by far the most exciting and successful. And there were 
those who were trying to get horses to do what the Companions were doing, but it 
would probably take a couple of years to train horses to put up with balls 
rolling under their hooves and sticks whizzing about their ears. For now, at 
least, the only mounted version of the game would be played by Heralds or 
Trainees.
It made an excellent excuse to sit out on lawns, with hampers of refreshments, 
in the warm sunshine, rather than in the stuffy Audience Chamber, listening to 
even stuffier old men complain about each other.
There would be supper in a pavilion on the lawns after the game, and then, a 
concert of music under the stars in the gardens. It will be the most fun Ive had 
since the Ice Festival. Actually, it will be much more fun than the Ice 
Festival; I wont be on show to an entire city.
She smiled as she thought about it. To think that she would have most of a day 
devoted to something other than Kingdom business! But her Councilors all seemed 
very much in favor of the idea, even those who were reserved in their assessment 
of Karath.
Maybe he will stay longer. . . .
After all, Orthallen was convinced that he had come here with every intention of 
courting her. It was a time-honored means of cementing alliances, marriage. He 
was the younger Prince; he wouldnt be in line for the throne at this point, not 
even if his older brother died, because Faramentha already had a young son of 
his own. So
She shivered, but with delight and anticipation, not dread. Oh, no, definitely 
not dread. Not like shed felt with every other would-be suitor that had 
presented himself or been presented so far.
Now, wait and see, she cautioned herself. Dont start chasing hares until the 
hounds have the scent. Orthallen could be misreading this. He might just be very 
kind.
But if he was courting herit was just a bit difficult to be loverlike when he 
never saw her except in the company of ten or twenty other people.
The question was, did she want him to court her? Actually, more to the point, 
did she want to marry him? She thoughtperhapsbut she still wasnt entirely sure. 
It probably wouldnt be too much of a battle to convince the Council, but the 
rest of her subjects might not care for the idea of a foreign Consort. And while 
he had beautiful manners, and was extremely sympathetic, it was all words so 
far. She had no idea if he was truly attracted to her, Selenay, or was just 
being properly diplomatic and sympathetic to the Queen. He was one of the 
handsomest men she had ever seen, but how did she look to him, really? And how 
would he ever be able to say what he really felt with the constant audience that 
was around her?
If only there was a way to get rid of the audiencethe courtiers, the ladies, all 
of them. If only there was a way that she could just slip away from them all, 
long enough for the two of them to be alone for just a little.
And then, she had an idea. It was a terribly romantic idea. And it just might 
work.
Ill have a masquerade, she thought with delight. Ill have it when the year of 
mourning is officially over. Out in the gardens, spread out everywhere, with 
everyone in costume and masked. Ill have the same costume made up for me and all 
of my ladies, except Ill let him know by some little token which one is me. If 
he cant manage to get me alone for a little, then he wont be trying.
Yes, that would do it. That would do it indeed. She chuckled at her own 
cleverness.
And meanwhile, she had tomorrow to look forward to, a half a day and all evening 
with nothing before her but to relax and enjoy herself. And perhaps Karath would 
show something more of his intentions.
She went to her bed and fell asleep, still smiling.
***
There were three stands set up along the three sides of the triangular playing 
field; the best one, reserved for the Queen and her Court, was on the side 
between the Scarlet and Green goals with a good view of both. Out on the field, 
the two teams faced each other, Scarlet and Green goalkeepers standing warily 
alert on their respective goals, the two goalkeepers on the neutral, third goal, 
watching each other as much as the teams.
There was a tension-filled silence as one of the referees placed the ball on the 
ground between the two teams, then ran off, well out of the way of what was 
coming.
A trumpet blast
A single shout swelled a thousand throats, and the game was on.
“Explain to me what I am seeing, please,” Karath asked, watching as the tide of 
riders collided, the ball somewhere under the churning hooves of the Companions. 
One half of the riders were wearing Bardic scarlet, the other, Healer Greennot 
because they actually were Bards and Healers, but because the two teams had been 
“sponsored” by the two other Collegia. It would; after all, have been impossible 
to tell which rider was on which team, otherwise.
“The players are all Heraldic Trainees, and they usually wear gray,” Selenay 
said, as there was a loud crack, and the ball suddenly seemed to fly out of the 
scrum on a pair of invisible wings. “This came out of a game the Trainees made 
up over the winter, called Hurlee” She interrupted to cheer, as the Bardic 
goalkeeper made a last-minute save, her Companion rearing and pivoting on hind 
hooves, letting her catch the ball in her net. The goalkeepers had nets, rather 
than club-ended sticks.
“Anyway, we wouldnt be able to tell the teams apart, so Bardic Collegium 
sponsored the team in red, and Healers the team in green.” She shouted again, as 
the Bardic goalkeeper threw the ball back into play, and one of her own people 
caught it while it was still in flight and sent it whizzing toward the Healer 
goal with a mighty blow of his stick. The whole field went charging after it.
“But how are the horses so well-trained?” Karath asked.
“They arent horses, theyre Companions,” she answered automatically. “Umtheyre” 
she searched for a way to explain it to an outsider. “They have Mind-magic, and 
so do the Trainees, and its like having a partner. They can speak to one 
another.”
“Ah, magic,” Karath said wisely. “Of course. Like the Hawkbrother mages who 
control their birds in the strange places in the Pelagirs.”
Actually, its not like that at all, she thought, but that was probably as close 
as he was going to get until hed been here a while, and saw for himself. Or 
until a Companion Chose him. “Thats close enough, I suppose,” she said instead, 
and turned her attention to the game.
It was absolutely vicious in its way; Alberich had insisted that the original 
version of Hurlee be played with no holds barred, and nothing short of murder 
against the rules, and this version was no different, with one single exception. 
No one was allowed to deliberately thrust a stick among the legs of the 
scrumming Companions. The idea of a Companion with a deliberately broken leg was 
just too horrifying. But the Companions were certainly allowed to ram each 
other, and shoulder each other out of the way; the riders could hit at each 
other with their sticks, and try to pull each other out of the saddle. 
Companions and riders alike wore hard helmets of leather over steel; the 
Companions wore neck guards, the riders wore padding and guards of their own.
It was war out there; Selenay, who had seen war first-hand, recognized it for 
what it was. Relatively bloodless, perhaps, but nonetheless, war. Which was why 
both Weaponsmaster Alberich and the new Equitation Instructor, Herald Keren, 
approved of it. You could study mounted combat all you liked; you could even 
practice as much as you dared, but you got no sense of what combat was really 
like
Well, the fourth- and fifth-year Trainees certainly were now. By the time the 
first third was over, that was obvious. There was plenty of danger; one player 
was already out with a broken arm, and a second sidelined while the Healers made 
sure that the crack on the head hadnt resulted in a concussion. A third was 
playing with a broken nose, and there were two with black eyes, and no one would 
know until it was over how many bruises and strains there were. No Companions 
were injured, but that was always possible, too.
The second third began after a brief pause for waterboth drunk and poured over 
headsand a quick change of players. Then they were off again, with no less vigor 
than before.
“It seems very dangerous!” Karath shouted to her, over the cheers and shrieks. 
She glanced at him; he seemed just as excited as everyone else. His color was 
high, and he had a wide smile of enjoyment.
“It is!” she shouted back. “Our Weaponsmaster is using it for war-training!”
“Aha!” He nodded vigorously, then cheered wildly with everyone else as the 
Scarlet and Green goalkeepers on the neutral goal got into a clinch, and a 
Scarlet rider nipped in right under their noses and slammed home a goal.
Hurlee on ice had been exciting. This was beyond excitingthis was intoxicating. 
Even Selenay, who had been in the thick of war, was caught up in it, drunk as 
any of them on it, free to feel it, knowing that this time, there was no fear 
that anyone would die. One rider was actually knocked unconscious by the ball 
before it was over, and there was a broken wrist and a second broken arm, both 
caused by being unseated and falling badly. But Selenay knew that the Healers 
would soon put all of them to rights, and when the Healers were done with them, 
the congratulations they would get at the hands of the rest of the Traineesand 
everyone else with an interest in the gamewould soon make the pain just a 
memory. The Scarlets took the lead and held it for most of the game, but at the 
very end, in the final third, the Greens took the victory away from them by a 
single point.
When the winded and the exhausted winners and losers both had been mobbed and 
rushed off the field to their own celebratory feast, Selenay found herself 
hoarse with screaming and nearly as tired as if she had been out there on the 
field herself.
“My word!” the Prince said, his eyes still wild with excitement. “Thats 
altogether more thrilling than any tournament Ive ever seen! You say your 
Weaponsmaster is using this for war-training?”
Selenay nodded, and sat down so that everyone else could. Protocol, after 
allwhile the Monarch was on her feet, no one else could sit. There was some 
little time before the alfresco dinner, which would be served out in the 
gardens, and she wanted to give her staff plenty of time to have it set up 
before she led the ravenous hordes toward the food. Meanwhile, pages were going 
around with wine and fruit, and she availed herself of both. Karath sat down in 
the place of honor beside her, though he still looked as if he would like to go 
find a Hurlee stick and try the game for himself.
Not Selenay. She enjoyed watching the game, but once it was over, she couldnt 
help but think about why Alberich was so in favor of it. She didnt want any of 
those youngsters to have to see what she had seen. There had been too many no 
older than they who had not returned from the Wars.
“Indeed, he is, Your Highness,” the Seneschal said, as both the Rethwellan 
Ambassador and the Ambassador from Hardorn leaned closer in order to hear. “He 
and the Equitation Instructor have found it an invaluable substitute for melee 
and skirmish training. They say they have found that both the mounted and foot 
versions are equally valuable. And it is all the better for the fact that the 
Trainees want to do it, and several of them spend a great deal of their free 
time in practice at it. We are restricting the mounted version to the final-year 
students, however, given the level of expertise required, and the danger 
involved.”
“Better a broken bone or two now, than something worse in combat,” Selenay said, 
sobered by her recollection of another spring daynearly this time last year
Then she shook off her melancholy. This was supposed to be a day given over to 
relaxation and pleasure, and she was not going to spoil it. “Well, gentlemen, 
you can tell your friends and kin back in your homelands that we here in 
Valdemar know how to provide both novelty and entertainment for our guests,” she 
said lightly. “I do believe that was the first ever public game of mounted 
Hurlee.”
“And I hope you will convey my admiration to your Weaponsmaster for finding so 
clever a solution for a training dilemma,” the Prince said with a smile. “Though 
I will confess, if that is the level that he trains to, he is fully as expert as 
our own Weaponsmaster at homethough perhaps not quite to the exacting standard 
of Swordmistress Tarma shena Talesedrin, the famed Shinain who trained my father 
and older brother.”
“But not you?” asked the Hardornan Ambassador, and Selenay had the oddest 
sensation that he knew something about Karath that he would like very much for 
Karath to reveal. Something unflattering. . . .
Though why he would wish for such a thing
Ambassadors are always jockeying for favor. I suppose he thinks that if Karath 
appears less than perfect, I will lose interest in him. Absurd.
The Prince frowned, and for just a moment, a shadow passed over his face. But in 
the next moment, he was all smiles again, and Selenay wondered if she had even 
seen it. “Alas, no,” he replied smoothly. “The Swordmistress retired and closed 
her school before I was old enough in my mothers eyes to be sent away to it. And 
at any rate, from all I have heard, the lady is extremely ascetic in her ways 
and strict in her discipline; some might say, she is overzealous in both 
regards. And Iwell” he shrugged. “I am not much like my brothers. While I feel 
that every man of breeding should be adept at the use of arms, I fail to see why 
he should undergo the same rigorous training as someone who intends to live by 
them. Personally, I am afraid that the Swordmistress and I would be doomed to 
perpetually clash, so perhaps it is just as well. It would be a terrible scandal 
for a Prince of the blood to be thrown out of a school for mercenaries as an 
abject failure, or worse, a discipline problem.”
The Rethwellan Ambassador laughed, politely, but it sounded strained. Selenay 
was baffled. If that was all the Hardornan Ambassador had been angling for, she 
failed to see what was so unflattering about it. Not even a Trainee who was 
unsuited to the martial arts was required to do more than learn how to defend 
him or herself. Why, look at Myste! Most of her training had been in the best 
ways of running away!
She decided to steer the subject away from the area that Karath was finding 
uncomfortable. “The Swordmistressis that a Shinain name?” Selenay asked, 
curiously, thinking wistfully of her earlier daydream of a wild Shinain Clan 
Chief coming here to claim her hand. “Ive never seen a Shinain, though I believe 
some of our people in the south have traded with them.”
“It is, indeed, Majesty,” Karath replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, only that I had never heard of Shinain living outside the Dhorisha Plains, 
and I often think I would like to meet one, someday,” she confessed. “I believe 
one came as far as Lord Ashkevrons manor in my fathers day, to help the Lord 
with his horses, but it was before I was born.”
“It is true that they do not often venture off their traditional grounds,” the 
Rethwellan Ambassador said, after waiting for a few polite moments for all of 
them to nibble a little at their fruit and sip from their goblets of wine. “We 
see them from time to time selling horses, but as soon as the beasts are sold, 
they swiftly return to their homeland. The city of Katashinain is the only spot 
off the Plains where you will see them regularly. The Swordmistress is somewhat 
of an anomaly; she livesor lived, since she was quite old, when last I heardwith 
her blood-oath sister, who had a school of sorcery alongside the school for 
swordsmen. Perhaps one day I will be able to entertain you with some tales of 
their adventures. They are rather famous in Rethwellan.”
“I would enjoy that,” Selenay said, wondering to see that faint shadow pass over 
the Princes face again. “But today, it is incumbent upon me to entertain you, 
gentlemen, and I believe that it is time that we all went to supper.”
She rose, and they all, perforce, rose with her. “And high time, Majesty,” the 
Seneschal said lightly. “Watching the Hurlee game was nearly as exhausting as 
playing it, and just as stimulating to the appetite. These refreshments were 
welcome, but I swear, if you put butter on a brick, I would eat it at this 
point!”
“Pray, dont say that,” she chided with a laugh. “Our guests will be afraid to 
try the pastries!”
She led the way down out of the viewing stands and into the gardens, with the 
rest of the Court trailing after. She wondered if she should ask the Prince 
about that Shinain Swordmistressperhaps there was some problem there that she 
should know about.
Well, perhaps not. Probably he was piqued that his older brother had the 
privilege of training under so famous a teacher, and he had not. She could 
understand that. As difficult as Alberich was, there was absolutely no doubt 
that he was the best Weaponsmaster that Valdemar and the Collegium had seen in a 
very long time. If she had a sibling whod been able to train under Alberich, 
while she was not allowed to for whatever reason, she would be horribly jealous, 
too.
The meal was laid out along tables in the shade, protected from insects by tents 
of fly-gauze. Nothing was intended to be served hot. A guest had but to tell a 
page what he wanted, and go to find a good seat on the lawn, near the pavilion 
where the musicians were tuning up, and the page would bring him a laden plate 
and a cup of wine. It was all finger food of the sort that could be eaten with 
nothing but a little recourse to a napkin, and most of it was light and cool, 
meant to tease the palates of the diners with its subtlety. It wasnt the sort of 
heavy feast theyd shared at the Court Feast of the Ice Festival. Selenay made 
her selections, and went to take her seat. She wished that she could sprawl on a 
carpet or cloth, as she had on these occasions when she was only the Heir, but 
she was Queen now, and such an undignified pose would not be proper for her. 
Instead, she followed her page to a rustic seating arrangement of a garden bench 
softened with cushions inside a bower facing the pavilion, with a semicircle of 
chairs placed around it for her particular guests.
She was pleased to see that Talamir was already there, waiting for her. He hadnt 
attended the Hurlee game, pleading a need to see to something or other, but she 
had been a little concerned that the real reason was that he was feeling ill 
again. As the anniversary of her fathers deathand that of his first Companion, 
Taverapproached, he had been looking distinctly frail.
But he seemed well enough now, and very much in the moment. He conducted her to 
her seat with all the gallantry of which he was capable (which was a very great 
deal) and to Karaths evident annoyance, took his traditional place at her left 
hand, leaving Karath to take the remaining chair at her right.
“I trust your business is taken care of?” she asked, as he made sure that she 
had all she needed before sending the page off for his own supper. She tried 
something sweet and spicy wrapped in a lettuce leaf; bits of spiced meat with 
crunchy little bits of vegetable in a light sauce, and decided that she would 
have that often this spring and summer. The cooks seemed to have outdone 
themselves; she hadnt recognized most of the dishes on the tables.
“More so than I expected, Majesty,” he replied, with a definite twinkle in his 
eye. “I would hesitate to say anything, except that you will hear about it from 
any one of a dozen gossips before the end of the day. Apparently our 
Weaponsmaster is not as invulnerable to the darts of emotion as he thought. But 
he is skilled enough in deception that even I thought that his meetings with the 
Chronicler were all business until today.”
Selenay wrinkled her forehead in puzzlement, trying to make out what Talamir was 
getting at. “Alberich? AndMyste” and all at once it dawned on her. “Alberich? 
And Myste? Oh, my word!” She began to laugh delightedly, as the Prince and the 
two Ambassadors looked puzzled. “Oh, but how lovely! Talamir, you must pledge me 
on your word that you will not tease him about it! Above all things, I do not 
want the poor man frightened off, just when hes taken the first steps into this 
venture.”
“Not I, nor any other Herald, Majesty,” Talamir promised. “Were too pleased, to 
tell you the truth. And we would rather that the Trainees didnt find out about 
it eitheror at least, not until the relationship is so long established that 
theyll be as terrified of saying anything about it as they are of offending him 
in any other way.”
Selenay turned to her guests, still smiling at the thought that somber Alberich, 
who seemed as destined to remain chaste as any sworn priest, should finally have 
found a lady who clearly found him fascinating. She and Myste were uncommonly 
well-acquainted, despite the differences in their age and backgrounds, and Myste 
had dropped more than one little remark after they had all returned from the 
Wars that had told Selenay that the Herald-Chronicler had definite leanings in 
the Weaponsmasters direction. He treated her as she wanted to be treated, with 
respect for her learning and as an equal in intelligence. If they occasionally 
exasperated one another, that was only to be expected with two such strong 
personalities. But she had thought Alberich impervious to anything but 
friendship.
Apparently not. “You are puzzled, gentlemen; it is only a little romance among 
our Heralds, but a rather unlikely one, or so I would have thought until now. 
The season seems to have affected our Weaponsmaster, whom we all thought to be a 
man of iron. And the great irony is that the lady in question is the only Herald 
he was never successful in teaching the martial arts tothe Chronicler, Herald 
Myste.”
The Prince smiled vacantly, clearly finding the subject of no particular 
interest, but the Hardornan Ambassador chuckled right along with Herald Talamir. 
“Well! So the spring has managed to melt the heart of stone after all! Good for 
Herald Alberich! And twice as many kudos to your Herald Myste; my guess would be 
that she was the one to do the stalking. These old warriors are as shy as 
partridge in hunting season when it comes to the matters of the heart.”
Talamir laughed. “That, sir, would be telling Heraldic secrets. I will leave it 
to your imagination.”
“And on that note, I beg that we listen to the music and enjoy our repast,” 
Selenay said firmly. “Or else we will start to sound like a gaggle of village 
gossips.”
The sun was just setting, making the gardens a wondrous place indeed. The 
day-blooming flowers wafted the last of their perfumes over the guests as they 
closed their blossoms for the night; the night bloomers were just beginning to 
open. As twilight closed over the garden, a soft breeze sprang up; the musicians 
kept to soft, lyrical melodies, and servants made their way about, lighting the 
torches unobtrusively. Selenay set her empty plate and cup aside, and suddenly 
felt a hand brushing hers, as if by accident.
Then it happened again; she glanced aside at the Prince, who caught her gaze for 
just a moment, touched the tips of her fingers with hers, and gave her a quick, 
conspiratorial wink.
She felt her heart give a leap, and an answering smile crossed her lips before 
she turned her attention back to the musicians.
But she sighed, and watched him covertly out of the corner of her eye. His 
apparent attention was on the musicians, too, but she had the feeling that she 
was being watched behind the screen of his long lashes and half-closed lids.
The breeze touched her cheeks, cooling the heat that had suddenly suffused them. 
She was glad for the shadows within the bower, so that her blushes would not 
betray her. Surely that wasnt just the gesture of a gallant. . . .
She reached for her wine cup, and her fingers touched something else. Trying to 
appear as casual as she could, she managed to get both objects, and found that 
she was holding both her cup, and a red rosebud from which all of the thorns had 
been carefully removed. He turned his head slightly, lowered his gaze to the 
flower meaningfully, smiled, and looked back to the musicians.
Now her whole body seemed to vibrate with a thrill that she had never felt 
before. To cover it, and to moisten her mouth gone suddenly dry, she sipped at 
the wine. Then she put the cup back downbut kept the rose.
The half-planned masquerade took on a new importance and urgency in her mind. 
She would give him the setting. And she would see if he reacted to it.
And then
Then things would fall as they fell.
14
Selenay stood very quietly in the exact middle of her dressing-room, while three 
maids fussed and fluttered around her, making sure that every detail of her 
costume was just so. In a few moments, she and her ladies would be going down 
into the gardens to perform the masque that would open the Midsummer Masquerade. 
In fact, there was music drifting through the open windows of her suite right 
now, making her both impatient and nervous at the same time.
She stared fixedly at herself in the mirror on the wall opposite her. Her 
costume was identical to the ones her ladies would be wearing; all of them would 
wear floating, ethereal dresses composed of many layers of pale green silk 
gauze, the topmost layer embroidered with tiny sprigs of leaves and flowers, 
fitted to the waist and flaring outward like the petals of a trumpet flower. It 
had a hint of a train, with long, trailing butterfly sleeves and a round 
neckline that showed just enough bosom to suggest, rather than reveal. With it, 
she wore soft, silk slippers dyed to match the gown. None of them would wear 
jewels, not even she, only a loose, trailing belt of ivy, and bracelets and 
anklets of flowers. All would be masked, the strange, featureless silver masks 
of the legendary Moon Maidens, ovals without even eye holesa cunning layer of 
silver gauze where the eyes should be was perfectly easy for the dancers to see 
through, but gave no hint of the eyes behind the masks. Their hair, which 
otherwise would give their identities away, was covered with more silk gauze in 
the form of a wrapped coif with floor-sweeping veils crowned with chaplets of 
more flowers. And the only difference between Selenay and the rest of them was 
her secret; she wore a single rosebud tucked into the ivy at the waistband of 
her gown. She had not told the Prince this; he would have to discover it for 
himself. In fact, she had not told anyone this. And since no one was to unmask 
before midnight, she would be indistinguishable from any of her ladies except 
for that one detail.
Which meant, if she chose, she should be able to slip away from the rest without 
being missed and throwing everyone into a panic.
She surveyed herself in the mirror, and was satisfied with what she saw. In 
designing this costume, she and her seamstresses had taken every flattering 
aspect of every dress she had ever worn, and combined it into a single gown. In 
the past, as often as not, she had carefully selected her clothing to serve as 
armor. This gown, however, was meant to be a weapon. Now the only thing that 
remained to be seen was if the weapon would be used. She already knew, just from 
what she saw in the mirror, that it would be effective.
Was it so silly of her, to want to be wooed like an ordinary woman? To know that 
the man who asked for her hand wanted her as well as what she represented? She 
was sure, now, that Karath was here for the purpose of courting her, or else he 
would have gone home by this time. There had been several opportunities for him 
to leave, including when his own Ambassador was recalled because of an emergency 
in his family. He could have gone back to Rethwellan then, with the man who had 
brought him here in the first place. He hadnt. In fact, he had stayed even 
though the Rethwellan Embassy was virtually empty but for a few servants. Even 
though half of his guards had gone back to protect the Ambassador on his 
journey, and she had loaned him some of her own Guards until either the old 
Ambassador returned, or a new one with the rest of the entourage came to take 
his place.
She knew that most of her Councilors were devoutly praying for such a match. It 
would all but secure the southern Border, since Rethwellan would be obliged to 
help defend it if the Karsites somehow found the means to attack again. It would 
bring many, many trade advantages, since Valdemaran goods would probably be 
exempted from the onerous taxes on imported stuff. It would mean easy access to 
several great trade markets of the south. No one could or would object to a 
Rethwellan Prince on the grounds of either consanguinity or unequal rank.
But she didnt want a trade alliance, or a military advantage. She wanted a 
Consort, a partner, a confidant. Someone she could talk to; someone who
well, someone she could love. Someone who would love her. Who would treasure 
Selenay as well as the Queen, as her father had treasured her mother.
She thought, if things worked out as she hoped, that she would be able to tell 
if that was true of Karath. She knew already that she was deliriously infatuated 
with him. How could she not be? Nearly every woman of the Court was half in love 
with his handsome face and charming manners. Every time he looked at her, she 
felt a shiver of delight; every time she thought about him, she went hot and 
cold all over. She had dreams of him at night that made her wake full of aching 
desire.
They had shared several conversations now, which were, if not completely 
private, certainly mostly private. He really did understand the terrible burden 
of the crown, of being unable to ever have much real privacy, of having to be 
everything to everyone. They had talked about all the times when, as children, 
they had lost entire holidays being on show for the people. Theyd spoken of the 
difficulty of rinding real friends. She thought that he understood these things 
as not even a Herald could. If he wanted her, well, he had her. But only if he 
truly wanted her; she was not going to go into this now unless she had him just 
as truly.
He would have to say so. More than that, he would have to convince her that he 
meant it. Otherwise
Well, in the end, she still might marry him. But it would not be for a while, 
maybe not for years. If this was to be nothing more than an alliance marriage, 
then she was not going to throw her heart after him.
:Thats the first sensible thing youve thought of,: Caryo said. She started; 
Caryo had been uncharacteristically silent lately, and had notuntil nowsaid a 
single word about the Prince.
:What was the point? I dont like him; I dont know why. But youyoure in love with 
him. Or with his face and manners and fine words, anyway, and youre not going to 
send him away just because I dont like him. Id have to give you a lot better 
reason than that, and I dont have one.:
Selenay bit her lip and stared at her mirror. :But if you dont like him:
:Im also not going to try to stop you from doing something you really want to,: 
Caryo said, irritation clear in her mind-voice. :And if he can convince you that 
hes as much in love with you as you are with him well, theres nothing more to 
say. It wont be the first time that someone in a brides family hasnt gotten 
along with the groom. If human families can put up with such a thing, so can I.:
Selenay found herself horribly torn between annoyance at Caryo and 
gratitudeannoyance, that Caryo would have the infernal gall not to like Karath, 
and gratitude that she was not going to stand in the way of what her Chosen 
wanted. She settled, finally, on the gratitude. There was no point in being 
annoyed, anyway. Caryo would do what Caryo did; the two of them didnt always see 
eye to eye.
:It hasnt happened,: she reminded Caryo. :And what would be better him, or 
someone that was beholden to one or more of my Council, someone we couldnt trust 
not to have a dozen people whispering in his ear?:
:Whos to say your precious Prince doesnt have that baggage already?: Caryo 
countered, then softened. :I suppose that youre right. And besides, if he doesnt 
take the bait tonight, and he cant convince you:
:Then even if I eventually marry him anyway for alliance purposes, it wont be 
until Ive managed to control my own feelings,: Selenay said firmly. :If I am 
doomed to an alliance marriage, it will be with all my armor on.:
She said that, but underneath her words was the yearning, the hope, that shed 
never be required to live up to those words. What was more, she wasnt entirely 
certain that she could. She thought that she covered it well, however. Certainly 
Caryo seemed mollified.
:Then, in that casego, and see whatever is to be seen with clear eyes,: Caryo 
told her, and slipped out of her mind.
She heaved a sigh of relief. That could have gone very badly, and the one thing 
that she could not bear would have been for Caryo to be angry with her.
On the other hand, if Caryo never could grow to like Karath, well, too bad. 
There were even Heralds who didnt particularly care for one another, and not 
even all the Companions got along in perfect accord.
On the other hand, maybe she would mellow over time. When Alberich had first 
been Chosen, there had even been a group of young Companions who had tried to 
attack him. Now there wasnt one of them that wouldnt defend him to the death, 
and when he got into it with one of the Traineesas he had over the broken 
mirroreven the Companions of those Trainees backed the Weaponsmaster.
If Karath truly loved her, then with luck Caryo would come around eventually. It 
could be just a matter of time and patience.
She dismissed the whole situation from her mind. Tonight would be hersmore truly 
than that moment on the battlefield when she became Queen, more truly than the 
moment of her coronation, because in both cases, it had been the Queen, not 
Selenay, who had received the accolades, whose life had been forever altered. 
Tonight, it would be Selenay, and not the Queen.
She glanced at the windows, and was gratified to see that the last rays of 
sunset were gone, and the light outside was deepening into twilight. It was 
nearly time for the masque. All the guests would have been assembled by now, and 
would be waiting for the appearance of the Moon Maidens to begin the real 
festivities.
“Are my ladies ready?” she asked one of the maids.
“In the antechamber, Majesty,” the girl said promptly.
She nodded. “Good. Then thats enough fussing with the gown; it is never going to 
be more perfect than it is now. Hand me my mask.”
Wordlessly, one of the maids gave it to her; she fitted it over her face, and 
the maid tied it in place over the coif, then settled the long, trailing veil 
over her hair, now so tightly braided and coiled under the coif that once the 
chaplet was pressed down over the veil and coif, not a hair was to be seen.
The world as viewed through the eye holes of the mask was clear enough, perhaps 
a little obscured, as if by a thin mist, but no worse than that. The face 
presented to the mirror, however, was a featureless silver oval, more than a bit 
uncanny.
The legend of the Maidens of the Moon was right out of Rethwellan, not Valdemar, 
and told of a young princesupposedly one of Karaths ancestorswho met a maid 
dancing in his garden by the light of the full moon and fell in love with her, 
only to discover that she was one of the twelve daughters of the King of the 
Moon. He went through many harrowing adventures to get to the Moon-Kings kingdom 
to claim her, only to be faced by a final testpick her out from among her twelve 
identical sisters as they danced before him. She hoped that was enough of a hint 
to Karath of what he was expected to do tonight.
“Lets go down,” she told the maids, and went out to her antechamber to collect 
her eleven ladies.
But she was not the one in the lead; she let Lady Jenice have that honor. She 
was determined not to give Karath any more hint than that rosebudand not to give 
anyone else any hint, so that no one could prevent her from escaping from the 
throng with him if he chose right. She had instructed all of her ladies to speak 
only in whispers and never to so much as hint as to their identities, pointing 
out that the whole purpose of a masquerade was to keep everyone guessing 
(insofar as that was possible) until the unmasking. And everyone taking part in 
the masque had agreed with alacrity. One or two of her ladies, she suspected, 
had certain suspicions of their own lovers and were thinking to see if they 
could be caught out. One or two she knew were hoping to use the opportunity for 
some clandestine flirtations of their own. The rest were all simply intrigued by 
the idea, which was more than enough to keep them in the spirit of the game.
She saw with more than a little amusement that she was not the only one of them 
to be wearing a flower tucked in the ivy-belt, but none of those flowers was a 
rosebud. Good! One more point of confusion, if Karath was not serious enough to 
be paying attention.
The guests were all in the garden by now, and she could hear the musicians 
playing incidental music. She and the other ladies would perform their dance on 
the torchlit terrace above the gardens, giving everyone a good view. She felt a 
flutter in her stomach, a nervousness greater than shed felt even at her own 
coronation. Her hands felt cold and clammy, and her face flushed. She was glad 
that she wasnt going to have to say anything, or she was sure she would have 
stammered and stumbled over the words.
The ladies lined up at the terrace door in two lines, forming six pairs. Selenay 
joined her left hand to her partners rightthat would be Lady Betrice, though you 
wouldnt be able to tell that if you didnt know it. A maid ran outside to let the 
Bard in charge of the entertainment know that they were ready. Someone giggled 
nervously.
From outside, muffled by the closed terrace doors, she heard the Bards staff 
pounding three times on the stone of the terrace, and a single trumpet sound a 
brief, silvery four-note call for attention. The chattering stopped; so did the 
music.
“My Lords and my Ladies!” the Bard called into the sudden silence. “In honor of 
His Highness, Prince Karathanelan of Rethwellan, Her Majesty and her Ladies will 
now perform the Masque of the Moon Maidens!”
The doors were pulled open from outside by two pages; the music began, and the 
twelve ladies danced onto the stone terrace above the gardens to the strains of 
a solemn pavane. Selenay felt her heart pounding and concentrated fiercely on 
the steps of the dance, watching the lady in front of her. One-two-three, 
dip-two-three, turn-two-three, pause
To her immense relief, Selenay realized that she couldnt see a thing down below 
the terrace, that the light from all of the lanterns and torches quite obscured 
all of the courtiers and guests below. She could concentrate on the intricate 
patterns of the dance quite as if it was no more than just another rehearsal, 
even though her heart was pounding as if she was running, and her hands still 
felt as if shed been holding them in ice-rimmed water.
In a way, it was just as well that this was not an easy dance, nothing like any 
of the normal dances of the Court. It began as a round dance in slow gigue-time, 
then moved into a double-round of two circles of six ladies with the pattern 
changed to a slow gavotte. Then it moved into a triple-round of three circles of 
four, back in a gigue. There were extra bows and flourishes of the veils and the 
long sleeves, extra circlings and glidings between the figures of the dance. In 
and out and around Selenay wove her steps, turning and bowing, touching the 
fingers of her next partner, then releasing them, turning again to face a new 
partner. Then it became a line dance as a pavane, then a six-couple line dance 
in a chassone, then a double line of three couples in minette, then three square 
dances as a pavane. And each time the dance changed, they struck a new tableau 
for a hold of six bars of music, until the music came around again to the first 
round dance, at the end of which they struck a twelve-person tableau. Selenay 
wasnt even in the center of that final tableau, she was over at the far right. 
There was literally no way of telling which of the ladies she was; she was quite 
certain of that.
As the music ended, the applause from below was enthusiastic, and very 
gratifying. She felt herself flushing with pride, and she was certain that she 
wasnt the only one. They all broke their tableau and stepped to the edge of the 
terrace in a line, holding hands, and took their bows, bending their knees and 
bowing their heads in a graceful acknowledgment of the applause. It sounded 
quite genuine, which was delightful, actually, since most masques in her 
experience were more endured than enjoyed, and the accolades tended to be 
dutiful rather than enthusiastic
Then they came down the steps from the terrace to the lawn to mingle with the 
rest of the guests as dance music began. And here was the hard partother than 
getting through the Masque itself. Somehow she had to carry herself like one of 
the rest, neither with too much authority nor too little, neither with 
diffidence nor haughtiness. She decided to avail herself, first thing, of one of 
the fans laid out on a table just where the terrace steps ended, for the use of 
those who found themselves overly warm. A fan was an excellent thing; it served 
as a kind of shield as well as something to occupy the hands.
But before she could do more than pick one up, someone grabbed her free hand. 
Startled, she found that she had been seized by one of the more exuberant young 
courtiers and was being pulled into a rowdy country-style ring dance. She 
couldnt tell who it was, of course; he was wearing an ornate and rather antique 
uniform or livery, and a mask made in the shape of a roosters head. It was clear 
he had taken her for one of her ladies and not the Queen.
Dont resist! she reminded herself, and allowed him to pull her into the circle. 
Everyone was laughing, sometimes tripping over the little uneven parts of the 
ground, and acting altogether like a lot of children. And somewhat to her 
surprise, she found herself havingfun!
And in a moment she understood why; she was anonymous, and she had been chosen 
by this young man for what he could see of her body, not because she was 
Selenay. Of course he assumed she was one of Selenays ladies at least, but 
behind the anonymity of his mask and hers, they were able to act freely. As she 
romped her way around the ring, she realized that she hadnt felt this 
lighthearted since shed been a Trainee, and just Selenay, who happened to sleep 
over in the Palace and not in a room on the Girls Side of the dormitory floor.
She was very glad, however, that all the parts of her costume had been fastened 
securely. It wouldnt do to have the coif and veil, or worse, the mask fall off, 
and reveal her for who she was.
She took the precaution, in a moment between dances, to knot her sleeves and tie 
up her veil all the same. No point in getting them tangled and pulled off 
either.
A kind of madness infected her, and she was not the only one. That was the thing 
about a masquerade; you could be as wild and silly as you liked under the 
anonymity of a mask. Especially if you had one of the more common masks; as she 
whirled through the steps of another dance, she saw at least two roosters, three 
Horned Men, and no less than five bears. She, of course, was one of a dozen Moon 
Maidens, and there were cats, Wild Women, goddesses and butterfly masks that 
were no less popular.
Another dance struck up immediately, this one a brasle, where two lines of 
dancers ran at each other, then seized new partners and whirled madly until it 
was time to run at each other again. She went through four rounds of that, when 
suddenly she was seized by someone in a costume she did not at all recognize.
He wore a half-mask of gold surmounted by a huge hat crowned with feathers, the 
costume an elaborate doublet and trews of silk and velvet in reds and yellows. 
And as the young man paused in their heady rush, he bent over and whispered, “I 
am the Moon Prince. Have I chosen aright, Selenay, my Moon Maiden?”
She pulled back, startled, and he laughed in Karaths voice and boldly plucked 
the rosebud from her belt. “I see by this token that I have!” he said, the mouth 
beneath the half-mask grinning. “Hererun with me!”
He took her hand; she hesitated only long enough to snatch a handful of her 
skirt so she could run more freely, and the two of them sprinted hand-in-hand 
off into the depth of the gardens, laughing like a pair of children.
She didnt know where they were going; she didnt care. They ran through 
torchlight and shadow, the sounds of music and merriment fading behind them. She 
more than half expected him to run toward Companions Field, or some other remote 
place, but instead, he ran toward the Palace. Once again, he had chosen 
correctly; there was no one in this part of the garden at all, and little light. 
They were right beside the windows of the Collegium kitchen, which at this hour 
was dark. There, in the shadows of a thick clump of bushes, he finally stopped, 
and pulled her into his arms.
“Wont you unmask now, Selenay?” he murmured, confronted with the featureless 
oval of her disguise. And as if to set the example, he pulled off his hat, which 
proved to be fastened to his half-mask.
She put up her hands to the back of her head and loosened the chaplet, but he 
was too impatient to wait for her fumbling fingers. He carefully took off the 
chaplet, then the veil, and untied the mask himself, discarding each on the 
ground beside his hat. With every item he removed, her heart pounded a little 
faster.
When he had laid her face bare, he looked into her eyes for a long moment.
Then, suddenly, his arms were around her again, his lips crushed against hers, 
and she felt a heat rise in her and overwhelm her. She felt as if she was made 
of butter, melting against him, pressing her body into his, wanting nothing so 
much as to have the kiss go on forever and ever.
Buttoo soon for her desireshe felt his arms loosen, and he lifted his face from 
hers to stare down into her eyes again. There was just enough moonlight for him 
to see her upturned face; his was all in shadow, and she strained to hear his 
voice.
“By the gods, Selenay, I have wanted to do that from the moment I saw you!” he 
breathed.
She lifted her face wordlessly to his, but he shook his head, and with every 
evidence of regret, loosened her from his grasp.
“No,” he said, “I dare not, or I will not stop with but a kiss.”
“No?” she asked, feeling obscurely disappointed. “Then”
“But I can do this,” he said, interrupting her. He dropped to his knees, 
clasping both her hands in his. “Here it is only you and I, not our countries, 
not our Councils, only ourselves to satisfy. We will please only ourselves; we 
will answer only to our own will, here. Selenay, I ask this for myself, and for 
myselfwould you, will you, grant your hand to me in marriage?”
He had read her riddle; more than that, he had answered her invitation and her 
challenge and met it, his Prince to her Moon Maiden. And nownow, away from all 
witnesses, all eyes, he had asked her to wed him specifically for himself, and 
not for his country.
If this wasnt the answer to her questions, she could not imagine what could be.
“Yes,” she whispered. “With all my heart.”
He leaped to his feet and took her in his arms again, and her whole body 
thrilled to the caresses that he bestowed on it. She would quite willingly have 
torn off her own gown and melded her body with his there and then. It was his 
restraint that stopped anything more from happening.
And though a great deal of her was frustrated and disappointed, the rest of her 
was grateful and full of admiration at his self-control.
“Here,” he said, as he actually stepped away from her, then took her hand and 
bestowed a tender kiss on the palm. “You may be only one Moon Maiden among 
twelve, but we should not take the risk that you are missed. Let me help you 
mask again.”
And so she stood, burning with desire for him, as he, clever as her best maid, 
masked her hot cheeks with the silver ovoid again, and placed the veil over her 
head, and the chaplet atop it. Then he retrieved his own mask and resumed his 
guise as well. “Shall we walk?” he asked, “my own lady?”
A shiver went up her spine at the caress in his words.
“To cool ourselves,” she murmured in reply, and he laughed.
“I think that cooling is what we both need, my Moon Maiden!” he chuckled. “It is 
just as well that our masks will hide our faces, or they would surely betray us 
to anyone with eyes in his head!”
He took her hand, and led her back toward the festivities, at a far more 
decorous pace this time. She was glad of the night air and the chance to get her 
pounding heart to quiet itself. Her hand trembled in his, and he felt the 
trembling, and tightened his fingers about hers for a moment.
They passed other couples on their way to the dancing-lawn, making use of the 
little bowers and grottoes of the gardens, standing or sitting together. They 
also passed places shrouded in darkness from which little sighs and murmurs came 
that made her cheeks flush again, and a stab of envy lance through her.
But Karath took no notice, or at least, did not appear to. They sauntered on 
together, like any couple on a leisurely stroll, until they stepped onto the 
lawn below the terrace and into the full glare of the torchlight.
She did not know what she would have done then, but the situation was taken out 
of their hands by a wild game of crack-the-whip that crossed their path the 
moment they stepped onto the torchlit grass. The trailing girl seized Karaths 
hand in passing, and since he still had Selenays she was perforce now the 
running, laughing, end of the “whip” until she in her turn could grab another 
hand.
Before long, the scampering line was too unwieldy to be a whip, and became a 
dancing, running snake, winding its way among the more sedate and older 
courtiers, who either laughed indulgently or frowned and snorted behind their 
masks. Around and around they went, in and out of the ornamental bushes, until 
everyone that had any youth in his body had been caught up in it; the musicians 
seemed to have been infected by the excitement, for they did not stop or even 
pause in their playing, until Selenay was out of breath, her side aching, the 
corners of her mouth actually hurting from all of the laughing and smiling she 
was doing. When they snaked around a potted rosemary tree, she finally let go of 
Karaths hand and that of the person behind her so that she could drop out of the 
line. The person behind her ran up and grabbed Karaths hand to keep the line 
going, and he was soon out of her sight.
With her hand pressed to her side, breathing hard, she sought out a stone bench 
that was too exposed to be a choice of lovers, and sat down on it. She wished 
she had the fan that she had lost, somewhere back when the dancing began. But at 
least the breeze was cool, and her gown was light; she fanned herself with a 
piece of her veil, and took deep breaths, waiting for the stitch in her side to 
pass.
But she had not been there long before Karath appeared again, and wonder of 
wonders, he brought a fan for her! He handed it to her with a graceful bow, and 
she thanked him and wafted herself with it, wondering gratefully if there was 
any other man here who would have thought of such a thing.
He took a seat beside her on the bench, and covered her free hand with his own. 
“One thing only, my own lady,” he said, quietly, his voice barely audible over 
the music. “Is it your pleasure that we make our choice known tonight, or would 
you”
“Tonight!” she said quickly. “If we wait, if I go first to the Councilthere will 
be objections, however trivial, and the Councilors will want to argue it over 
for days and days! But if we simply tell them, at the unmasking, they will 
accept what they must.”
“You are as wise as you are beautiful,” he said warmly, patting her hand. “I 
would not have thought of that. Andhow fitting, for any who might recognize my 
costume if we are standing together at the unmasking”
“Or better still,” she said, suddenly seeing it all in her minds eye, “on the 
terrace!”
His eyes sparkled behind his mask. “Oh, well thought! How soon before midnight 
strikes?”
That, she could answer, for there was a time-candle visible from where they sat. 
She pointed, and they could both see that there would be just enough time for 
them to slip into the Palace and get into place before the trumpeter marked the 
moment of unmasking.
Giggling with a giddy exhilaration, she now led him in through an unguarded door 
in the public part of the Palace, then back through the maze of corridors to the 
terrace door where she had so lately stood. There was no one there now, not even 
a page, and the doors stood open. Together, hand in hand, they walked out onto 
the terrace at the exact moment that the trumpeter sounded the call of midnight.
With a cheer, the masks came offall but theirs. With an instinct for the drama 
of it, they both waited until the rest of the guests noticed that there was a 
couple standing alone on the brightly-lit terrace where the Masque had taken 
place
that one of the figures was a Moon Maiden
began to grasp that the other must be Prince Karathanelan
And at that moment, he pulled off his mask and flung it behind himself, as she 
pulled chaplet, veil, mask and coif all off, shaking her hair loose so that it 
fell down around her shoulders. And as the guests saw that it was her, he again 
pulled her to him, and bent down in their first public embrace and kiss.
She closed her eyes, as her ears filled with the great cheer that went up as her 
arms went around him.
And she thought, in that moment, that there could be no happier person in all of 
Valdemar than she.
15
From the moment it was announced, Alberich had deliberately planned to avoid the 
masquerade. This was precisely the sort of gathering at which he felt most 
uncomfortable. And after all, it was primarily a Court function, and not one at 
which he expected anything significant would happen either. Those older members 
of the Court upon whom he had his eye were unlikely to use such an occasion for 
any conspiratorial gathering; both he and Talamir were agreed on that. Of all 
the times and places in which one could talk with fellow conspirators, an 
occasion such as this, where there were dozens of people milling about, all 
masked so that you could not know just who, exactly, was around you, was not 
ideal. And furthermore (although many popular plays and romances would have 
attempted to persuade otherwise) a gathering that was held out of doors where 
you could never be sure there was not someone hiding and listening to you, was 
probably a very bad choice for passing on secret information.
Alberich hated this sort of entertainment with a passion. And since Selenay was 
going to be costumed identically with eleven of her ladies, at least until the 
moment of unmasking, this was probably one of the few times when she would be 
safer without a bodyguard. Unless, of course, all twelve of them were to be 
granted bodyguards. So he had said, decidedly, that he was not needed nor 
wanted, Talamir had agreed with him, and had suggested that he might wish to 
actually relax that evening for a change.
He had, in fact, decided to keep an eye on Norris that evening.
He already knew where to find him; there was not a performance tonight, and with 
all of the young nobles up at the masquerade, there was little chance that 
Norris would be meeting any of them down slumming with the actors tonight. No, 
if he met up with anyone above his own station, it would be because there was 
something more than drinking going on. This was one of the things that Alberich 
was going to keep a watch out for; someone who should be at the masquerade who 
was not.
If anybody had asked him what he was hoping to discover, he would have told them 
that he was not, in fact, hoping for anything. He knew better than to expect a 
result from any given evening; results never came when you expected them. You 
got ready for them in case they cropped up, and you watched for them to make 
sure you didnt miss them when they came, but you never expected them.
Since Myste would not be there tonight as it wasnt a performance night, he 
decided to trot out a new persona, one that was designed to blend in as well as 
Myste didthe aging, cranky scholar. His station would be shabby middle-class, 
genteel poverty, but poor because he spent all his money on books, travel to 
confer with other scholars, and paying to print his own monographs on obscure 
subjects. He wore clothing that was of good material, but not new, a 
long-sleeved, high-collared, belted tunic and trews of heavy linen in a rusty 
black, with a shirt of white linen, and the flat scholars cap. Not shabby, but 
also neither well-cared-for nor well-fitted. He had an old leather satchel 
stuffed full of papers and books. He brought a reading book with him, parked 
himself in an out-of-the-way corner of the common room, and apparently kept his 
nose in it while he ate, in an absentminded fashion. He had engaged a room, but 
it was a very small one and did not come with candle or lantern, so it was 
perfectly reasonable for him to take his book here to read. He had debated 
getting a set of lenses like Mystes, but decided against it. If he were checking 
to see if someone was in disguise and snooping about, the first thing he would 
do would be to arrange to knock their lenses off to see if they were real. A 
pair of plain clear glass lenses would be a dead giveaway. And for once, his 
scars were an asset rather than a liability; by enhancing them rather than 
trying to conceal them and at the same time enhancing those creases that would, 
in time, become frown-lines, he was able to age himself credibly by nearly 
thirty years.
He did not know for certain that Norris would be here tonight, but with no play 
on, there was a good likelihood that he would at least spend the afternoon in 
rehearsals, then have some dinner here, where he was fed for free, before going 
out anywhere. And at any rate, even if the man didnt start his evening here, 
there was a good chance that by careful listening, Alberich would pick up some 
gossip about him or his whereabouts.
But his luck was truly in tonight; not only did Norris begin his night here, but 
the rehearsal ran long, so that Norris came down from his room about two 
candlemarks after sunset, dressed in quiet elegance, all fawnskin breeches and 
fine linen shirt open at the throat, thigh-high boots nearly as tight as the 
breeches.
He stepped up to the bar and ordered himself a drink. And shortly after that, so 
carefully timed that Alberich did not for a moment think it was coincidence, 
someone came looking for him.
Except that the man didnt exactly come looking for him, the way an admirer 
would. He didnt begin by asking the doorkeeper if Norris was about, for 
instance, and he didnt come up to him openly, as a simple admirer would.
The stranger cast a glance around the common room; his eye lit on Norris, 
standing beside the bar and chatting, mug in hand. Since Alberich was watching 
Norris very carefully, he saw the actor catch the strangers eye and hold it for 
just a moment. Then the newcomer took a seat of his own, in the same 
out-of-the-way corner that Alberich was already in. It was an awkward little 
cul-de-sac beneath the stairs, big enough for only a couple of two-person 
tables. Alberich already had the most exposed of the tables; the stranger took 
the one that was the least exposed to the rest of the room.
Alberich went on reading. He did not even look up as the man brushed by him, nor 
when the serving wench brought him his order. Norris didnt pay any great amount 
of attention overtly eitherbut after some time, the actor left the bar and 
drifted over in his direction. By this time, the common room was at its most 
crowded, and virtually the only seats left were at two-person tables like the 
ones Alberich and the stranger each had. Somehow Alberich didnt think that 
Norris was going to ask if he could join the scholar.
Norris paused for a moment beside Alberich; Alberichs neck prickled, but he 
didnt look up from his book. Surely it wasnt possible that the actor was going 
to sit at his table!
Surely it isnt possible that he recognized me?
The actor certainly gave Alberich a good look-over. Alberich did just what his 
persona would have done: he read, outwardly oblivious to anything going on 
around him. Norris moved on, and said to the stranger, “Friend, would you mind 
if I sat at this table?”
“Be my guest,” the man said with every sign of indifference. And that would have 
been perfectly ordinary, if it hadnt been that both of them pitched their voices 
just a little louder than if theyd been talking merely to each other, and not 
for the benefit of anyone who happened to be nearby.
Alberich turned his page, and furrowed his brow. It was appropriate to furrow 
his brow at this point; the author was taking a slightly controversial stance, 
and one that someone like Alberich was bound to disagree with. Alberich had 
chosen this book quite deliberately; he was very familiar with it, and if 
challenged, could converse knowledgeably about the contents. And tonight, he 
just might have to. Despite the heat in the overcrowded room, he felt a chill of 
apprehension.
He heard the scrape of a stool on the floor; the sounds of someone sitting down 
behind him. He didnt actually hear anything then, but the serving wench 
materialized, as they all did, whenever Norris summoned them, however 
imperceptible the signal was to anyone else. The actor ordered dinner, and when 
it came, there was a pause as the wench flirted a little with Norris then was 
summarily shooed away.
“Is it all right?” said the stranger, in a very, very soft voice.
“Safe as houses,” Norris replied, casually. “Safer than my room. Cant tell who 
might be on the other side of the wall, there.”
Well, thought Alberich, Thats what you get for insisting on the big corner room. 
Norris had recently demandedand gottenone of the better chambers at the inn. 
Even with Myste keeping a jaundiced eye on the take, the innkeeper was doing a 
phenomenal amount of business thanks to the ongoing presence of the actors here, 
and couldnt afford to offend Norris at this point. The problem with the new 
room, however, was that while Norris had one of his fellow actors as a neighbor 
on one side, the other was a room that anyone could rent, and it was often taken 
by someone who wanted to be near the actor. That would practically guarantee a 
snoop with her ear to the wall.
“What about him?” persisted the stranger, and Alberich knew, by the prickling 
feeling on the back of his neck, that the man was pointing at him in some way. 
Probably with a little jerk of the chin; less obtrusive, unless you were 
watching for something of the sort.
“Hmm.” There was a scrape; Norris this time; Alberich could tell from the 
position of the chair.
Hes going to do something. Alberich thought he could guess what, and a moment 
later, it came. And now he had to do something that was against all of his 
instincts; he had to relax, not tighten his muscles in anticipation. The scholar 
would be deep in the book and would not even be aware of the rest of the world. 
You should be able to come up behind him and shout in his ear without his 
noticing.
There was the sound of a stumble, and Norris blundered into him, spilling his 
drink, knocking the book out of his hand, nearly knocking him over. Alberich did 
not try to save himself; he let the chair go over, and himself with it, as with 
a cry, he lurched for his book. Norris was there before him, picking it up, all 
apology, offering his hand, and when Alberich was on his feet, dusting him off.
“Horribly clumsy of me, I beg your pardon” While Norris babbled on, he was 
managing to get a look at the book, in fact, at the place where Alberich had 
been reading. And thank the Sunlord for that, since it meant he was not looking 
closely at Alberichs disguise instead! He handed it back to Alberich so quickly, 
though, that it was unlikely anyone like the scholar would have realized that 
the actor had examined the book before relinquishing it. But an actor had to be 
a quick study; the man probably had both pages memorized by now.
Alberich snatched it away, glared angrily at him, and fussed over the book, 
making certain that none of the pages were bent, nothing stained. “You clumsy 
oaf!” he shrilled, pitching his voice to a whiny falsetto. “Curse you, fellow! 
Where did you think you were going?”
“Ill buy you a new drink,” Norris was saying, as the serving wench bustled up 
with a towel to clean up the mess.
“If youve so much as creased a page, youll buy me a new book, young man,” 
Alberich replied querulously. “Copies of Cantons Lives of the Philosophers do 
not grow on trees!”
“No, they dont, Im sure,” Norris said agreeably, as the serving wench brought 
another drink and Norris paid her for it. “And I would be devastated to think I 
had ruined one. I particularly admire his scholarly treatise on Loval Hestalion, 
for instance.”
Alberich simply gave him a good long stare, as if suspiciously certain that 
Norris was only trying to jolly his way past Alberichs anger. “Its Lowal 
Hestalion, young man, as you would know if you had actually read the book, 
rather than making something up to try and worm your way into my favor. And what 
is more, the man may be sound enough on other biographies, but his treatise on 
Hestalion is little more than a repetition of scurrilous rumor!”
Norris threw up his hands and laughed. “Caught! Well, I most sincerely apologize 
again. I have restored your drink, and I hope I havent foxed your book, so are 
we quits?”
“The book appears to be intact,” Alberich said icily, “I believe I am also 
intact. And I beg the pleasure of your absence.”
“Yes, sir!” Norris laughed, and went back to his place while Alberich ostensibly 
and ostentatiously reburied himself in his book.
“So, there, you see,” Norris said under the sound of the conversations all 
around them. “Nothing but a bookworm. We could burn down the place around him, 
and he wouldnt notice.”
“Good enough. The games in play tonight,” the stranger said. “We think it will 
play out well.”
“Good news,” Norris said with satisfaction. “And my reward?”
“Youll get it when the bond is sealed,” the stranger replied. “Even if all goes 
well, there will be opposition. We may need you before then. And dont forget, 
well also need you after, for a time, anyway.”
“No, you wont,” Norris growled, sounding irritated now. “The boys a natural 
seducer. And the girls untried. And I absolutely the finest instructor in the 
arts of seduction that was ever born. You say hes showing his hand tonight. If 
he doesnt have her well enchanted before the week is out, and wedded within the 
moon, Ill eat my hat without salt.”
“All well and good, but hell still need pretty speeches, and hes not bright 
enough to make them up on his own,” the stranger said, irritation in his own 
voice. “Until theres an heir in the offing, were not safely home.”
“And I dont get my theater.” Norris sighed, as if much put upon. “All right, 
then, Ill stay available. But hed better not drag this on too long. It doesnt 
take that long to get a girl with child, and after that, keeping her bound will 
be up to him. Ive never seen a woman born yet that didnt make every excuse in 
the world for the father of her child.”
“After that, well have what we need,” the voice purred. The tone made the hair 
on Alberichs head stand up. There was something very sinister about it, that 
made Alberich wonder uneasily just what it was that the voice and his cohorts 
needed.
And he felt very sorry for the girl in question.
But it seemed that, whatever was going on here and now, it had little or nothing 
to do with the security of Valdemar. Evidently Norris had been coaching some 
unscrupulous young man in how to seduce a young woman into marriage. He could 
almost picture her in his mind as he carefully turned another page in his book, 
some young, lonely, plain thing, but wealthyfor surely only great wealth could 
be the cause for such a scheme.
Would there be any way to warn her, assuming he could find out who she was?
Probably not. Even coming from a Herald, she probably wouldnt believe anything 
that anyone told her against her beloved. Not if she was as infatuated as Norris 
thought. And he was a practiced seducer, after all.
But he didnt fool Myste, a little voice in the back of his mind reminded him.
Yes, well, Myste had been fooled at least once in her past, when she was 
younger. You had to have experience in something before you could recognize 
danger when you saw it, and since the stranger called the unknown young woman a 
“girl,” she probably wasnt old enough to have experience in much of anything. 
Poor thing.
He turned a page of his book, groped for his drink without looking at it, and 
took a sip. Well. Norris was very generous; this was much better beer than the 
stuff Alberich had ordered the first time around.
The scrape of a stool signaled someones departure, and it turned out to be the 
stranger. He eased his way past Alberich, being exceptionally careful not to jar 
him. Alberich ignored him entirely, though he would very much have liked to get 
a good look at him. The best Alberich could manage was a quick glance at the 
mans profile. It looked faintly familiar, in the way that someone looked if seen 
once or twice. It could be anybody Alberich had seen around here. Alberich filed 
the face in the back of his mind.
Now Norris was alonebut not for long.
There was a bit of a commotion at the door, the sound of high, shrill voices, 
and a flash of bright color. Alberich heard Norris chuckle under his breath, and 
buried his nose even further in the book.
But Norris was the one who got up, and sauntered over to the trio of women who 
were clearly what Alberichs mother had been mistaken for.
Now, Alberich knew he was no expert when it came to womens dress, especially not 
here in Valdemar, but there were some commonalities among the ladies of 
negotiable virtue everywhere, and this lot showed every one of the sartorial 
signs. There were flounces and ribbons and curls and painted cheeks and lips, 
all done to excess. Colors were bright (including hair color, for all three 
sported hair of colors not normally found in nature), there was a great deal of 
cleavage, a great deal of bare arm and shoulder, and even a scandalous amount of 
leg showing. Jewelry was positioned the way a general arranged his best troops, 
with the intent of directing the enemys sight to a particular object.
“Well, my lovelies,” Norris said genially, as they clustered around him like 
gaudy butterflies around a tall flower. “What brings you here?”
By this time, Norris had the attention of everyone in the room, and very well 
knew it. He was playing for the crowd, and the crowd sensed it was going to get 
a free showshort, maybe, but nonetheless, free.
“You,” said the boldest, flirting acid-yellow hair at him. “Weve a bet on that 
you cant take all three of us at once.”
The entire room howled with laughter, in which Norris joined, throwing back his 
head and roaring. “In that case,” he shouted, and Alberich at last looked up 
with an affronted expression on his face, “Youre doomed to lose, my bawd!”
“In that case,” cried the second of the trio, with hair the same blue-black as a 
ravens wing, boldly twining herself around him, “we win!”
In the barrage of laughter that followed that sally, Norris seized the bold one, 
picked her up in his arms, and trailing the other two, went straight up the 
stairs to his room.
Now it was entirely possible that all that had been a ruse to cover Norris exit 
through a window, but Alberich didnt think so. For one thing, that new corner 
room would be cursed difficult to get out of without being seen. For another, 
Norris had looked as surprised as anyone else with the whores replies. So there 
it was. He might as well go home, since not even Norris couldWell, it would take 
him the rest of the night, if he was going to make good on his boast and not 
lose the bet. And that was one sort of bet that a man like Norris could not bear 
to lose.
He shut his book and went over to “his” room. He took off his tunic and turned 
it inside-out; now it was brown moleskin. He stuffed the hat in the satchel of 
books and papers. Now he looked like a well-off working man, probably enjoying a 
night out. He saturated a rag with sendal oil and used it to take off his 
“wrinkles,” then doused his head in the basin to wash his hair clean of the 
streaks of gray he had painted in. He rumpled up the bed, making sure it looked 
slept in, and left other signs of recent occupation. And when he was certain 
that no one was watching, he went out the window. The room was already paid for. 
No one would raise a hue and cry, finding it empty in the morning. He had told 
them that he expected to be away by first light. Theyd simply assume he had been 
as good as his word.
Still, he did have one thing; that rather sordid business about the unknown 
young woman. There might be something in that worth investigating later.
I suppose I can get some sort of list of wealthy young women who have full 
rights to their fortunes somewhere, he reflected. And whichever one posts the 
banns in the next moon or so would probably be the one Im looking for.
He was so involved in his own thoughts that he actually wasnt even thinking 
about his Companionuntil Kantor himself startled him.
:Great good gods!: exclaimed Kantor in his mind, surprising him so much that he 
stumbled over his own two feet. He recovered without falling, but he was 
thoroughly irritated when he answered back.
:What?: he snapped.
:The masquerade!: Kantor exclaimed. :Selenay at the masquerade she just picked 
Karathanelan in front of everyone at the masquerade!:
:Picked him for what ?: Alberich began with even more irritation, and then, of 
course, it dawned on him. Kantor would hardly be this shocked over the young 
Queen choosing a dancing partner. :She chose the Prince of Rethwellan as her 
Consort? But: Now he was bewildered a little, by all that he did not know about 
Valdemar. :Can she do that? Just pick someone like that?:
:She can, and she has,: was Kantors reply. :We had better get back up the hill 
and quickly. Every Herald in Haven is going to want to say something about 
this.:
Since Alberich was already moving as fast as he could without being obvious, he 
saved his breath for running. Which he did when he got into the alleys where no 
one was there to see him. It seemed to take forever before he was safely in his 
little room at the back of the Bells stables, though he knew rationally that hed 
made good time.
In a remarkably short period of time, Alberich was back in his gray leathers, 
and they were cantering through the streets, heading for the Collegium.
:What happened, exactly?: Alberich asked, moving easily with Kantors gait, and 
keeping a sharp eye out for unwary pedestrians.
Kantor told him.
:Didnt Caryo guess what was going to happen?: he demanded. :Why didnt she warn 
the rest of us? We could have gone to more pains to investigate him!:
:I dont know,: Kantor said, mirroring Alberichs irritation. :Maybe she thought 
it would all blow over. This shocked everyone; no one guessed Selenay would do 
this. I suppose she didnt even confide in her own Companion.:
He kept his thoughts on that subject to himself. All right, granted he wasnt the 
most competent when it came to matters of the heart and particularly of romance, 
but there were some things that were obvious. He hadnt set eyes on this Prince 
himself, but hed heard from plenty of people that the boy was absurdly 
good-looking. When you took a young woman like Selenay, who surely cherished her 
own dreams of romance even though she knew very well she was unlikely to fulfill 
themand you presented her with a handsome young man of the proper birth and with 
all of the advantages that a foreign minister could ask forwell, what did you 
expect to happen? The only reason that he, Alberich, had been blind-sided was 
because the young man himself had given no outward signs that Alberich knew 
ofthat he was interested in a marriage alliance with Selenay and Valdemar.
Clearly both he and Selenay had played these cards very close to the chest, if 
even Caryo had thought it would all blow over.
:So what does anyone know about this prince?: he demanded.
The way cleared; they were in among the manors of the highborn now. And the 
highborn were all still at the masquerade, so the way was clear. Kantor broke 
into a gallop.
:I dont know anything more than you do,: Kantor replied. :But youll shortly find 
out.:
Alberich cut his questions short. But behind his silence, they were piling up, 
like stones before an avalanche.
***
“and that is all any of us know,” Myste concluded. Since she was the Chronicler, 
she had elected to be the one to collect all of the information there was about 
the Prince, and all of the information there was concerning the Prince and 
concerning the reaction this unique declaration was going to have on the 
Council.
Myste sat down on a bale of hay. They were meeting in the stablesthe Companions 
stables. The building had the advantage of being big enough to hold all of them, 
and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.
No one seemed particularly ready to break the silence that followed Mystes 
words. Finally, someone coughed.
“And Caryo doesnt like him, but cant say why. . . .” said the Herald who taught 
some of the law classes. “I am reluctant to place too much weight on this. Not 
even all of the Companions get along all the time; there are Companions that 
dislike anyone who isnt a Herald, including their Chosens own relatives. I would 
even hate to speculate.”
“It could just be his natural arrogance that gets her back up,” Talamir 
suggested. “The boy is arrogant. Its to be expected, in someone with that much 
rank and privilege, who is also that confoundedly good-looking.”
“It could be jealousy,” said someone else, in what sounded like the voice of 
experience. “Just as Peled said. Were not perfect, and neither are they. I know 
the first time I flirted with an outsider, my Jandal got as jealous as 
anything.”
Someone sighed. “I dont suppose it would do any good to reason with her about 
it”
“Not if you dont want her to call for a priest and wed the boy on the spot,” 
Keren said flatly. “For those of you who dont happen to have experience with 
first love”
“ Infatuation, Keren, surely!” exclaimed someone else.
“First love, first infatuation, it doesnt matter because its a strong emotion 
either way,” Keren snapped back. “Shes young, she just lost her father, and we 
can guess that hes been playing all the parts she needs right now in a single 
packagepart comforter, part protector, part lover. And, may I add, her Council 
has been putting pressure on her to make some kind of marriage. With all of that 
going on, not only wont she hear anything bad about the boy, shell turn on the 
one who tries to criticize him. Ive seen that, time and time again, in my 
village. The fastest way to get a girl to marry someone is to tell her you dont 
want her to.”
She nodded with an air of finality. Alberich saw her looking at him, and just 
shrugged. If anyone thought he had any insights on what would work with Selenay, 
they were going to be sadly disappointed.
“So what are we going to do?” asked someone in a small voice that sounded very 
bewildered in the darkness.
Now Talamir cleared his throatand rose to the occasion.
“We will support her, and her choice,” he said firmly. “No matter how hasty or 
ill-thought we believe it to be. Think! The worst, the very worst, he can do is 
to make her unhappyat which point, since Valdemar law supports divorcement, he 
may well find himself packed back to Rethwellan with his tail between his legs!”
There were some chuckles at that. Weak, but laughter, nonetheless. And at least 
in Alberichs case, a sigh of profound relief. This was the old Talamir, seeing 
the larger picture and finding the cleanest path through what could turn out to 
be a quagmire.
“The best that he can do is to make her happy, and if he does that, even if we 
still do not care for him, who are we to object?” Talamir went on, the shadows 
cast by the lantern beside him making him look as ancient as a Grove oak. 
“Remember, unless he is Chosen by a Companion and becomes a Herald, he will 
never be more than the Queens Consort, who will have only as much power, or as 
little, as she grants himand all of it behind the throne.” Talamir looked 
around, managing to meet the eyes of every Herald there. “So let us determine to 
put a good face on things,” he continued. “Offer her our congratulations, 
singly, and as a group. Support her choice. Make sure that she knows that we are 
there, as we always have been, for Herald Selenay as well as the Queen.”
And that seemed to be about all that anyone could offer.
Alberich went back to the salle, feeling very uneasy. He hoped that would be 
enough.
He was afraid that it wouldnt be.
But the game had been played out before any of them even knew it was in play at 
all. Now they could only ride along with it, and wait.
16
The game was played. . . .
Something about that phrase nagged Alberich as he fell into an uneasy sleep, but 
it wasnt until he woke the next morning that he realized where he had heard it 
last.
And it was only after the recollection jolted him that he realized that there 
might be a connection between where he had heard it first, and Selenay.
He had the flash of memory as he moved into wakefulness, and it brought him 
alert all at once, his mind moving from a standing start into a full gallop.
The game is about to playIt had been that stranger talking to Norris last night. 
He could hear the voice clearly in his mind. It had been a well-educated voice, 
and if there was one thing that it was hard for the well-educated to do, it was 
to counterfeit being a member of a lower class than their own.
The similarity of phrases was what had given him that shock to the system. What 
if the girl they had been talking about, the one Alberich had assumed was simply 
wealthy and plain, had actually been Selenay? And that the young man being 
tutored in seduction had been the Prince of Rethwellan?
It fit. It certainly fit. Untried, sheltered, accustomed to flattery but not to 
the kind of practiced seducer Norris was, she would be easy prey for a man of 
Norris experienceor one coached by him.
And Selenay, alone in all of the Court, was the only young woman who would have 
been sheltered from such men. There was the irony; if she had spent any time 
among her peers, she would have seen attractive young men use their looks in 
such an unattractive wayand young women do the same.
Orperhaps not. She had been the Heir, and even in the Court, that might have 
protected her.
Odd as it might seem, the cads in Court circles saved their wiles for two sorts 
of womenthe lower-class girls that they seduced and abandoned, and the 
unattractive, wealthy ones they seduced and wedded and abandoned on their 
estates in the country, while they came back to Court to enjoy themselves 
unencumbered by the inconvenient wife. They wouldnt have dared to use those 
ploys on Selenay.
Still, she had been sheltered in another way. From the time she had been Chosen, 
she had been at the Collegium, and not the Court. She never saw the intrigues 
among her peers, because she was among another set of “peers” for whom intrigue 
was simply out of the question. Even when the occasion had called for it, she 
hadnt spend much time socially in Court circles, she spent her social time among 
Heralds. Or at least, she had until shed become Queen.
But there should have been one creature above all who would haveor should have 
realized what was happening before this. And even if she hadnt been able to stop 
it, she should have been able to warn the rest of them!
:Kantor,: he called.
:I follow you,: his Companion replied. :I hope you dont mind; you jarred me 
awake and I just followed your thought.:
Once he would have been angry; not now. Now, in fact, he was grateful. Kantor 
had become the perfect partner, in a way; the shield-brother, the man you could 
depend on to fall in at your side and match you, move for move.
:Thats the way its supposed to work.:
Well, he could see that. Clearly, it didnt always.
:Youre thinking Selenay and Caryo.: There was a moment of hesitation. :You cant 
understand why Caryo didnt nip this in the bud, especially since she doesnt much 
like Prince Karath. And why she didnt realize how far things had gotten.:
:Exactly,: Alberich replied.
:You and I are exceedingly compatible now. We are about the same age, with 
similar experience. Selenay and Caryo arent. I mean, theyre compatible, but 
their experiences are vastly different.:
Alberich blinked in surprise. That hadnt occurred to him as a possibility.
:Think of Caryo as a maiden aunt, or a virginal, scholarly sister who is much, 
much older than Selenay. Shes well, to be honest, shes rather sexless. 
Kindhearted and stalwart, protective absolutely, ready to comfort when Selenay 
is hurt or angry, but as thick as two short planks when it comes to romance and 
especially sex.:
Oh. . . . This was beginning to make him feel a little ill.
:Caryo is the sort of person whose shoulder you cry on when your father dies, 
the wise and clever person you could ask for help with political and 
administrative problems. Not the person you go to when youre mooncalfing over a 
boy. And as for sexual attractionyoud be horribly embarrassed even to hint that 
you had such a thing to her, because she would be horribly embarrassed if you 
brought it up.:
Now, suddenly, it all made sense. Terrible sense.
At least, insofar as he understood young women, and insofar as Caryo being in 
the dark about all this right along with everyone else. :Dear God. . . . : he 
replied, aghast. :Weve all been blindsided.:
:Our own damned fault,: Kantor agreed. :We, the Companions, should have known. 
We know Caryo better than anyone but Selenay and she was exactly the right 
Companion for a girl who was bound and determined not to think too hard about 
anything that wasnt involved in being the Heir and a Herald. If Sendar was still 
alive:
:If Sendar was alive, hed have sent the boy packing, after making him look 
ridiculous and unpalatable in Selenays eyes first. Thats the only way to handle 
such things.: Alberich was at least on surer ground there; as an officer, hed 
had to break up many an ill-timed romance.
:But with Selenay alone, we didnt think about how Caryo should change, and you 
Heralds didnt think that Selenay would find herself looking for something 
outside of her duties.:
:We were fools,: Alberich said flatly. :She was clearly drowning in duty and we 
thought a festival or two would be enough.:
:Blind-sided. And there is only one way to deal with it, and that is to go along 
with it, just as Talamir said last night. Yes, even if it turns out that this 
Rethwellan princeling is a rounder and a cad who has been studying how to seduce 
our Queen.:
The very thought made him angry, made him want to get hold of the blackguard and 
beat him with the flat of his swordbut Kantor was right. And Talamir was right. 
Hadnt he just been watching plays all this winter and spring that proved that 
very point? The best way to get a young woman set on a particular young man, and 
vice versa, was to oppose the match. The only way to separate her from someone 
who was not good for her was to be reserved on the subject of the young man, 
while being supportive of her. Then, when things began to go wrong, and only 
then, did you make it clear that you were “on her side.” The only difference 
between a cliche and a truism was the skill and intricacy with which the latter 
was presented. And, unfortunately, Norris was a much better actor than the 
tawdry plays he presented for the common folk would have suggested. If he was, 
indeed, coaching the Prince
:Have you talked with Caryo about this?: he asked his Companion, as he rolled 
over on his back and stared up at the ceiling.
:Not yet. Right now shes very hurt that Selenay didnt even hint of this to her. 
And, frankly, angry with herself for not seeing it. And she should be:.
Well, he wasnt going to be the one to say anything, but Kantor was right. In 
retrospect, Selenay had virtually handed everyone a map to her feelings with 
that masque, and all anyone had thought, if theyd thought at all, was how clever 
she was to have devised something that would entertain and honor all at the same 
time. Kantor was right; in this case, Caryo had been as thick as two short 
planks. And so had they.
:Least said, soonest mended,: the Companion said philosophically. :I am keeping 
my thoughts to myself until Caryo is ready to talk to the rest of us. But I 
think that where Selenay is concerned, our voices must be raised in a song with 
but a single refrain:
:Which is, “ All we want is your happiness,” I think,: he replied. :Its true 
enough.: At least the feeling behind that phrase would be absolutely genuine. 
All any of them did want was Selenays happiness. They just wanted it without the 
Princes presence involved.
:Meanwhile, I dont think you should give up chasing Norris,: Kantor continued. 
:Now, I think that young Devlin was probably his contact in the Court to pass 
him information about Selenay herself. So I dont think you should take your eyes 
off Devlin either.:
He smiled grimly up at the ceiling. :Ah, now, nor do I. In the first place, 
Norris might not have been tutoring the Prince. In the second place, if that was 
indeed what was toward, we may someday need the evidence. Because what I 
overheard makes me think that once theres a wedding, the Prince will slip. 
Selenay might excuse him a time or two, but she wont put up with it forever. And 
then we can prove to her how she was manipulated.: Then, because he was honest, 
he had to add, :If she was. He might really be in love with her; he might be 
everything he seems. But my gut says he isnt.:
He felt Kantors satisfaction. :Youre better at this business than you were.:
He sighed. :I could wish that there was no reason to be. The Weaponsmaster is 
all I ever cared to be.:
:We play the game were put into, Chosen,: said Kantor, which seemed to be about 
the only possible answer.
***
After that, however, it seemed as if a whirlwind had suddenly engulfed them, and 
the whirlwinds name was Selenay.
Alberich never had a chance to voice any opinion at all, because it was never 
asked of him. Selenay simply seemed to assume that because she was enchanted by 
the Prince, everyone else was, too. She had never before had anything that she 
wanted, really and truly wanted so much as Prince Karathexcept, perhaps, for her 
father to be alive again. But the latter was impossible and the Prince was 
entirely within her reach. She was lonely, she was in love, and at the moment, 
there was no more potent combination. She could not imagine living without him, 
and she was taking steps so that she wouldnt have to.
Alberich was not present at the Council meeting that day after the masquerade 
where she announcednot asked, not even for advice announced, arbitrarily and 
making it clear that she would brook no opposition, that she and the Prince were 
going to wed. And that it would be within the month. He was told about it later 
that evening by Elcarth.
Elcarth, Kyril, Jadus, and Talamir were all in Alberichs quarters, which made it 
a bit crowded once Myste, Keren, and Ylsa joined the group. Elcarth was looking 
more than a bit dazed, Kyril a little grim, and Talamir veryquiet and contained. 
Inhumanly so, actually. It made the hair on the back of Alberichs neck rise.
But they all had other considerations at the moment.
“You ladies wouldnt have known her father when he was at his most stubborn,” 
Elcarth said, rubbing his hands over his temples. “When there was something he 
knew he wanted done, and he wasnt going to take no for an answer. He was a force 
of nature, and there was no point in getting in his way, any more than there is 
in standing in the path of an avalanche and expecting it to stop because you 
want it to. It was like seeing her father all over again, with the addition that 
she was positively fixated on getting her way in this, as if it not only would 
be, it had to be, or the world would end.”
“She simply rode right over the top of any opposition,” Kyril seconded. “Not 
that there was very much, not when Orthallen and Gartheser threw in on her side. 
But stillIve never seen her like this, she became a petty tyrant, in fact. It 
was as if anyone who said anything contrary to her just didnt exist”
“She was afraid,” Talamir said, into the silence. “Fear can make anyone a 
tyrant.”
The men looked at him blankly; Alberich was among them. He couldnt imagine how 
Talamir had come to that conclusion; there was no logic in it.
But Keren and Myste exchanged an eloquent glance, and after Keren nodded, Myste 
spoke up.
“She was afraid that if she didnt force this through, now, she would lose him, 
you mean,” Myste said. It was a statement, not a question. “And if she loses 
him, it will break her, and she knows it.”
“I think so.” Talamir passed a hand over one eye, and looked, for a moment, 
impossibly frail.
“How can it break her?” Elcarth asked, aghast. “Great good gods, shes been 
through much worse than having a love affair end!”
“She does not precisely confide in me, so I can only judge by what I see and 
sense, based on what I know. I have never been in love myself,” he added, 
somewhat wistfully, “So all I can do is guess. But as for why it will break 
herit is precisely because she has been through so much in this last year. I 
believe that she sees Prince Karath asas a sort of lifeline.”
“I thinkmaybeits because hes an outsider,” Myste put in. “I mean, she thinks she 
cant unburden herself to the rest of us, because were a part of that burden. And 
anyway, hes made himself indispensable now. If she loses him, it will be that 
proverbial last pebble that starts the avalanche. Maybe hes only a pebble, but 
sometimes thats all it takes.”
“Think about it, think back to how you felt with your first loves, not what you 
know now. The first time a youngster falls in love, theres no way to tell the 
difference between love and infatuation from the inside,” Ylsa added sadly. “So 
as far as Selenay and this situation are concerned, right now, the difference is 
negligible.”
“You mean, we treat it as love even though it might beis probablyinfatuation.” 
Kyril looked pained. “But”
“Remember what I told you about supporting her,” Talamir warned.
“But if she goes on like this, overruling everything before anyone even has a 
chance to object” began Elcarth. But both Talamir and Alberich were shaking 
their heads. Talamir gestured to Alberich.
“I think she will not, for there is no fear there for her,” Alberich said. “Such 
things do not rouse her passion or her fear, for they do not affect her love.”
“Precisely.” Talamir nodded. “Why should she be afraid about a matter of budget, 
or of setting a law? None of this is going to going to wrench her love out of 
her arms. We should be far more concerned that she stops caring about these 
things, frankly.”
“Actually,” Jadus spoke up, making everyone turn to look at him, “I think the 
best thing we could do is get this wedding over and done with. If it could be 
done tomorrow, Id say to do it.”
“Because” Alberich said slowly, feeling his way toward the words, “if mere 
infatuation it is, the sooner reality comes, the better. Solet the Prince but 
think he has her, then revert to whatever his true self is, he will.”
Just as that stranger with Norris said. He is not bright enough to make up his 
own speeches. When he has her, his control over himself will lapse.
“Something like that,” Jadus agreed. “And when she has him, she wont fear shell 
lose him anymore, so whether its love or infatuation, shell start thinking again 
instead of reacting with her emotions.”
“Thats what I meant by treating infatuation the same as if it was love,” said 
Ylsa. “Even if we are certain its infatuation, shes certain its love, and that 
he shares it, and if you dont give the emotion the same respect as if it is 
love, shell stop listening to you.”
“Oh, gods,” Elcarth groaned. “Its hard.”
“Because we all assume we know better than she does, were so much older and 
wiser,” said Myste dryly. “Believe me, thats exactly what shes most afraid of. 
She doesnt want to hear about our experience, she doesnt want to think that this 
intense emotional storm that is making her feel so good for the first time in 
months is based on anything less than truth. And hellfires, for all we know, she 
could be in the right. The Prince may be the best thing for her. He may be in 
love with her, and she with him. Hes only a second son; there is no way that he 
is going to be able to aspire to anything but chair-warming at home; at least 
here, while he may not be a King, hell be more than a hanger-on. Even if he isnt 
in love with her, he may see her as his escape from mediocrity, and he may treat 
her with all the respect and tenderness we could ask because of it. But until we 
have evidence to the contrary, and shes ready to look at that evidence, then”
“then?” prompted Alberich.
Myste sighed. “Then I believe we need to be planning a wedding.”
***
The “we” turned out to be entirely rhetorical. With the opposition melted to 
nothing, and perhaps fearing tacit disapproval, if not of the marriage itself, 
at least of the haste with which she was insisting it be conducted, Selenay 
turned to the Court rather than the Heralds for her wedding plans.
Now, Alberich had no more notion of how such things were done than any other 
sisterless bachelor. A month seemed to him to be a perfectly reasonable length 
of time to plan even a royal wedding. After all, what did one need? A place, a 
priest, some new clothing, perhaps, and a feastsurely no more time was needed 
for that than for the Ice Festival.
Evidently not. And although he was the most certain man even among the Heralds 
that this Rethwellan upstart was nothing more than opportunism wrapped in a 
cloak of glamour, he was relieved to find himself excluded from the planning. 
Because the entire Court went absolutely mad. . . .
It was sheer bedlam. Just for a start, apparently every female of rank had to 
have a new gown. And every female of rank with any male relatives was bound and 
determined to shovel their males into new clothing as well. So there was a 
steady stream of seamstresses and tailors, jewelers and fabric merchants, 
furriers and shoemakers, going to and from the Palace and the manors around the 
Palace, from dawn to well past dusk, clogging the roads and getting in everyones 
way.
Then there was the question of where to hold the ceremony, for there were at 
least four enormous Temples in Haven that demanded the privilege. That debate 
alone occupied the Council for an entire day, and was only resolved when, in 
desperation, the Seneschal suggested that the entire ceremony be held outdoors, 
on the Palace grounds.
And there was the question of how long the public celebration would be, for an 
occasion like this warranted feeding the populace at large for a whole day, at 
least, if not more; there was the problem of food, of course, and since it was 
now summer, the added problem of spoilage. A week was out of the question, but a 
day seemed too meager.
And once that was settled, there were the particulars of the wedding feast and 
the wedding breakfast here at the Palace, and why the Council should be involved 
in that, Alberich could not imagine, but evidently they felt they had to decide 
even the most minute details of the menu.
The next question that threatened civil war within the Court itself was that of 
precedence and who would serve as which ladies in attendance. It actually came 
to hair-pulling in the public gardens on one notable occasion. Myste solved this 
question when not even the Seneschal could, by tracing forward the pedigrees of 
everyone who had served as ladies in attendance at Sendars wedding.
“I had the advantage,” she admitted later to Alberich, “having that genealogical 
research at my fingertips to eliminate all those suitors.” Having Myste settle 
the question did earn the Herald-Chronicler a few enemies among Selenays ladies 
who discovered themselves placed farther down the chain than they wanted, but 
earned but the gratitude of everyone else, including the entire Council.
Although there was no question of who would perform the ceremony (the Lord 
Patriarch, of course), the question of which ceremony would be held was a 
pressing one. The Queen had her own personal choice of deities that she 
worshiped, but this was done privately, not publicly. There was no state 
religion in Valdemar. In fact, the Valdemaran credo was: “There is no one right 
way.” And while this made for great tolerance and freedomit also made for a 
problem. How to perform what was essentially a religious ceremony without 
offending any of the myriad religions and their adherents became a matter of 
hysteria, until Myste in exasperation unearthed a previous wedding that quoted 
from every major religion in Valdemar, including (to Alberichs shock) that of 
the Sunlord. At that point, as far as Selenay was concerned, Herald Myste could 
do no wrong.
“And Ill play on that later, if I have to,” she told Alberich darkly.
The list of difficult questions, it seemed, only grew longer and longer with 
each passing day. It had been a very long time since a reigning Queen of 
Valdemar took a Consort, and many things had changed since that time.
Alberich held himself lucky to be well out of it. He understood vaguely that 
Lord Orthallen got himself put in charge of it all with the help of the 
Seneschal, and that things were being sorted out, and that was all he cared to 
know about it. He might not care for Lord Orthallen himself, but there was no 
doubt whatsoever that the man was a superb diplomat and administrator.
Nevertheless, the whole business was shattering discipline on the Collegium 
side. The Ice Festival had been bad enough; this was worse. He had to get 
positively savage with some of the youngsters in his classes, when the 
excitement over at the Palace started to ooze into the Collegia and some of the 
Trainees even had the temerity to skip weaponry classes.
It was all the fault of the Blues, actually. There was absolutely no point in 
expecting much of anything out of the highborn Blues, though, and he knew it. 
Half the time, they werent even at their classes, having been pulled out for 
various reasons having to do with The Wedding (he was coming to think of it with 
capital initials). And the other half of the time, their minds werent on 
anything that anyone was trying to tell them anyway. Some of them werent worth 
the water in a bucket with a hole in it, but others had friends among the 
Heraldic Trainees, and unfortunately, they were the ones playing the part of the 
tempters, luring their Trainee friends away with the siren song of “Oh, come on! 
It wont hurt to skip just this once!”
The Blues were a lost cause, and Alberich knew it; even parents would look at 
poor marks this one time and say to themselves, “Oh, but it was all the 
excitement of the wedding.”
As for the Trainees, at least he and the other instructors had ways and means of 
enforcing their authority. In Alberichs case, there was the threat of 
humiliation when a truant came back to class. The shame that the runaways would 
find themselves repeating a class brought some back into line, the threat of “no 
Hurlee” or other games got the attention of others. But in the end, what saved 
them all was that Selenay finally got around to declaring a fortnight holiday 
for all three Collegia, which at least solved the problem of keeping absent 
minds on study and would-be truants in their seats.
And it gave Alberich an opportunity all unlooked-for, to get back down into 
Haven and concentrate all of his attention on Norris.
And on a new problem.
***
The sound of music and laughter from the common room and taproom of the Bell was 
loud enough to reach all the way to the stables. Wedding fever had begun even 
down in Haven; the banners that had greeted the coronation were being hung 
again, more decorations were being hung every day, and it seemed to be all 
anyone could talk about. And of course, where there was an event, there would be 
commercemedallions, flags, and banners to wave, portraits and statues, dozens of 
songs (most bad). There were even stalls with pairs of Selenay and Karathanelan 
dolls appearingeither dressed as the Moon Maiden and the Prince, or in what were 
fondly supposed to be the Queen and Princes wedding finery.
And even the quiet Bell was abuzz. Alberich wasnt terribly unhappy about all the 
fussit made it easier to slip in and out, rather than more difficulta good 
thing, since for a change he was here in broad daylight. He was actually in his 
secret room, changing into one of his personae, when he heard the stable-side 
door open behind him.
His heart leaped into his throat. He whirled with a knife in his hands, one 
small part of him wondering how anyone had gotten past Kantor, when he saw it 
was Myste.
He slipped the knife back in its hiding place, hoping she hadnt seen it, and was 
going to say somethingsomething irritated, actually, since she wasnt supposed to 
burst in on him like thiswhen he caught the look of worry on her face. That, and 
the fact that she was wringing her hands together, made him bite back what he 
had been about to say.
“Im in trouble,” she said, and for one, startled moment, he flashed on the only 
thing that phrase meant, back in Karse
“They want me to become their full-time clerk, accountant, and treasurer,” she 
continued, oblivious to whatever expressions had flitted across his face in that 
brief moment. If any had. Hed probably looked like an idiot with his mouth 
hanging open.
Then what shed said penetrated, and he realized that the situation was quite 
serious indeed. “Oh, hellfires,” he said. They want her to work for them and 
only them, and how is she supposed to do that and continue being 
Herald-Chronicler? Scratch that; spending that much time with them, how is she 
going to manage without getting caught?
“Norris has found a backer, and hes getting a theater for the company. The gods 
of actors and idiots only know where hes getting the money from, but its quite 
certain. And the fellow that handles all the business mattersyou met him, 
remember?wants me to do all of the money things for them. Its a full-time job, I 
can pledge you that, between managing the take at the door, getting everyone and 
everything paid for, taxes, hiring things like cleaning women and laundresses.” 
She shook her head frantically. “Thank the gods I got wind of this before they 
actually asked me. I think theyre waitingwisely, may I addto be sure that the 
money for the theater is in hand before they say anything to an outsider.” Now 
her voice took on the tones of a wail of fear. “But what am I going to do?”
She wasnt panicking, but she looked as if she was in knots. “Sit down, for one 
thing. You look as pale as a shirt.” She did as he ordered, while he sucked on 
his lower lip and thought, hard. “All right, you cant take that job; I couldnt 
take it and stay undiscovered with a trained actor like Norris watching me. 
Which means we have to come up with some reason why you cant take it.”
The moment he said, “You cant take the job,” he saw relief suffuse her features. 
And he was very glad that it was Myste in front of him now, and not Keren, who 
would have been offended at the very thought that she couldnt keep up the 
deception. “I think we have these options to get Myste the Clerk out of range 
before the offer can actually be made. You can take another positiontell them 
tonight, even, that youve been offered a job, say, on some Great Lords staff but 
on his estate, so you have to leave. You can send them a letter saying that some 
wealthy elderly relative you didnt even know of before today is sick, and wants 
you to move in and take care of her, and if you do, youll inherit everything. Or 
Myste can have a terrible accident and die.”
“Myste will, if we cant figure out something,” Myste said darkly, but looked 
infinitely more relaxed. “Well, the first one wont do, because every Great Lord 
is going to be here until the wedding is over, and I want to be able to tell 
them Im leaving tonight. Id just as soon not close off all options by killing my 
old self, so that leaves the second. And I want it to be by letter; I dont want 
to take the chance on arousing any suspicion by giving them a chance to start 
asking questions about my story.”
“The best choice, I think,” he agreed. “No one is going to seriously suggest 
that you give up a grand inheritance in favor of a position with a theater 
company that doesnt even have a theater yet. And in case Clerk Myste ever has to 
come back to Haven, it can either be as a visit after your wealthy aunt has 
died, or it can turn out that the wealthy aunt wasnt as wealthy as she made 
herself out to be, and you are back looking for work.”
“Excellent,” Myste replied, and closed her eyes and sagged back against the 
wall, “And I have to leave immediately. Better yet, Im already gone. My aunt 
sent a coach, and I left in it. I dont mind telling you, I was panicked. 
Especially after last night.”
Alberich nodded; he could well understand Mystes concern, for last night she had 
gotten to copy another one of those encrypted messages from Norris towell, 
whoever they were to.
And that gave him an idea. “Writing a letter is perfect,” he said, “In fact, 
write two. One to the manager of the company and one to Norris. If you were as 
infatuated as he thinks you are, hed think it strange if you didnt send him a 
personal good-bye. As your old friend, Ill take them both over, and you can go 
back up the hill as soon as you change.”
“What” Myste began, and then she nodded. “Right! So that Norris doesnt suspect, 
after last night, that Im a spy who is running off now that I have what I need. 
I think I know just the tone. The brokenhearted farewell letter of the 
hopelessly infatuated woman who knows she had less chance with him than a 
lapdog, but cant bear not to tell him about how her soul will be empty forever 
without him. Itll take some clever writing”
“And hold out the offer that if he is ever inThree Rivers, I think thats far 
enough, and rustic enoughor if he ever finds himself down on his luck, he can 
call on you for anything he needs.” Alberich chuckled a little as Myste made a 
face. “You might as well spread it on thick.”
“Oh, I will.” She stood up and went to the small chest that held writing 
materials. “This wont take very long.”
And it didnt. By the time he was finished changing into his guise as the carter, 
she had finished both letters, sanded them to dry the ink, folded, and sealed 
them with a blob of candle-wax and her thumbprint. On the outside of one, she 
made a little drawing of a pen, and on the other, a mask. “The mask goes to 
Norris,” she said, handing them to him.
“Good. Would it sound loutish of me to say that I am relieved that this is over 
for you? And that I have never liked having you in this position?” he asked, 
taking them and stowing them in his pouch.
“No, and not half as relieved as I am,” she replied, and unexpectedly kissed 
him. “I make a good historian. I make a mediocre spy.”
“But if it had not been for you” He kissed her back, feeling warm and peculiarly 
protective. It was a very pleasant sensation, now that she was going to be out 
of danger. He had deliberately not thought about her being in danger while all 
of this was going on. It wouldnt have done any good in the first place, and in 
the second, well, it might have done both of them quite a bit of harm. They 
were, first and foremost, Heralds. They had duties. Only she could do what she 
was doing, and they both knew it.
But now he certainly knew what people meant by the phrase, “having your heart 
hostage to fortune.” It was not a feeling that he had welcomed.
“I still make a mediocre spy,” she replied. “And I hope you never need my 
peculiar mix of talents again.”
“Oh, I shallbut I hope not as a spy.” He raised an eyebrow and she flushed, but 
laughed. “Dont forget to tell the innkeeper before you leave the Bell where 
Clerk Myste is going, and that she left in a private coach for Three Rivers a 
candlemark ago.”
“I wont,” she promised. He gave her a little bow, and slipped out the back way.
The last thing he was going to do, especially after this, was to go directly 
from the Bell to his destination. Instead, he cut through back alleys and even 
through a few unfenced yards to get him to the part of town where the tanners 
and dyers had their workshops, before he finally headed for the inn. He never 
came at it from the same direction twice if he could help it, and today it would 
be especially important that there be no association between himself and the 
Companions Bell.
Other than that his “friend” Myste had lived there, of course.
He discharged the first errand by leaving the letter in the room that served as 
an office, for the business manager was out on some errand or other. But as for 
the secondthe troupe was rehearsing in the stables, and he had heard Norris 
voice when he passed by. Now he went in, and waited patiently until there was a 
break in the action and Norris left the group that was declaiming at each other 
to get himself a drink of water from the barrel Alberich stood beside.
“Message for you, sir,” he said, making sure that his voice was pitched low, his 
tone harsh, rather than high and shrill as the “scholar” had been. He thrust the 
folded paper at Norris, who took it automatically, but with a look of annoyance.
Still, the man did open it, and read it, his mouth twitching with amusement. 
Alberich was rather surprised to find himself wanting to punch that mouth and 
make him eat that amusement. . . .
“So, the little mouse has got herself a granary, eh?” he said, carelessly. 
“Well, I can hardly blame her for running off to secure it. Lads!” he called to 
the rest of the group, whose heads all turned in his direction. “That drab 
little clerk of ours has fallen into the cream! Some rich aunties got sick, and 
shes run off to nurse and inherit!”
“Cor, I could do with a rich auntie,” said a beardless fellow enviously.
“Hey, Norris, if shes rich enough, reckon she can afford you?” catcalled 
another, as Norris made a face.
“Shed have to be richer than the head of the Goldsmiths Guild,” Norris scoffed 
back.
Throttling down the urge to throttle Norris, Alberich started to turn away to 
leave. Because if he stayed a moment longer, he might hear something that would 
make him lose his temper.
“Say, fellow, could I get you to run a similar errand for me?” Norris asked. 
“For, say, a silver penny?”
Alberich turned back. “Aye,” he said curtly. “As long as it dont take me outo 
town.”
“Oh, it wont.” Norris pulled an embroidered handkerchiefmasculine in style, 
rather than femininefrom a pocket in his trews. “A friend of mine left this here 
by accident last night. Id like you to take it back to him. He lives at a rather 
grand place on Hoberd Hill. Its the one with the wyvern gateposts; youll know it 
when you see it.”
Alberich took the handkerchief and the penny, successfully concealing his 
surprise. Because he knew that address; knew it very well indeed.
It was the location of the Rethwellan Embassy.
All the time he was on his way, he wondered what exactly, he would learn when he 
got there. He knew what the handkerchief business was about, of course, for 
sewing a packet of papers between two identical handkerchiefs to conceal them 
was an old play. The bit of fabric had been neatly folded, but hed felt the thin 
papers when he put the object in the belt pouch that had lately held the 
letters. Myste had written these last night, he was certain of it, for the paper 
was very thin and light.
So this time Norris was prepared to send hiswhatever he was sendingopenly. 
Probably more instructions to the Prince on how to handle a woman. Couple that 
with Mystes certainty that Norris had found a “backer,” and it was clear that 
Norris was under the impression that his job was complete. So maybe he was 
willing to take a risk he would not otherwise have dared.
Or perhaps he doesnt care now.
Or both. Orone more possibilityNorris knew that his “handler” would be as busy 
with the wedding preparations as everyone else, and figured he could afford to 
be lazy this time, for he wouldnt be caught.
When Alberich reached the Embassyhe went around to the “tradesmans” entrance. 
Not for the likes of him, those wyvern-carved doorposts and the imposing 
worked-iron gate. Oh, no.
He followed a narrow passage between the walls until he came to the back of the 
property, where there were signs of life. Quite a bit, actually, which was 
hardly surprising considering that the Prince was marrying the Queen of his host 
country. It took Alberich a while to get the attention of someone who looked as 
if he was in charge of things.
“What do you want, fellow?” asked the harried-looking man in Rethwellan 
liverywho then interrupted himself to shout, “look, how many times must I remind 
you, the Prince does not like lilies!”
“Actor by the name of Norris sent this,” he said, thrusting the folded cloth at 
the man, who took it, then gave it a second, startled glance. “Says someone up 
here left it down at his inn.”
“Ahyes. Of course.” From the mans expression, Alberich knew that they must be 
the Princes own handkerchiefsand that the man had not expected to get them in 
quite this way and that he knew very well there was something inside them. 
“Thank you, my man; Ill see it gets to the Prowner. Ah” he fumbled in his belt 
pouch, came up with a couple of coins, and thrust them at Alberich without 
looking at them. “Here. For your trouble.”
So you think about the tip and forget about wondering why I needed to march up 
here to return a handkerchief. “Thankee, sir,” he said, with a little bow. “Ill 
be off out of your way.”
“Yes, yes, of No! No, no, no!” The man was off, chasing down a couple of fellows 
with what looked like a rolled-up carpet. Alberich absented himself.
Quickly.
Because he didnt want anyone here to get a good look at him, he didnt want the 
man to think about questioning him, and above all, he wanted to get back to talk 
this over with Talamir.
For what the man had almost said was, “Ill see that it gets to the Prince.”
17
It would have been a satisfactory end to the tale for Selenay to have realized, 
at the very altar, that the Prince was a cad who was manipulating her for his 
own purposes. It would have been equally satisfactory for Talamir and Alberich 
and Myste to have presented her with the evidence they had gathered, including 
the decoded papers outliningwell something rottenin time for her to come to her 
senses and send the blackguard packing.
In fact, nothing of the sort happened.
The papers were still not decoded, and even if they had been, Selenay would 
neither have looked at them nor believed what was in them. No one who saw her 
could have doubted that she was insanely, deliriously happy. The Prince appeared 
to hang on her every word, she certainly did on his. The wedding plans swiftly 
turned into preparations, without even an incident that could have been thought 
of as ill-omened, and with no more problems than any other major undertaking. In 
the end, of all things, it was probably the Tedrel Wars that were due the credit 
for organizing so much, so well, in so little time. After putting together 
armies and encampments and battle plans, then seeing to it that everything was 
smoothly executed, Selenays people had more than enough experience to pull off a 
Royal Wedding in a moon.
Alberich stayed away from the Palace as much as possible; during the last week 
he never even left the salle. Myste brought him some meals from the Collegium 
kitchens, for there were no servants to be spared to bring them to him; others 
he simply prepared for himself. They assiduously avoided the topic of the 
wedding, concentrating instead on any other matters that could possibly be 
considered useful.
And in a curious and careful exploration of each other. In fact, with the 
shining example of what not to do so blatantly in front of them, somehow they 
had both come to the conclusion, simultaneously, that they ought to take a very 
long time in simply talking about things. It was very curious. Alberich 
suspected that their Companions had a hand in it. But he wasnt going to object. 
. . .
These long talks provided the pleasant interludes in what was otherwise a period 
that was not so much ridden with anxiety as resignation.
He knew that he wasnt the only one who felt this way. Most of the other Heralds 
that he knew, if they were not actually supposed to be taking part in the 
proceedings, were avoiding the Palace altogether. The feeling that they all 
seemed to share was most adequately described by one of the fellows from the 
south, who had seen some terrible mudslides when hed been a child. “You see it 
start,” he said, “and its so slow, and so big, it seems impossible that it can 
be happening. And then you realize that its actually impossible to stopand 
impossible for you to get out of its way. And if you arent in the path, all you 
can do is stand there and watch, knowing that there isnt one damn thing you can 
do except try and pick up the pieces when its all over.”
He had simply made sure that the Guards he trained as the Queens bodyguards, who 
were suffering no such misgivings, were at their absolute peak of performance 
and knew in their guts as well as their heads that no matter what happened, they 
were always to protect Selenay from anyone that threatened her. Including her 
husband. When people came to the salle looking for a workout, if they were up to 
his level of expertise, he gave them one. If they were not, he found them 
partners, and supervised.
Then the day of the wedding arrived; it was a Collegium holiday, with all the 
Trainees serving as helpers, additional servitors, or actually participating 
with their families. It was very quiet at the salle, and Alberich made himself a 
solitary breakfast, then took the time to give the salle a thorough cleaning and 
checking. The wedding breakfast was for family, the highest ranking Court 
members, and the three highest ranking Heralds. After the breakfast would come 
the preparations. No one needed to turn up in the gardens for hours yet.
By midmorning everything was in perfect shape, and he was sitting on a bench 
outside, in the sun, working on mending training equipment while Kantor watched. 
Every so often, a bit of breeze carried a snatch of music from the Palace 
gardens, but otherwise he could have been all alone out here. He had thought 
about going down into the city, but couldnt bring himself to face the crowds 
partaking of the public festivities.
Finally he couldnt put it off any longer. He went back to his quarters, donned 
his Formal Whites, and made his way to the gardens.
Any checking of invitations was going on at the gates in the wall around the 
Complex itself; anyone on the grounds was already part of the festivities. There 
were far, far more people crowding into the gardens than Alberich felt 
comfortable around, and the ones who were not in formal uniforms of white, 
scarlet, or green were, for the most part, so laden with ornaments and so vivid 
with embroideries that they hurt his eyes. And the sound of dozens and dozens of 
people all chattering brightly at the tops of their lungs was nearly enough to 
drive him mad.
Fortunately for his sanity, the Heralds actually had a job to do and a place to 
go until the moment of the ceremony itself. The Queens Garden was the assembly 
point, and he made his way there.
The first person to greet him was not, somewhat to his disappointment, Myste. It 
was Keren, looking unexpectedly sharp in what was clearly a brand new set of 
Formal Whites.
“Like me new duds?” she asked, in a heavy Evendim accent, and laughed at his 
expression. “Never had a set of Formals made for me before; just had a set that 
was a hand-me-down from the stores. Neither has Myste, actually. Were both odd 
sizes, and neither of us had the money for a tailor the way the highborn Heralds 
have. And somewhere along the line somebody figured this out in time to have 
some tailored up for us.” She backed up a pace and looked Alberich over 
critically. “Now you, youve got the proper military bearing and figure. Must 
have been a doddle to find a set to fit you.”
“I suppose,” he replied, noting that her eyes were a little too bright, and 
figuring that Keren was using inconsequential chatter to cover her unease. 
“There is, it seems, some merit in being average.”
“You, average? Bite your tongue,” said Myste, worming her way between two 
Heralds Alberich didnt recognize. “You couldnt be average if you tried.”
He was saved from having to answer anything by the sound of the trumpet that 
signaled their part of the ceremony.
Heralds at the entrance to the garden formed into a double line and began filing 
out; the rest of them joined one or the other line in no particular order. 
Somehow Alberich, Myste, and Keren ended up at the end of their lines; this 
didnt displease him on the whole. He did not particularly want to be near the 
center of attention.
The Heralds lined both sides of the path that Selenay and her wedding party 
would take from the door of the Palace to the bower where the Lord Patriarch 
waited. Alberich was actually nearest the door in his line, and Keren was 
directly opposite him. At a mental signal that was passed via their Companions, 
they smoothly and simultaneously unsheathed their swords and crossed them 
overhead, forming an arch of shining steel.
As the swords left their sheaths, the chattering stopped. There was a moment of 
absolute silence.
Then the musicians struck up the processional march, the door of the Palace 
opened, and the first of the ladies in attendance emerged.
There were twenty of them, strewing rose petals on the path from silver baskets. 
Last of all came Selenay.
He could not have told what she was wearing, though he knew that even Heralds 
who were female would be discussing it for days if not weeks; he was only a man, 
after all. It was whiteno surprise, she was a Herald as well as Queen. It was 
made of some soft, shining stuff, overlaid with some gauzy stuff, and 
embroidered with gold and pearls. She was swathed in what seemed like furlongs 
of veil, which made it difficult to see her face; he thought, as she passed, 
that she looked terrifyingly happy, though. She stared straight ahead, both 
hands holding a huge bouquet of white flowers and ivy.
Her step was firm and brisk, and in a moment, she was past him, and all he could 
see was the back of her gown. It trailed for quite some distance on the ground 
behind her, and there were two of the little Tedrel orphans carrying her train. 
And one of them was that little lad in Formal Trainee Grays, an exact duplicate 
of Formal Whites, except done in gray. He looked terribly solemn and a little 
scared, but when he saw Alberich, he brightened, and Alberich raised his free 
hand in a formal salute that made him look still happier as he passed.
Fortunately, the children were too young to have been infected with the doubts 
that plagued their elders.
The Heralds held their pose until the entire wedding party had assembled at the 
altar. Then, with another signal passed by the Companions, they pulled their 
swords into a formal salute, and simultaneously sheathed them. As the musicians 
ended the processional with a flourish, they turned as one to face the altar.
Alberich was just as glad that all he could see was the back of the Herald in 
front of him. He was reminded of all of the ceremonies he had attended as a 
member of the Sunsguard, after he had realized how many of Vkandis Sunlords 
Priests were corrupt and venial creatures with no more calling than a cat. Then, 
as now, he had made his mind a blank, and set his face in an expression of bland 
attentiveness.
The ceremony, which made reference to every deity worshiped in all of Valdemar 
and Rethwellan, was a long one. Before it was over, long before, in fact, he 
sensed the restlessness of some of his fellow Heralds who had not spent their 
youths in military training. Anyone who had been a soldier got used to standing 
at attention for unconscionably long periods of time. . . .
This should have been a joyful occasion. It struck him as inexpressibly sad that 
it should have become one that was merely endured.
At long last the final vows were spoken, somewhere up there ahead of him. The 
rings were exchanged, Selenays veil lifted, the first marital kiss given.
Bells rang out all over the Complex, which signaled the bells of the city below 
to begin pealing. A cheer rose over the assembled crowd
And it might have been noticed that the Heralds were not cheering, except that 
someone had decided that they should form the sword-arch again at full 
attention. Whether that someone had been Talamir or even Myste, the action made 
certain that no one was going to have to try and force out something he didnt 
really feel.
The procession came back through the arch, led by Selenay and her new Consort. 
He had his arm around her possessively, but Selenay was between him and 
Alberich, so the Weaponsmaster didnt get much of a look at him. They all retired 
back into the Palace to be divested of parts of their costumesveils and trains 
being highly impractical for outdoor receptions and feastsand make a first 
appearance on a balcony above the gardens.
Once again, the Heralds salutedeach other, this timeand sheathed their swords. 
But now the double line swiftly broke apart, to be absorbed into the milling 
crowd, some heading for the formal gardens, others on errands of their own.
Myste was one of the latter; Alberich gathered that she had some little wedding 
duties to attend to in the matter of protocol. He loosened his collar and, 
feeling heavy in spirit, swiftly separated himself from the throng and headed 
back down to the salle.
Once there, he stripped himself of the detested finery as quickly as he could, 
and donned a set of his oldest and most comfortable leathers.
:What did you have in mind for the rest of the day?: asked Kantor.
:I suppose: he began, then heard footsteps on the path and looked up to see 
Elcarth approachingwith a bottle in one hand.
“We might as well stay out here,” he said, by way of greeting. “The others will 
be here shortly.”
“Others?” Alberich inquired, raising an eyebrow.
“Youll see soon enough,” Elcarth told him, with a sardonic twist to his lips.
And within the candlemark, Jadus, Keren, and Ylsa all arrived bringing their 
bottles. And last of all, bringing up the rear, came Myste, with Healer 
Crathach, more bottles, and a hamper between them.
The last evidently came as a surprise to the rest; Myste and Crathach set down 
the hamper and the Healer surveyed them all, hands on hips, as they tried not to 
look guilty. “Myste advised me of what you were likely to do,” he said, and 
Alberich tried not to wince or feel betrayed. “Or shall I say, the state you 
were likely to get yourselves into.” But Crathach was only warming up to his 
theme.
“Now, all things considered, I am somewhat in sympathy with the idea of finding 
a bit of ease in drink, at this particular time. But I told her that you were 
not going to undertake this without me. We are going to get drunk,” he 
announced. “We are going to get genteelly drunk, pleasantly drunk, and we will 
remain in that state with careful application of food as well as drink. We will 
not drink ourselves sick, we will not drink ourselves stupid, or maudlin, or 
unconscious, and I will make personally sure that when we finally seek our beds, 
we will do so in a state that will permit us to sleep and wake without 
hangovers. Are you with me?”
They set out a kind of alfresco area under the trees, since none of them really 
wanted to be inside, and at any rate, Alberichs little sitting room would have 
been horribly cramped with all of them crammed into it. “I certainly dont need 
to be up there now. There are a couple dozen people wholl be giving me their 
notes,” Myste said sourly, jerking her head in the direction of the gardens. 
“Including Talamir.”
“I cant figure Grandfather on this at all,” Keren replied, waving vaguely at the 
Palace; Alberich wondered if shed gotten a start on all of them back in her own 
quarters, for although she walked and moved perfectly well, and her speech was 
clear, she had a glazed quality to her eyes as she passed him a full mug of 
wine.
“Grandfather?” he asked. Keren had her nose in her mug, so it was Myste who 
answered.
“Talamir is Kerens grandfather; her people marry off early, and its usually 
arranged between families,” Myste replied. “Since he was the only boy in his, he 
had to take a break during his Trainee period to go home and fulfill 
hisahobligation.”
“Four breaks, to be precise,” Keren added, with a smirk. “Fortunately for me, Im 
half of a twin set, and traditionally only one of us had to do the duty. So when 
I was Chosen, that left my brother Teren as the one.”
“But is Teren also not a Herald?” Alberich asked, puzzled.
“He got Chosen after hed provided the family with a litter,” Keren replied and 
shrugged. “What can I say? With so many close relational ties, my people have to 
be more pragmatic about marriage. You marry whos available, and if it turns out 
theres a love match, all well and good, but if not, nobody cares who you sleep 
with for love or pleasure as long as no one is harmed by it.”
“About your grandfatherTalamir,” Alberich prompted, wanting to change the 
subject back to its original topic.
Keren lay back on the old, worn rug shed appropriated, and stared up at the 
branches waving overhead. “I dont understand why he isnt doing something about 
this,” she said finally. “I mean, its wrong, we all know in our bones that its 
wrong, though”
“We cant put a finger on why,” Elcarth interrupted. “Thats the reason, I think. 
We dont have a reason, and somewhere down inside, were all uncertain that the 
only thing we can object to is that the Prince is an outsider.”
“But none of us objected to Sendars choice of wife,” Jadus said slowly. “None of 
us had this feeling of wrongness about her, and she was not a Herald.”
“But she was Valdemaran,” said Crathach, and turned to Alberich. “And have you 
anything to contribute?”
Alberich shrugged. “No Foresight, if that is what you mean,” he admitted. “Only 
the same feeling, that this marriage will prove to be a grave mistake.” He did 
not mention the things he had learned about the Princes contacts with the actor, 
in no small part because it was not yet proven. But he exchanged a look with 
Myste, who gave a small shrug.
“Which could all too easily be nothing more than prejudice,” Ylsa pointed out 
shrewdly. “He certainly has gone out of his way to be agreeable to everyone.”
“Too agreeable?” Keren asked, then snorted. “As if it matters.”
“Well,” Myste said slowly, “it does. If we arent just making a mountain out of 
nothing, if this is going to turn into a bad situation, then the best thing that 
we can do for the Queen is to support her in every way. Including keeping an eye 
on him, so that if he does something against her, or against Valdemar, we can do 
something about him.”
“Thats more or less what Grandfather said,” Keren admitted. “But of all things I 
hate, I hate having to play a waiting game the most.”
“Dont we all,” Jadus replied, and that seemed all that anyone could say.
They passed the remainder of the evening assiduously avoiding the entire 
subjectbut it was with them, as an unseen presence, a kind of specter at the 
feast, the whole time. Alberich left them early, feeling that not all the wine 
in the world could wash away his unease, and feeling wearier than he ever had in 
his life. He sought forgetfulness in sleep, and for the first time in his life, 
actually found it. Whatever was wrong, it was not immediate enough even to give 
him uneasy dreams.
***
The Collegium was back in session; things were getting back to normal again. The 
last of the classes was over for the day, and Alberich was working with Kimel of 
the Guard, while two more of Kimels fellows waited their turn to bout with him. 
They were outside, on the practice grounds, rather than inside the sallewhenever 
possible, since the mirror incident, Alberich preferred to run practices that 
were, by their nature, unpredictable on the grounds outside.
Alberich caught movement on the path long before the Prince and his entourage 
arrived; he sensed it, identified it as “outsiders” by the lack of Whites or 
Guard uniforms, and dismissed it as currently unimportant, all in a heartbeat. 
The group of seven or eight paused a prudent distance outside the edge of the 
practice ground and watched.
There was some murmuring, but nothing more than that; certainly there was no 
hint of scorn or scoffing in the tones of the muttered conversation. Perfectly 
acceptable, that was. Alberich finished the bout in a draw with Kimel. He 
probably could have beaten him; he usually did, but caution made him decide not 
to do so in front of outsiders. The two of them drew back and saluted, and only 
then did Alberich turn his attention to the audience.
It could not have been clearer that the one in the middle was Prince 
Karathanelan. The man was, Alberich supposed, handsome enough. He could 
certainly see that Selenay would have no reason to find the arrangement of his 
features less than pleasing. The cut and style of his clothing was a bit 
different from roughly half of the young men around him; the effect was of 
“foreignness,” but was reasonably flattering. The others were apparently friends 
of his from Rethwellan; Alberich had heard something of them, that a number of 
the Princes landless friends from Rethwellan had arrived in time for the 
wedding, and that Selenay had already granted them holdings of their own from 
unclaimed properties on the Border with Karse and Rethwellan. Alberich wished 
them joy of their new lands. They werent the most prosperous even at the best of 
times, being mostly sheep country.
What Alberich didnt like was the posture of those around him. These were 
sycophants; nothing more. They devoted themselves to pleasing someone stronger; 
if any of them had ever had an original thought in his head, he had quickly 
suppressed it. A man who surrounded himself with men like these, in Alberichs 
experience, was a man who had a great deal of difficulty in understanding that 
the world did not happen to run itself to his desire.
There were a great many Sunpriests like that. . . .
Still, the look on the face of the Prince suggested that he had some respect for 
Alberichs ability.
Alberich gave him a sketchy sort of salute, while the Guards gave him the full 
bow due to his position as Consort. He waited, resting, to see what the Prince 
would do or say.
Although a brief shadow passed over the Princes face, aside from that flicker of 
displeasure, the Princes expression did not change, and his voice, when he 
spoke, was polite and pleasant enough.
“You are the Weaponsmaster?” he asked. “The Karsite?”
“Weaponsmaster Herald Alberich,” Alberich confirmed. “Karsite-born, yes, Your 
Highness.”
The Prince looked him over carefully. “And Karsite-trained, I am told. 
Interesting.” As he was surveying Alberich, the Herald was doing the same for 
him.
:Theres muscle there,: he observed to Kantor.
:No matter what hes been doing since he got here, hes not soft,: Kantor agreed.
“I should like to bout with you,” the Prince said abruptly.
Alberich did not bother to point out that the Prince was hardly dressed for a 
round of vigorous exercise; he was clearly one of those who did not trouble 
himself over the ruin of a suit of clothing. He merely glanced at the two 
Guardsmen, who quickly effaced themselves with a little nod, making it clear 
that they were perfectly willing to yield their time to the Prince. One of them 
picked up a set of practice swords and offered them to the Prince, as some of 
his entourage helped him to take off his elaborate doublet and relieved him of 
some of his jewels.
“Would Your Highness make a choice of practice weapons?” the Guardsman asked.
But the Prince waved them off. “Live steel is the choice of men,” he said, with 
a touch of arrogance that made the Guardsman flush.
:Stupid. Overconfident,: Kantor said acidly.
:Testing me,: Alberich countered, as he took up his own sword from where it was 
lying with the Guardsmens. :And he knows that there is no way that I would dare 
harm him. He has me at the advantage, he thinks.:
The question was whether that advantage was real or only in the Princes mind. 
There was muscle under that silk, but somehow Alberich doubted whether the 
Prince had ever had a Weaponsmaster who really tested the Prince to the limits 
of his ability. There was too much sly arrogance there.
Nevertheless, Alberich was not at all certain that he wanted to show the Prince 
which of them was the superior fighter. The Prince was the enemy here, but he 
was an enemy who had not yet truly shown his hand. He knew far more about the 
Prince, he would warrant, than the Prince knew about him. So there was a 
distinct advantage in leaving the Prince with the impression that his expertise 
was less than it actually was.
All that flashed through his mind in a few moments, as he made sure that his 
weapons were in good condition and his own muscles thoroughly warmed up.
Then they faced off, and the combat began.
It was no real challenge; Alberich was not only able to react automatically to 
the Princes blows and feints, his mind was free to think about what he was 
doing, despite the fact that they were using live steel weapons.
The Princes style of fighting was a curious combination of aggression and 
stealth that told Alberich far more about the Princes personality than the 
Prince would ever guess. He did notquiteengage in the underhanded moves of the 
street-fighting bravos that Alberich had encountered in his own nighttime 
prowlings, but the things that he did left Alberich with no doubt that he was 
perfectly well acquainted with such tactics. And while Alberich himself made no 
bones about teaching his Trainees those moves, he doubted that the Prince had 
any notion of this. So he pretended that he had not noticed those little 
suggestions of a feint, and proceeded exactly as if he was fighting in the 
“classical” style. And he thought that he saw the Princes lips tighten in a 
self-satisfied little smile when Alberich failed to respond to those feints.
So much for the testing; having established the perceived limits of Alberichs 
expertise, the Prince abruptly switched tactics, and went for a very aggressive, 
straight-on attack. Alberich kept up a purely defensive strategy, and did not 
respond to any of the openings that the Prince gave him. This was surely 
puzzling Kimel and the other Guards, but Alberich wasnt working for their 
benefit, only for this audience of one. The impression he wanted to leave the 
Prince with was that Selenays Weaponsmaster was skilled, competent, strong, but 
limited in his visionand thus, in what he was teaching the Trainees.
Ill have to have someone watch the boy when he practices, he realized. There was 
a lot he could guess from what the Prince had done so far, but if it ever truly 
came to a fight between the two of them, he wanted to be sure of what the Prince 
could and could not do.
Gradually, the Princes style began to drift, and for a moment, there was a 
nagging sort of familiarity to it that Alberich could not pin down. It was 
flamboyant, definitely overconfident, and grew more so as time went on.
Then, as the young man committed to a traveling lunge with a shout, a lunge that 
would have gotten him into a world of difficulty if he had not had lightning 
reflexes and stupendous athletic ability, Alberich realized where he had seen 
this style, and knew who had been teaching him.
Norris.
Should I let him beat me? he wondered, then.
:I wouldnt,: Kantor cautioned. :He might guess that you did. And besides, you 
want him wary of you, yet sure he can beat you if he really puts his mind to it. 
Wait until he gets a little careless, and take advantage in such a way that it 
can be a drawthere! :
But Alberich had already spotted the momentary distraction, and drove in, so 
that the two of them ended up body-to-body with their blades hopelessly 
entangled. A draw.
And the Prince withdrew with a salute that was notquitemocking.
“An excellent bout, Weaponsmaster!” he said jovially, removing the practice helm 
and tossing it carelessly to Kimel, who caught it unthinkingly. “Thank you!”
Alberich gave him a grave bow without speaking, and as the Prince and his 
chattering entourage sauntered back up the path to the Palace, he disarmed and 
turned his attention back to his Guardsmen.
Kimel gave him a questioning look, but said nothing. The others took their lead 
from him. Alberich nodded.
“Sometimes,” he said quietly, “it is as well, not to reveal all.”
Kimel grunted and nodded. “I wondered,” he said and left it at that.
But Alberich was not quite done. “I would be grateful, should anyone an eye to 
that man keep, should he be found in weapons practice.”
Kimel nodded again, and this time, so did the other Guardsmen. “Well see to it, 
Weaponsmaster,” he said, and Alberich clapped him on the shoulder with a feeling 
of satisfaction. The undercurrents of that simple conversation had said more 
than the words themselves. Kimel and the others had seen the hints of 
underhandedness and had not liked what theyd seen. And perhaps they had already 
observed some things in the Prince that made them uneasy. For the first time, 
Alberich had some coconspirators who were not among the Heralds (or in Crathachs 
case, the Healers).
And that would be very useful indeed.
Nevertheless, this was hardly something that needed to be pursued immediately; 
it was unlikely, having had this round of exercise, that the Prince would choose 
to go find another sparring partner and continue the practice. That was not how 
Alberich was reading his nature. He would bask in the admiration of his friends 
and sycophants, none of whom had or ever could have taken Alberich to a draw, 
and after he tired of the admiration, he would probably either find another 
subject or move into a dissection of the bout. But he would not, now that he was 
warmed up, follow it up with more practice. Nor would he make much of an effort 
to find out what his cronies knew about Alberich.
So the immediate need was to continue the practice that had been interrupted, 
perhaps now with an eye to drilling in the counters to those abortive moves that 
the Prince had displayed.
“So, Rusken,” Alberich said, picking up a wooden blade and gesturing to the 
Guardsman, “your turn it is, I believe?”
***
Dutifully, though her heart was not in it, Selenay forced herself to concentrate 
on the dull details of the Council meeting when what she really wanted to do was 
to lapse into a daydream. She felt like a cat full of cream; she wanted to smile 
and purr and generally make a spectacle of her contentedness. And of course, she 
could do nothing of the sort. She had to look grave and attentive, and pay 
attention to her Council debating over the details of the trade agreements with 
Rethwellan that were a consequence of her marriage, when she didnt want to think 
about trade at all, she wanted to think about tonight, and what would happen 
when she and Karath were alone at last.
No wonder that people would do and say nearly anything for love!
She had known that it would not be pleasurable at first; shed had plenty of 
instruction from a sympathetic Healer named Anelie during the weeks before the 
actual wedding. But the “at first” had not been long
Ruthlessly she dragged her attention back to the meeting, in time to nod gravely 
as the Councilors finally agreed on a trade package, then went on to the 
relatively simple matter of signing off on the grants of property that Karath 
had asked her to settle on his friends. It was a small enough thing. There were 
properties along the southern Border whose owners were no longer among the 
living, thanks to the Tedrel Wars, and here were landless second sons out of 
Rethwellan, who were eager to take responsibility for them. The Councilors had 
no great objections, and the papers were quickly written up.
So ended yet another tiny problemwith the income from these properties, those 
landless second sons would now be able to support themselves in Haven at least 
half of the year. Karath would have friends here, something that had worried 
herthough he did seem to be getting along very well with some of her own young 
courtiers.
That was, in fact, where he was now; out hawking with some of the young men of 
the Court. He had also said something about wanting to test the mettle of her 
famed Weaponsmaster; she hoped that Alberich would go easy on him.
The Council meeting went on for what seemed to be an interminably long time. Yet 
she had to admit that there was a great deal of business to take care of, as 
much had been set aside in the rush attending on the hasty wedding and the week 
she had stolen for herself thereafter. But it was concluded at last, when it 
appeared that if it was not concluded, the Councilors would be forced to do 
without their dinner.
And as this was not an emergency, sending the pages out for cold viands and 
drink and continuing the businesseven if Selenay herself had been prepared to 
put up with itwas not to be thought of. The Councilors like their comforts, too, 
and were not prepared to do without them, having been forced to do so for the 
last months of the Tedrel Wars.
She took her leave of her Councilors, and all but flew to her quarters and the 
hands of her maids; as she changed her clothing and submitted to their 
attentions, she heard, with an internal thrill, the sounds of laughter as Karath 
approached the door. He and his friends must have had a grand day while she had 
been working. And after all, why not? He was not co-Ruler and could not be 
unless he was Chosen, which was looking less and less likely as time passed, so 
why shouldnt he be spending his time in sport? In fact, by socializing with the 
courtiers, he would be taking the burden from her of doing the same.
“Ho, Selenay!” he cried, bursting through the door, waving some of his friends, 
who laughingly tried to follow, back into the hall. “I have met your 
Weaponsmaster, and tried his blade!”
She leaped up from her seat, as the maid who had been fixing her hair waved her 
hands in fruitless protest. He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her; her lips 
parted beneath his and his tongue teased hers as she tasted the salt on his 
mouth.
She felt herself melting, as always; it was he who pulled away first. “And what 
came of that, my Prince?” she asked breathlessly.
“Oh,” Karath said carelessly, “I think, had I exerted myself, I could have taken 
him. But he is a fine swordsman, conservative, but fine. I am sure he is a good 
Weaponsmaster.”
Selenay almost said something then, for that certainly did not sound like 
AlberichAlberich, conservative?but then she thought better of it. Alberich was 
certainly doing her a favor, letting Karath think himself the finer fighter, and 
where was the harm in that? In fact, now that she came to think of it, she felt 
a surge of warmth toward dour Alberich, that he would compromise his own 
reputation in order to make Karath feel the superior.
So she resolved not to say anything about it, she simply smiled and said, “I 
doubt it not,” and let him lead her in to dinner.
The contest turned out to be something of a topic of conversation among Karath 
and his friends, with a great deal of gesturing and boasting. She discovered, 
with a flush of pride, that Karath was very much considered to be the superior 
swordsman among his cronies, and she thought, given the apparent sincerity of 
their talk, that this was not just flattery. That he had fought Alberich to a 
deadlock was considered to be amazing by those of his friends who were 
Valdemaran, and their admiration was considerable. Karath warmed under their 
regard, and expanded on the theme, describing other bouts he was particularly 
proud of. She smiled and paid little attention to the chatter, which sounded to 
her ears very like that of the younger Trainees when they first began to gain 
some success in arms, and concentrated instead on merely watching him. He was 
hardly insensible of her regard, and looked as if it gave him a great deal of 
pleasure.
Bless himlet him preen and strut a little! He had never been forced to use that 
sword of his, and if she had her way, he never would. It was all still a game to 
him, and not the deadly business that she knew it was; she took great pleasure 
in that.
From dinner, the Court went out into the gardens, where there was music and some 
simple dancing. He remained assiduously at her side, showing by means of a smile 
or a casual, whispered remark that he was as eager to withdraw as she was. But 
of course, this sort of thing was as much of a duty as the Council sessions, and 
she carefully exchanged pleasantries and conversation with, not only the 
Rethwellan Ambassador, but all the other notables present.
It did give her a great deal of pleasure, however, to be able to tell Karaths 
friends over the course of the evening, that they were to receive official word 
of their grants from the Council on the morrow. She loved the way that Karath 
smiled and accepted their effusive thanks graciously.
Finally, it seemed that to her that they had distributed their attention enough 
for one evening, and when she whispered to Karath, “My lord, shall we withdraw?” 
he smiled knowingly and nodded.
It was not the custom in Valdemar, much to her relief, for the Monarch to leave 
a social gathering with any fanfare. So they simply drifted off under the 
ever-watchful eyes of her Guards, and took the private entrance back into the 
Royal Suite.
Once there, her maids descended on her like a swarm of ants, while he sauntered 
off to his dressing room to the like attentions of his servants. The days were 
long gone when she could dress and undress herself; being Queen apparently meant 
wearing gowns that it was impossible to get into or out of without help. But 
once her maids had taken down her hair and gotten her stripped down to her 
shift, she dismissed them all, slipped into a silken bed gown, and with a shiver 
of anticipation, got into bed to await Karath.
He was not long in coming. With a knowing grin when he saw her waiting for him, 
he extinguished the last candle, and she felt the mattress take his weight in 
the sudden darkness.
In the next moment, he had slipped the gown from her shoulders, and his lips 
were on hers, insistently; his tongue probing at her mouth. Her lips opened 
immediately as she felt her skin flush, and for a moment, his hands cupped the 
sides of her face as his tongue teased hers.
But then his hands were moving lower, caressingly, clever fingers making her 
skin tingle, and when his hands reached her breasts, she gasped at the 
sensations he awoke in her body, and with that now-familiar feeling of melting, 
lay back into the softness of the mattress.
As one hand slipped still lower, his mouth took over where his hands had been, 
evoking still more intoxicating thrills of pleasure, and she moaned softly under 
his caresses. By this time, she was nearly mindless, all of her attention bound 
up in the sensations that he was creating in her body, feeling herself on fire 
with pleasure and desire and an urgency driving her towards that peak she now 
not only knew existed, but which had become so very necessary to her life.
So that, when he finally took her, she was all animal, crying out as she raced 
toward the goal, nothing else mattering in all the world but their bodies moving 
together to that moment when she exploded in pleasure, convulsed and paralyzed 
at the same time, a cry escaping from her that she could not have stopped and 
didnt want to.
And before she had fallen from that pinnacle of sensation, he had come to his 
own shuddering climax, so that they fell together, tangled in sweat-gleaming 
limbs, into dreamy, euphoric lassitude, and then, when he had pulled the covers 
over them both, sleep.
18
Karath was eating and talking at the same time, and it always amazed Selenay 
that he managed to eat as much as he did and still look trim and fit. At the 
moment, he was eating his way through the plate of breakfast pastries like a 
fire going through dry timber. Selenay was just as happy to let him have all of 
them to himself; a little dry toast and some tea was all that she could bear to 
stomach at the moment, and her stomach was not altogether pleased about that. 
And alas, this was no mere illness, which she could expect to recover from in a 
day or so. Oh, no.
She had, somewhat to her dismay, discovered that eternal truth that most women 
learn, soon or late. The pleasures of the bedroom, undertaken without 
precautions, end in babies. Three days of discovering that she could not rise in 
the morning without recourse to a basin had told her that much.
Of course, in her case, the pleasures of the bedroom were supposed to end in 
babies, and in fact, were required to end in babies. As many as possible, in 
factbut at least the typical “heir and a spare,” so that there were two chances 
of being Chosen. That was, after all, what her Council had been nattering about 
for monthswhy theyd wanted so desperately to find her a husband in the first 
place. When she let them knowwell, theyd be thrilled. At least, right up until 
the moment that it occurred to them that there was some risk in childbearing. 
Not that she was worried; she was in the best of health and positively 
surrounded by Healers. Shed been in a lot more danger of injury watching a 
Hurlee game.
I just didnt think it would happen so quickly, she thought mournfully, and told 
her stomach sternly to behave itself while Karath went on with his meal and his 
one-sided conversation, utterly oblivious to her discomfort. Of course, the 
Healers would have things that could help in this casebut that would mean going 
to the Healers, and then they would know she was pregnant, and then everyone 
would know she was pregnant, and that would open up an entirely new set of 
things for the Council to natter at her about
Yet another worry. Why was it that she always seemed to add concerns, and never 
seemed to actually get rid of any?
Karaths chattering, usually about things that interested her only vaguely, like 
hawking and the recent exploits of his friends, tended to pass through her head 
at the best of times like an express coach, without stopping to unload any 
information. This morning, as preoccupied as she was with keeping her scant 
breakfast down, she almost missed what he was saying entirely. Except that one 
word caught her distracted attention, forcing her to bring her mind back to the 
breakfast table, and she blinked and finally looked at him.
“Forgive meI was woolgathering for a moment,” she said apologetically. “What was 
it you just said?”
He pouted a little. He pouted, as he did everything, beautifully. It was 
distinctly unfair. If shed been able to pout that prettily, she would never have 
to fight her Council.
“Sometimes I wonder if you ever hear anything I say in the morning,” he 
complained. “You always seem distracted at breakfast. I said, I think Id like to 
have that handsome black stallion that just came into the Royal Stables as our 
wedding gift from Lord Ashkevron for my coronation mount.”
Coronation mount? Hadnt he been paying attention at all?
“I thought that was what you said,” she replied, choosing her words with great 
care. “You can certainly have the stallion all to yourself since I have no use 
for him, but Karath, I thought it had been explained that there wont be a 
coronation for you. You cant be crowned King of Valdemar.”
“Why not?” he asked, pouting even more, though his eyes were getting stormy. 
“Dont you Valdemarans crown your Kings in a public ceremony?”
“We do.” She felt a cold nausea that had nothing to do with pregnancy as she 
realized that they were about to have their first fight. Good godsshe knew all 
this had been explained to him! It had been in the marriage contract! Hadnt he 
even read it? “But you cant be King.”
His mouth suddenly went from a pout to a hard, angry line. “Why not?” he asked 
tightly. “You are the ruler here. Your Council doesnt have any power except to 
advise you. Ive seen what you can do when you want to. Youve handed out 
properties and titles to anyone you choose without even telling them. You can 
make me King if you wanted to. You can tell your Council, just like you told 
them that you were going to marry me.”
“No, I cant,” she said, the nausea rising into her throat. “And it has nothing 
to do with the Council. Its the law thats keeping you from it, and not even the 
Queen is above the law. You cant be King, because you arent a Herald. Only a 
Herald can be a King or a Queen in Valdemar.”
He snorted with exasperation, as if he suspected she was prevaricating. “Then 
make me a Herald!” he exclaimed angrily. “If that is all that it takes, just 
make me a Herald and get it over with! I dont know why you havent bothered to do 
it already!”
“I cant make you a Herald!” she replied, now getting a little angry herself. 
Hadnt he listened to anything anyone had told him since he had arrived here? Or 
did he only listen when what he heard was what he wanted to hear? “Heralds arent 
made, theyre Chosen.”
“Then Choose” he began, but she interrupted him.
“They arent Chosen by a person, theyre Chosen by their Companion,” she told him 
flatly, a chill over her words that he seemed oblivious to. “So you cant be a 
Herald because none of them have Chosen you.” She didnt bother to add that he 
would then have to go through the Collegium like anyone else before he became a 
full Herald and could be crowned co-Consort and King. If he really had ignored 
something so fundamental as needing to be a Herald before becoming a King, he 
would never grasp having to be schooled for four or more years first.
“Youre telling me,” he said, slowly and incredulously, “that the reason I cant 
be King is because I dont have a white horse?”
“They arent horses,” she began, but he was already pushing away from the table.
“There must be fifty or a hundred of those beasts in that field next to the 
Palace,” he said, a dangerous edge to his voice. “They cant all belong to 
somebody. Well see about this nonsense.”
He stalked out, and she might have tried to stop himexcept at that moment she 
lost her battle with her stomach, and with that, her will to try to break him of 
his delusions gently evaporated.
Let him stand around in Companions Field with a carrot in his hand for the rest 
of the day, if he elected to. Hed only look silly, and maybe when he was tired, 
hot, and ready to come back to the Palace hed be more reasonable.
***
:Chosen: Kantor said, just as Alberich was correcting one of the younger 
Trainees aim with his bow, nudging his feet into a better stance, showing him 
how to aim along the shaft, then elevate to allow for the arrow dropping in 
flight. :I dont want to interrupt you, but there is about to be something of a 
crisis. And we are the closest we, and Keren and Dantris, of course to the 
situation.:
Calmly, Alberich stepped back and let the Trainee shoot, not changing his 
expression by a hair. :What crisis? What situation?:
:Prince Karathanelan is coming to Companions Field; he has three friends, they 
are all mounted, and they all have ropes. He thinks hes going to catch and break 
a Companion so he can be made co-Ruler. Evidently when Selenay convinced him 
just now that he couldnt be crowned unless he was a Herald, he put his own 
interpretation on being Chosen.:
Hardly surprising, if he was the sort of Prince that Alberich thought he was.
The arrow hit the target this time, at least, which was an improvement over the 
Trainees last several shots. :I fail to see the crisis. Surely you arent going 
to try to tell me that he can catch one of you if you dont want to be caught?: 
It wasnt as if the Prince could pin a Companion in a corner; the fence around 
the Field was mostly to keep people out, not Companions in. In fact, Alberich 
would not have put it past a Companion to leap the wall around the Complex, at 
need.
And besides that, any Companion in danger of being caught against his will would 
be instantly rescued by the entire herd. No horse would stand there and face a 
charging Companion herd, no matter what his rider wanted.
:Of course not,: Kantor replied, now coming into view through the trees, 
trotting toward him. :But I believe Caryo intends to be caught, so she can kick 
the fewmets out of him. And other than you and I and Keren and Dantris, I think 
the rest are inclined to let her have her way. She has put up with a great deal 
since he arrived here, and done without much of the company and attention of her 
Chosen.:
:Ah.: That put an entirely different complexion on things. At the least, if the 
Prince was damaged, Selenay would be distressed. If he was embarrassed, hed make 
her miserable. And even if Caryo was not the sort to have murder on her mind, 
accidents could happen. He didnt bother to ask if the other Companions had tried 
to reason with her; Caryo was as stubborn as any Companion born, and as Kantor 
had pointed out, shed had to put up with a lot of aggravation since Selenay met 
the Prince. This was one insult too many. “Students!” he said aloud, as Kantor 
reached him. “Some small trouble there is that I must attend. Trainee Telbren, 
you are in charge.” And as he finished the sentence, Kantor stood steady and he 
vaulted onto Kantors bare back. As soon as he had his balance, the Companion 
whirled on his rear legs and broke into a gallop. Which looked like more of an 
impressive feat of horsemanship than it actually was; Companions were legendary 
for their ability to keep their Chosen in the seat.
They were also legendary for their speed, but as they came out of the trees, 
bearing down on four strangers mounted on mere horses, he saw it was already too 
late. There was Caryo, neatly “caught,” standing meekly with four ropes and a 
saddle and bridle on her
His heart sank. Oh, no. They used a horse-bridle. If there had been any chance 
that the Prince might be forgiven his faux pas by the other Companions, given 
that Caryo was burning to teach him a lesson, it had just flown swiftly away. No 
Companion would ever forgive the insult of having a bit stuffed into his or her 
mouth, nor forgive the insult to a fellow Companion.
and there was the Prince, down off his horse and approaching her with a swagger, 
grabbing the reins and preparing to mount.
“Highness!” he shouted, as a second white streak that could only be Keren and 
Dantris came into sight from the direction of the riding arena. “Highness, look 
out”
But it was far, far, too late.
If he had blinked, he would have missed it. As it was, in one way, he was glad 
he had not, though in another, he wished he had.
From meek, docile, and trussed up, Caryo turned into a whirling, spinningand 
quite deadly, if she chosefury. In that brief moment, the merest breath, she 
expertly yanked three of the four ropes out of the hands of their holders and 
freed herself from their control, probably leaving the palms of those hands 
bloody and torn in the process, though they were in too much shock to register 
the pain immediately. The fourth rope was in the Princes hands, and instead of 
ripping it out of his hands, she wound it around herself as she whirled and used 
it to pull him in closer, he being not bright enough to let go
and as soon as he was in range, both hind feet lashed out in a precisely 
calculated kick
which landed right in the Princes midsection. He went flying backward through 
the air, most spectacularly.
Caryo rid herself of all four ropes, though he could not make out how she did 
it. She simply seemed to give a kind of shrug, and they loosened and fell off, 
and she stepped out of the loops lying on the ground. She spit out the bit, 
shrugged off the bridle as easily as she had the ropes, then she bucked off the 
saddle and kicked it after the Prince, and went galloping away, head high, tail 
flagged. Evidently, with the probable intervention of two Heralds and their 
Companions at hand, she considered that the single kick was enough.
Behind her, three young courtiers were bent over their hands and their 
saddle-bows, cursing and gasping. The Prince was on the ground, also gasping; 
not a surprise, given that the hammer blow of hooves to his gut must have driven 
every bit of air that had been in his lungs out of them. But he could have had 
broken ribs
:He doesnt,: Kantor said. :Though hell have black-and-blue hoofprints on his 
belly for days. Caryo didnt actually kick him; it was more like a calculated and 
very powerful shove.:
Keren got to the Prince first; rolled him on his side, then slammed him across 
the back until he could breathe again, then helped him to his feet, talking the 
whole time. Alberich reached them just in time to hear her finish.
“terrible insult. Like putting a slave collar around your neck, Highness,” she 
said. Alberich could tell, though, that the Prince wasnt listening. He was 
red-faced now, and it was with anger.
“I will hunt that beast down this moment, and I dont care who it belongs to,” he 
said between clenched teeth. “And I will destroy it.”
Enough was enough. Alberich seized both his shoulders, turned him so that he was 
looking right into Alberichs eyes, and shook him twice. Hard. Like a wolf with a 
snake. “Then on trial for murder and treason you will be, and pay for both with 
your life!” he rasped harshly. “To kill a Companion is murder by Valdemaran law. 
To kill the Queens Companion, treason. Do not force your bride to hang you, 
Prince, for she will.”
Evidently Alberichs words penetrated, for the Prince gaped at him in shock.
“For a horse?”
“For a Companion.” Blessed Sunlord, just how stupid was this fool? 
“Theyarenothorses,” he continued, emphasizing each word with a hard shake. “No 
matter what your eyes tell you. Your eyes lie.” He had done some reading since 
the Prince arrived, on Mystes insistence, and now he was glad that he had. “Have 
you broken ribs? A broken pelvis? No. Because it was a Companion that kicked 
youshoved you with her hooves, ratherand not a horse. Think! Had it been a horse 
that had done this, would you not in blood and broken bones be lying? In your 
own land, lives the Shinain Tarmaso I know that you know of this. The Companion 
is like to her kyree Warrl. Be grateful she did no more than kick you for your 
insults.”
He saw the Princes eyes widen, then narrow again, at the comparison. He heard 
also heard Kantors snort of disgust at being compared to a kyree. But Kantor 
knew better than to object, since at least now the Prince had some basis for 
comparison that he might believe.
“So” Karathanelan got out around clenched teeth, “How do I get one of them to 
let me ride it?”
“Choose you, you mean?” Alberich replied, letting go of the young mans 
shoulders. “After this?” He shook his head, and wondered at the monumental 
hubris that would permit the Prince to even think of such a thing. He considered 
trying to explain that it might happenif the Prince were to have such a complete 
change of character as to be a different person. He opted for the simpler 
choice, for Karathanelan would never believe that he needed to change his 
character. “After such an insult to all Companions as thisnever. Not even if the 
Queen was to come here and beg them upon her knees.”
And satisfied at least that the fool was in no condition to try any more 
foolishness, he gave the merest sketch of a bow, and turned on his heel. Two 
steps took him to Kantor, and he mounted and rode off. There were more important 
matters to tend to than the petulant Prince.
At least for now.
***
Myste was laughing so hard that there were actually tears coming from the 
corners of her eyes, and her lenses fogged. “Oh, gods,” she gasped. “Oh, gods. I 
wish Id seen it!” She mimed the Princes ungraceful arc through the air with one 
hand. “ Eeeeeeeeee thump! Oh, I wish Id seen it!”
“No, you dont,” Alberich contradicted her sourly. “The Prince has a good memory, 
and although he probably will not dare to touch another Companion, he is going 
to find a target for his anger. More than one, I suspect; anyone who actually 
witnessed his disgrace is going to find themselves on his short list of people 
hell mark for punishment and revenge. With his reputation and manliness so 
utterly refuted, he will want to make someone pay.”
“And what could he do to a Herald?” Myste scoffed.
“I dont know,” he replied. “And that is what concerns me. He has already tried 
to have me dismissed from my post as Weaponsmaster todayfor putting violent 
hands on a Prince of the Blood, if you please. It was only the reaction of the 
Council to that statement that persuaded him that I am out of his reach for 
now.” He shook his head. “Kyril stood up and said that he was lucky I had not 
finished the task Caryo started. And that for laying violent hands on a 
Companion, he could have found himself in the Palace dungeons.”
“The Palace doesnt have dungeons,” Myste said without thinking.
“I know that, and you do, but the Prince apparently does not.” Alberich 
shrugged. “That is not relevant. The point is, he has already sent his three 
friends packing. He tried to disgrace me. Keren has been warned, and is going to 
try to stay out of his sight.” He grimaced. “Poor Selenay.”
“Why poor Selenay?”Myste asked, surprised.
“Caryo is her Companion,” he reminded her. “I do not think that he will harm her 
physically, but there are other ways he can make her unhappy.” Many other ways, 
actually. He wondered how Caryo had broken the news to Selenay, for surely she 
would not have waited for the Prince to tell his version of the tale first.
She shrugged. “I suspect that after he hears the news, he wont be inclined to 
take any of his pique out on her. If he wants a validation for his masculinity, 
hell surely have it.”
“The news?” He looked at her blankly. “What news?”
“Shes going to have a baby, of course.” Myste tsked. “Men. I suppose you think 
it isnt important.”
But her words made his blood run cold, as he remembered that overheard 
conversation with Norris. “On the contrary,” he said. “It is very important. If 
what we suspect about the Prince is, in fact, true”
Myste lost her sarcastic smugness, and went a little pale. “Id forgotten about 
that. Once the babys born, if he cant be King”
“there is nothing in the laws of Valdemar that say that a Regent must be a 
Herald,” Alberich finished grimly for her. “And even now you would find it 
difficult to persuade most of the members of the Council that he should not be 
Regent for his own child should something happen to Selenay.”
***
Selenay had thought she was prepared for an unpleasant time with her 
husbandinsofar as it was possible to be prepared, after getting a shock like 
that from Caryo. Bless her heart, Caryo had not said, “I told you so,” she had 
only given the bald facts of the matter, and all she said in her own defense 
was, :I was afraid if he managed to catch one of the youngsters, someone would 
have gotten seriously injured before it was over. And I admit, I wanted to put 
him in his place. I didnt exactly kick him, though, Selenay. Theres nothing 
broken but his pride.:
She could scarcely countenance, not only that he had tried to force a Companion 
to his will, but that he had done so in the mistaken belief that he would then 
be a Herald and could be crowned King and co-Ruler. It was as if every lesson in 
Valdemaran law that he had been given had soared over his head. Hadnt he even 
bothered to listen a little?
Apparently, it was only to what he wanted to hear.
When Caryo first told her, she was so furious she could not even see, and had to 
sit down as her knees went weak. Rage and an empty stomach do not combine well.
She raged inwardly at him, nevertheless. How dared he lay violent hands on a 
Companion? How dared he think that such a despicable act would actually gain him 
the Crown? If he had come to her at that moment, she might have snatched up some 
old sword hanging on the wall and beaten him with the flat of it.
But as a little time passed, she regained control over her temper. Though she 
was still going to give him a lashing, it would be with her tongue and not a 
whip or a sword blade. And she had the first phrase ready on the tip of her 
tongue when he finally appeared.
She had thought that after such a monumental act of stupidity, Karath would have 
come to her contrite and looking for forgiveness. In fact, she could not imagine 
any other scenario.
Instead, he burst in through the door, slammed it behind him, and proceeded to 
shout at her, quite as if she were somehow to blame for all this, and as if this 
business of not being made her co-Ruler was somehow her fault, something she had 
concocted to keep him from his rightful place, and as if the debacle with Caryo 
had been something that she had planned to humiliate him.
And that made her furious all over again.
His ranting was like a spark in dry grass; she pounced on the first available 
pause for breath, and then she made her riposte.
“If you think Im going to take your side in this, you are very much mistaken, 
Karath. I told youand if I told you once about how things are here, I told you a 
dozen times!” Selenay shouted at the angry face of her husband. “The Council 
told you! Your own Ambassador told you! For the gods sake, Karath, it was in the 
marriage contract that you signed! In both languages! Just how stupid are you to 
have missed it that many times?”
She knew the moment that the words left her mouth that they were the wrong thing 
to say, but she couldnt help it. Just how stupid was he? Or did he live in some 
fantasy world where because he wanted something, it would simply be given to 
him?
Well, maybe that was the way things had been back in Rethwellan, but that wasnt 
the way it was in Valdemar.
“Stupid enough to have wedded you!” he shouted back, “Such a fine bargain I have 
made for myself! I have wedded no power, no responsibility, and no rank but that 
which I was born with! And for this, I have what? A wife with neither the face 
nor the form to stand out in a crowdwith common tastes and common, petty morals, 
a little girl who thinks more of her horse than of her husband! For this 
bargain, I take a cold, naive, ignorant virgin who grasps her little power as a 
miser does gold, who does not even know how to properly pleasure a man!” And 
before she could retort, he stormed out, and before the astonished eyes of her 
Guards, who had no doubt heard it all, he slammed the door behind him, leaving 
her feeling as if he had dealt her a blow.
She was left staring at the door he slammed behind him, torn between wanting to 
throw herself to the ground, weeping, and wanting to strangle him.
The latter won out, but not by much, and as she paced back and forth across her 
sitting room, there were tears streaking her cheeks as well as anger making her 
clench her jaw until it ached.
Her heart ached, too; ached bitterly, for every insult he had thrown at her felt 
like a blow.
She managed to get some control over herself in order to put herself into the 
hands of her maids; tonight she took extra care with her appearance, for surely 
he who was so conscious of the trappings of status would not absent himself from 
dinner where he sat at her right hand. Common, was she? She would show him. She 
would make him mad to take her in his arms again, and she would, by the gods, 
make him beg for the privilege. And apologize, not only to her, but to Caryo.
But the chair at her right remained empty all evening.
She put on a good face, of course, replying lightly to Talamirs query that he 
was probably passing the time with the friends who had come up from Rethwellan, 
to whom she had given titles and property. “They are probably celebrating, now 
that it is official,” she said, with a false lightness. “And after all, Talamir, 
you can hardly expect a young man to hover over his wife every moment of the 
day! At some point every young man I have ever known, be he never so devoted, 
has longed for the company of his old friends!” Her laugh sounded hollow to her 
own ears, but Talamir made no sign that he had noticed her unhappiness. “Just 
because we are wedded, this does not mean that we are joined at the hip!”
“No, of course not,” Talamir agreed, and nothing more was said on the subject in 
her hearing.
But as the dinner wore on, she was able to think less and less clearly. By the 
time the sweetmeats were served, she would almost have been ready to ask 
forgiveness of him if it would put things back the way they had been yesterday. 
She kept listening, dreading that she would hear something about the debacle in 
Companions Field, but evidently no one was going to talk about it where she 
could overhear.
Maybe that was why he wasnt here! He didnt want to have to answer any questions 
about what hed done; he didnt want to have to explain himself. . . .
She felt a great surge of relief, then, and was able to talk normally, able to 
think of something besides wondering where he was. She was still angry at him, 
especially for the cruel things he had said to her, but she was ready to forgive 
him, so long as he asked for forgiveness.
Except that he did not appear in their quarters after dinner. Tonight she had 
retired to her suite as soon as dinner was over, letting her Court amuse itself 
for a change.
And he did not appear as the hour grew later and later; she filled the time with 
attending to her private correspondence, something she had neglected badly over 
the past fortnight or two. But her heart was not in it, and time after time, she 
had to throw out a letter that was ruined by tears falling on it.
He had not come when her maids arrived to help her prepare for bed, and he still 
had not arrived when they blew out the candles, leaving her alone in the dark in 
that great bed.
And when she realized that he wasnt going to come, the anger ran out of her.
What was wrong? How could he not understand, at least by now, how she was 
powerless in the face of the law? How could he not realize by now the enormity 
of the insult he had given Caryo? Of course he had been angry, but how could he 
have flung those horrible insults at her? She thought he had understood her, as 
no one had ever understood her before. Hadnt they shared all those long 
conversations about how miserable it was to be a child of royal birth? Hadnt he 
commiserated with her about it as no one else had ever done before? Hadnt he 
told her how he had dreamed of finding someone he could care for as well as 
merely marry for the sake of an alliance, and had given it up as an idle dream 
until he met her? How many times had he sworn that to her? How many times had he 
shared his dreams with her, and how many times had she discovered to her joy 
that they were the same as hers?
What had gone wrong? How could he have changed so? What had she done to make him 
turn away from her?
She had no answers for any of this, and she waited, fruitlessly, in her cold, 
lonely bed, until at last she cried herself to sleep.
***
Alberich contemplated the glass image of the Sunlorddefined at the moment by the 
lines of leading rather than the colors of the glassand tried to think of all of 
the possible paths that the Prince might take after this afternoon.
The most obvious, of course, was the most direct; wait until the baby was born, 
and engineer an “accident” that would kill or incapacitate Selenay. There was no 
law in Valdemar that the Regent had to be a Herald; as Regent, it was even 
possible that he would have the same power as the Monarch, just without the 
title.
But that was only one of a number of courses he could take
:Chosen, the Royal Guard Kimel is coming down the path,: Kantor warned, breaking 
into his train of thought. :I cant imagine hed be coming to see anyone but you 
at this time of night.:
Forewarned, Alberich got up to meet the young man as soon as he entered the 
salle, greeting him at the door. But it wasnt until he got to Alberichs private 
quarters that the Herald could see his expression, and it was both grim and 
troubled.
“Master Alberich,” the young man said, when hed taken the proffered seat and 
been offered, and refused, any refreshment. “I overheard a conversation this 
evening thatthat I do not much like.”
“Did you?” Alberich replied noncommittally.
The Guard nodded. “It was during the hour of dinner for the Court. I was on duty 
when I heard two voices raised in argument on the other side of the wall where I 
was standingI happened to be in the gardens, and there was an open window right 
above my head.”
“Assume, I must, that you overheard something that might of importance be?” 
Alberich prompted.
“Two men arguing,” Kimel replied. “And one of them was the Prince.” He coughed. 
“I knew about what happened this afternoon, and I guess hed gone to someone to 
complain about it.” He frowned as he concentrated on what he was going to say. 
“I didnt recognize the voice, but he got not much sympathy. In fact, the person 
he was talking to gave him a regular dressing-down about it. The man said that 
the Prince was on the verge of spoiling it all, though he didnt say what it 
was.”
“Go on,” Alberich told him. Surely there was more to this story!
“Well, then the Prince said something about the unfairness of it all, and the 
other man told him to be patient, and that Selenay was” here Kimel blushed, 
“well, anyway, what he went on to say was once the child is born, there is no 
law preventing you from becoming Regent, when something happens to Selenay. All 
you have to do is to be patient. And the Prince muttered something, and the man 
laughed, and they all went out of the room.”
So. There it was. “You may have done Her Majesty a great service, Kimel,” 
Alberich said gravely.
“I am in a position to do more,” the young Guard replied, to Alberichs surprise. 
“So long as I wear my uniform, and look as if I am guarding something, no one 
ever notices me. I could make sure that if I am not on duty elsewhere, I can 
follow the Prince all over the grounds of the Palace. Perhaps I might discover 
who he was speaking with.”
“If you did, invaluable, it would be,” Alberich said, hardly able to believe the 
luck.
“Then I will.” That seemed to be all that Kimel felt urged to say on the matter; 
he remained a little longer, but not much, and excused himself.
:Well?: he said to Kantor when the young man was gone.
:I think weve gotten an ally, who will at least be watching out for Selenay. I 
dont know how useful what he learns or overhears will be.:
:Its better than nothing, which was all we had,: Alberich pointed out.
:Yes, Chosen. It is at that.:
19
Everyone knew the obvious that nightthat the Prince had not attended the Queen 
at dinner. By morning, though, there was a better bit of gossip to take its 
placethat the Prince had not spent the night with the Queen, nor even (it was 
said) in the Palace.
By breakfast, that gossip had inflated further, with the addition that the 
Prince had returned at last, from somewhere outside the Palace walls. And he had 
gone to his own suite, not the Queens.
Valdemaran royal marriages, like most royal marriages, were not always for love. 
Hence, the Consort always had his (or her) own suite of rooms within the larger 
Royal Suite. It had its own entrance; the one who occupied it could come and go 
without disturbing the Monarch. It would not be the first time that the Monarchs 
spouse had elected to take up residence in his own private space. The trouble 
was, this defection of the Prince would have gone unnoticed except that this was 
supposed to have been a love match. Selenay herself had virtually bullied the 
marriage through the Council. And now, it seemed, it was already falling apart.
So tongues were wagging from the first, and Alberich did not think it possible 
that Selenay was unaware of the gossip. Shed have to be blind and deaf, and she 
was neither. It made him sick inside to think how unhappy she must be, but there 
was little he could do about it.
She was paying a heavy price for her infatuation; this was going to be a very 
expensive lesson in thinking things through. However unhappy the Prince was with 
his wife and his situation, Alberich doubted that Karathanelan was going to 
relinquish what he did have willingly, once he realized the alternatives. Even 
if Selenay became so unhappy as to wish to dissolve the marriage, such a move 
could not be made without the agreement of the other partyand the Prince would 
never agree.
No, unless the Prince actually committed an overt act of treason, Selenay was 
stuck with her bad bargain. And if she was unhappy now, when the last of the 
infatuation wore off, she was going to be even less happy.
Alberich wished there was something he could do, but he knew that, in this case, 
there really was nothing. He was entirely the wrong person for her to confide in 
on two counts. First, the task required someone who was a close friend, which he 
was notsomeone, perhaps, that was Selenays yearmate at the Collegium. Second, 
his sex was against him; he knew instinctively that to become a confidant and 
adviser in this situation, a man just would not do.
Which, unfortunately, left Talamir out of the running as well. Perhaps she was 
confiding in her Companion; perhaps at this point Caryo was about the only one 
she could confide in. He hoped that Caryo was wise enough to know not to 
criticize the Prince herself at this pointbecause Selenay would feel impelled to 
defend him, and that would only prolong the agony, so to speak.
The Prince continued to shun the company of his Queen; one or two days stretched 
into a week with no sign of him in or around the Palace from the time he rose 
until the timewhich was usually very latehe returned from wherever he had just 
spent his day. Alberich grew increasingly weary of the words, “They say” as the 
days passed. But not weary enough not to listen, for there were several nuggets 
of information to be mined from the dross.
One of them sent him out in disguise one evening, to an establishment known as 
“The Silver Horn,” which catered to “the discriminating tastes of gentlemen.” Or 
at least, it catered to those with money who cared to call themselves gentlemen; 
certainly you could find both the highborn and the monied lowborn there, 
although there were special places within the establishment to which money alone 
did not guarantee entrance. Alberich already had a persona established here, 
that of an elderly, semideaf gentleman with a substantial fortuneelderly, 
because that way he would not be looked on askance for not making use of the 
opulent rooms up the parlor stair and the ladies who inhabited those rooms, as 
jewels graced a setting. Alberich would, every now and then, dodder in, partake 
of a splendid meal, and sit enjoying the entertainments on offer in the more 
public roomsgenerally scantily clad young ladies singing or dancing, though it 
was said that they performed far more interesting maneuvers elsewhere in the 
establishmentuntil he apparently nodded off. Then, if he had overheard nothing 
of importance, he would “wake,” and dodder off again. He found the place far 
more useful than the Court for obtaining information about the goings-on of the 
highborn.
The Horn provided something of an educational tradition with the aristocracy. 
Young men were often brought here by brothers or even fathers for their first 
(so far as the parent knew) sexual experiences. Then, as they grew older, they 
would come here by themselves or with friends to make a night of itfine meals, 
gambling, entertainment, and then a romp. It wasnt cheapbut Alberich wasnt 
paying for this out of his own pocket. And there were times when he felt as if, 
given the number of candlemarks he had spent in the Broken Arms and other, even 
fouler dens, lurking on street corners in the freezing dark, getting soaked with 
rain or baking in the hot sun, that he had earned an occasional evening in the 
Horn. Even if all he did was have a meal and lurk.
He had heard that friends of the Prince were going to introduce him to the 
pleasures of the Horn, and as a consequence both of that, and of an internal 
prodding too vague to really be called Foresight, after the third night in which 
the Prince did not appear, Alberich began haunting the Horn nightly. He was a 
forgettable enough character that no one really noticed. And the Prince did, 
indeed, appear that first night, and every night subsequent.
Unfortunately, to Alberichs vast disappointment, the Prince kept himself to the 
“exclusive” areas for the most part, and Alberich never saw more of him than his 
back as he swaggered through the public rooms and into the private areas.
It seemed, after three nights, that Alberich was wasting his time, that all the 
Prince was doing was roistering. Fine, he could bring this to Selenay, but what 
good would it do?
Yet that vague prodding only strengthened as the nights went on, and although he 
never got a glimpse of Foresight, after the fourth night he knew, with absolute 
certainty, that if he kept up his watch, something significant would happen.
And then, on the seventh night, it was not the Prince who became the center of 
attention when he walked in the door.
It was the actor, Norris. And with him was young Devlin.
Alberich was in a shadowy corner, slumped in one of the Horns supremely 
comfortable chairs, fingers interlaced over his “paunch,” chin on his chest, 
seeming to doze. This time he had chosen a seat because of the feeling that this 
was where he needed to beagain, it was a feeling and not a vision, nothing 
concrete, but he was certain that it was linked to his Foresight, and he acted 
on it. One of the young ladies had made certain to tuck a cushion on either side 
of him so that he wouldnt put a crick in his neck; he had muttered vague and 
sleepy thanks, and she had giggled and left him alone. Now everyone seemed to 
have forgotten he was there, which gave him ample opportunity to watch the room 
from mostly-closed eyes.
When Myste had made absented herself from the theater, Alberich had continued to 
keep an eye on the actor at a distance, through other contacts, but there did 
not seem to be any sign of further chicanery. In fact, Norris was so busy, 
Alberich couldnt see how he managed to find the time to sleep, much less write 
letters and find ways to pass them to anyone. In addition to rehearsing and 
performing, he spent every waking moment at the site of his new theater, 
obsessing over details and virtually flogging the workers into going faster.
But here he was, and as soon as they saw him, those young ladies who were not 
otherwise occupied left what they were doing and clustered around him with 
exclamations and coos of delight.
The odd thing was, although he put on a very good show of being pleased, and it 
was clear that young Devlin was nervously gratified to have him here, Alberich 
got the distinct impression that he very much would rather not be there.
Then again, as busy as the man was, Alberich wondered where he had found the 
time to come here in the first place.
The only possible corner of the room that could have been considered secluded 
was the one in which Alberich had ensconced himself. Norris accepted 
refreshments, teased and flirted with the ladies, but took none of them up the 
stairs, which was so entirely out of keeping with everything that Alberich knew 
about the man that he was immediately on alert. Devlin did not move from his 
side either, and it seemed to Alberich that the young noble was keeping a sharp 
watch on the door.
And perhaps three-quarters of a candlemark later, the Prince strolled in, with 
an escort of young sycophants.
Except that one of them apparently was not as much of a sycophant as the Prince 
had thought, because before Karathanelan could vanish, as usual, into one of the 
private parlors, that young man steered him over to Norris chair. Devlin and the 
other young man exchanged a glance; Devlin nodded, and within moments, the 
newcomer gathered up the Princes escort and hustled them into the private 
parlors.
“Highness,” Devlin said with a bow to the Prince. “Our patron wishes you to have 
a discussion with my friend.” And at that, he took himself off, going, not into 
the back like the others, but back out the front door.
Alberich was torn between followingfor surely he was going to report to 
someone!and staying to listen. But his own internal urging said stay, so stay he 
did.
And Norris, looking up indolently at the Prince, indicated with a nod that 
Karathanelan should take a seat beside him. “Run away, my beauties,” the actor 
said, in an amused tone of voice. “We gentlemen need to discuss things too 
delicate for your tender ears.”
With giggles and pretty pouts, as the Prince glared his outrage, the ladies did 
as they were told. “Sit down,” Norris said, and then, when the Prince did not 
move, repeated, with force, “ Sit down. Now.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort!” the Prince said tightly. “I will have you 
horsewhipped and thrown into the street for your insolence!”
“You wont if you know whats good for you,” Norris said, without turning a hair. 
“I am here at the behest of, and doing a very great favor for, our mutual 
sponsor, and if you dont sit down, I am going to walk out of here and tell him 
why I did so. You can see what will happen to you without his protection then, 
but I dont recommend it.”
The Prince sat down.
“Thats better,” Norris said pleasantly.
“What about him?” the Prince growled, nodding at Alberich.
“Nothing to worry about.” Norris dismissed Alberich with a shrug. “Hes older 
than dirt, half senile, mostly deaf. I tested him” Norris grinned then. “If hed 
been conscious when I tipped little Kassies skirts up, hed have at least 
twitched.”
Yes, and you arent quite as clever as you think, Alberich told him mentally. 
Because a real agent wouldnt have reacted even if youd taken the girl on the 
spot. He wasnt sure he would have had the ability to remain “asleep,” but then 
againhed yawned through worse, down in the Broken Arms.
“Now,” Norris continued, losing the grin. “Before we begin, Ill trouble you to 
remember that I have no loyalty to you, or to anyone else who has not paid my 
fee. Once bought, however, I stay bought; this is good business, and it is why 
our patron brought me here, but remember that I do not give a damn what happens 
to you. My part of your education should have been over moons ago, and it would 
have been, if you hadnt been such an idiot a week ago.”
“Idiot?” the Prince hissed. “I think not”
“Exactly,” Norris interrupted. “You dont think. If you did, you would realize 
that you are expendable, fellow-my-lad.”
The Prince started, and looked at Norris as if he thought the actor had run mad.
Norris wagged a finger at him. “Turnabout is fair play. Sauce for the goose will 
serve for the gander. If your bride has done her dynastic duty by getting with 
child so quickly, you have done your work at stud, and she doesnt need you 
anymore. Didnt that ever occur to you over the past few days, while youve been 
doing your best to make her hate you?”
Alberich couldnt see the Princes face, but he sounded smug. “She cannot be rid 
of me. I would not agree to the dissolution of the marriage.”
“Which just shows how much of a fool you are,” Norris countered flatly. 
“Certainly, a marriage cant be dissolved without the consent of both parties if 
you were an ordinary couple. But you arent, you are in a foreign land, and the 
law can be whatever she gets the Council to agree to. And if you should be so 
indiscreet as to do something treasonable, she wouldnt even have to dissolve the 
marriage. She could simply arrange for the Council to make her a widow.” Norris 
examined his nails critically. “They hang traitors to the Crown in Valdemar, you 
know.”
“Shecouldnt!” the Prince gasped, as if it hadnt occurred to him.
“She could,” Norris replied matter-of-factly. “And youre skirting perilous close 
to it, let me tell you; if your lovely bride had chosen, your little folly in 
the matter of a mount would have had you facing a High Court already. In fact, 
the only reasons you havent been charged with treason already are because our 
patron is protecting you, and because our patron is fairly certain that your 
wife is still weeping over your misbehaving and hasnt yet gone from tears to 
anger. Which is why our patron brought me here. Because you mean nothing to me, 
I owe you nothing, you can do nothing to me, and I can and will tell you what no 
one else around you would dare.” He leaned forward and shoved his index ringer 
at the Prince. “Now, you listen to this; youd better believe it, and youd better 
act on it. Our patrons patience is not inexhaustible, and he wont continue to 
support and protect you while you run about like a tomcat. Youre wasting those 
very expensive lessons of mine; you can be replaced, and you will be, once your 
wife decides that shes going to stop crying herself to sleep in an empty bed and 
start doing something about the situation. You might survive the experience, but 
Id bet not; our patron has enemies of his own, and theyd be perfectly happy to 
bring you down and replace you with one of their own choices. And he wont go 
down to save your worthless hide.”
Alberich “snored” gently, and wondered just who the “mutual patron” was. More 
than that, what did this mysterious entity expect to get out of his patronage of 
Karathanelan? If he could “protect” the Prince, surely he could get whatever he 
wanted for himself.
The Prince was silent for a long moment. “I dont like this. How do I know that 
this is true?” he said at last.
“I dont care what you think about it,” Norris replied impatiently. “And I dont 
have to prove anything to you. I already have what I wanted out of the bargain, 
and I dont particularly care whether or not you believe me. You are wasting my 
time, not the other way around. Time to wake up and deal with the mess youve 
made, lad, before you find yourself neck-deep and no way to get out.”
Norris very indifference seemed to work as a powerful argument with the Prince. 
“What do I do?” he asked at last, grudgingly.
Norris snorted. “Do I have to draw you a map?” But when the Prince looked at him 
blankly, he sighed. “Apparently I do. All right then, the first thing you do is 
go apologize to your wife for whatever you said to her and everything youve done 
since you quarreled with her. Groveling to her, if need be, until you get her 
forgiveness.”
“I will never” the Prince began hotly.
“You will if you want to keep your head on your neck,” Norris hissed. “And once 
youve groveled enough, you tell her that now that youve come to your senses and 
have looked back on your unspeakable conduct these past several days, you 
realized tonight how unsatisfactory all these other women youve been bedding 
are, compared to her.”
The Prince sniggered. Norris shrugged. “Of course thats ridiculous, but thats 
what she wants to hear, and believe me, it is the only thing you could say that 
will make her forgive you for sleeping with anyone else. Then you will have to 
go right back to your first lesson with her, and woo her all over again. Only it 
will be a little easier this time, because she knows what you can do in bed, and 
you wont be handicapped by having to hold back with her to save her virtue. 
Remember what I taught you, and everything our patron managed to find out. Use 
that. Make her feel that you are the only person in the whole world who could 
possibly understand her. I wrote you the scripts; drag them out again.”
The Prince seemed to think it over, and finally said, grudgingly. “If this is 
what our patron wants. . . .”
“Hang our patron. This is the only thing that will keep you out of a dungeon 
cell,” Norris said bluntly, as Alberich mentally cursed. If only he could have 
counted on the Princes arrogance to push things and keep pushing them, until 
Selenay was ready to be rid of him!
Well, it looked as if that was a vain hope.
“Very well.” The Prince got up, but did not offer his hand to Norris. “You and 
our patron have been right in the past. I must assume that you are right, now. 
Fare you well.”
“Right,” Norris replied, waving him away indolently. “Just see that you remember 
what Ive told you, the next time youre tempted to assert yourself.”
Alberich continued to “doze” until the Prince was inside the door to one of the 
private parlors, and Norris was surrounded again by his bevy of beauties. Then, 
with a “start,” he “woke,” surveyed the room indulgently, then levered himself 
up out of his chair to totter away.
Part of him wanted to string up Norris as soon as the Prince had been dealt 
with. But part of him, which had been listening to the conversation with keen 
interest, had a better idea.
:I think we should hire him when this is over,: he said, knowing that Kantor had 
been following everything that had transpired.
:You what? : Kantor asked, incredulously. Kantor had no need to ask who “he” 
was.
:I think we should hire him as our agent,: Alberich amended. :Mind, I wouldnt 
tell him just who is hiring him, but he could be damned useful to us.:
:But he said himself he could be bought!: Kantor protestedthen stopped. :And he 
said that once he was bought, he stayed bought. Didnt he.:
:That was exactly what he said,: Alberich replied. :I think he could be a 
valuable agent. More valuable alive and working for us than in prison. If we 
could even find something to charge him with. Which I doubt.:
:Emotionally, I dont like it,: Kantor replied unhappily. :But logicallyyoure 
right. Hes an amoral beast, but better hes been bought by us. At least then we 
can control him.:
:As much as such a one is ever controlled,: Alberich finished. And sighed. :And 
this assumes that his patron whoever that is loses interest in him. If hes the 
sort who stays bought, well never get him otherwise.:
:Good,: Kantor said firmly. :Id rather we didnt. Id rather we could have him 
thrown in jail:
:Which we cant, because he hasnt done anything wrong,: Alberich pointed out. 
:All hes done that we know of is to give the Prince lessons on how to woo and 
win the Queen. Which is hardly illegal. And we cant even prove that he did that 
much, really, not to satisfy a law court. But oh, how I wish he hadnt been here 
tonight!:
:I know exactly what you mean,: Kantor said glumly.
***
Karathanelan might have been an arrogant, self-centered beast, but apparently he 
was bright enough to know when he was getting good advice.
He was also phenomenally lucky.
Because the next day, the very next day, word came from Rethwellan that his 
father, the King, was dead.
Now, that might not have been thought of as luck, except that word also came 
from Rethwellan that the King had already been buried, that Karaths presence was 
not required at home, and that, in fact, his brother the new King, Faramentha, 
suggested strongly that he should remain in Valdemar at the side of his new 
bride and do his mourning in private.
Even while the Rethwellan Embassy was being swathed in black, Karath hurried to 
the Palace, and in full view of everyone as Selenay herself was hearing the 
news, and flung himself weeping at her feet.
Selenay canceled the rest of her audiences that day, and took him with her back 
to her chambers. Alberich could not know, of course, what the Prince told her, 
aside from the “script” that Norris had provided for him, but he could guess. 
What would appeal to Selenay more, than to have her beloved husband suddenly 
bereft of his own father?
Certainly he went about after that in heavy mourning, and certainly Selenay was 
as unshakably attentive to him as he was to her. To Alberichs disgust, he was 
more firmly in Selenays good graces than he had been before, always by her side, 
and playing the devoted husband. Selenay spent a disturbing amount of time 
gazing at him or into his eyes with every sign of being firmly under his spell.
And in public, at least, he was as devoted as she could ever have wished.
In public, he was also playing the tragic figure of the mourning son and 
rejected brother. When a new Ambassador came from Rethwellan to replace the old 
one, he showed a very chilly face to the man, who was, in his turn, no better 
than icily polite.
Which meant nothing to Alberich, until Talamir enlightened him, one late summer 
evening.
“Oh, do think about this for a moment,” Talamir told him, with unusual 
impatience. “The Prince was not told of his fathers death until Faramentha was 
firmly on the throne. And he was not recalled. What does that tell you?”
“Ah.” Alberich shook his head. “I was thinking too much of our own side of this, 
and not beyond our Borders. Faramentha does not trust his brother. And the 
Prince holds Faramentha in enmity.”
“So?”
“Sowhether or not the old King was privy to Karathanelans plans, the new one is 
not, probably.”
Talamir nodded. “And unless I miss my guess,” he added shrewdly, “the Princes 
grief is not all sham. Not that he is brokenhearted over being rejected by his 
brother, nor mourning terribly for his father”
“If he is,” Alberich was moved to point out, “The ladies of the Horn have not 
noticed.”
“Precisely. But if there is one thing the Prince cares about, its his own 
well-being. And with his father dead and his brother, who despises him, on the 
throne?”
“He has nowhere to go if he fails here” Alberich felt cold. “I do not like 
this.”
“Neither,” Talamir said delicately, “do I.”
But there was not much either of them could do about it. Karath had too many 
good cards in his hand, and Selenays own condition was aiding him; by summers 
end, as the first leaves began to turn, Selenay was deep in work, and when she 
wasnt working, she was generally asleep, or at least, resting. Her pregnancy was 
hard on her, not so much that it was difficult, but that she was finding it 
exhausting, according to Crathach, who made no secret that he disapproved of her 
getting with child so quickly. This left ample opportunity for the Prince to 
comport himself as if he was a bachelor.
But he went about it so discreetly that most of the Court had no idea.
Unfortunately, one of the things that was wearing Selenay out was that he still 
had not given up the notion of being crowned. Even though he was not fighting 
with her about it, using less aggressive means to get his point across, roughly 
once a fortnight, he would find some other reason to bring the tired old plaint 
back up, or some new scheme to get around the law. This, Alberich heard from 
Talamir, usually when Alberich came up to the Collegium to report on whatever 
new information he might have gathered on his prowls in Haven. The city was 
quiet of late, as the season passed from summer into autumn; even the criminal 
element was up to no more than the usual trouble. There seemed nothing that 
required Alberichs intervention. Stalking Devlin to try and find the identity of 
the “patron” was proving to be fruitless; where Devlin went, none of Alberichs 
personae was welcome. As for Norris, the actor was so busy with his new theater 
that even he was beginning to look a little frayed about the edges.
“Hes come up with another one today,” Talamir said, lowering himself wearily 
down into a chair by the hearth. He looked ancient tonight, and very 
transparent; Alberich wondered what he had been doing to wear himself so thin.
He wants to be gone, came the unbidden thought. Hes faced with things he cant do 
anything about, and he just wants to be gonefrom problems, from life. And he 
wants it with all of his heart.
He might want itbut he wasnt pursuing it, at least. Duty held him here at 
Selenays side, however poorly suited he thought himself to the task.
At that moment, Alberich pitied the Queens Own.
“This time, what?” Alberich asked, knowing that the “he” could only be the 
Prince, and that the “another one” was yet another ploy to pressure Selenay into 
somehow getting him a crown.
“That shes shaming him in front of his familyor so he says,” Talamir said 
wearily. “According to him, that she hasnt made him King means that she thinks 
he is unworthy of a crown, and now he says that this is why his own brother has 
rejected him and kept him from his fathers side when the King was dying.”
“Ah. So now he attempts guilt?” Alberich replied.
“I would guess,” said Talamir, and shook his head. “At least she came to me with 
this, looking for reassurance. And I planted another seed.”
“Perhaps you can use the papers soon?” Alberich hazarded. They finally had a 
translation of them; it took long enough to break the code. When they had, as 
Alberich had suspected, they proved to be instructions on what to do and say to 
Selenay to win her, with some very intimate details. Some were things that 
Alberich blinked at; things that one would have thought were the sort of 
confession that Selenay would not have given to anyonegirlish daydreams, 
actually, about the sort of man she was looking for, and the loneliness of being 
who she was, the despair that she would never have the kind of marriage her 
father had enjoyed.
Where had all of that come from? Even Talamir had been surprised at the 
bitterness and anguish of some of it.
But maybe Selenay had been pouring her woes into the ears of one of her 
servants. Alberich would have thought they were trustworthy, and probably they 
were, but he supposed there was no reason why they shouldnt tell others what 
Selenay had told them.
Some of what had been written were intimate glimpses into Selenay personally, 
and what to say to her to play to her sympathies, but otherswell, Alberich had 
found himself blushing at the step-by-step instructions for seduction; they did 
not merely border on the pornographic, they were pornographic. And Alberich was 
no longer surprised that Norris was so popular with the ladies, nor that Selenay 
was so deeply infatuated with the Prince. How could she not be, if the Prince 
was following these instructions, meant to make Selenay believe that here, past 
all her hopes, was not only her soulmate but a lover who could guarantee the 
satisfaction of a female partner, closely and with all his attention? Part of 
him wanted to burn the wretched papers, but they were useful, very useful. If 
ever Selenays attachment began to fade, at the right moment, showing her these 
things could turn her fading infatuation to distaste. Only she could know how 
closely the Prince followed his “scripts”but the more closely he had, the more 
obvious it would be that he was following a script, and that there never had 
been any real feeling behind his act.
“Not until after the child is born,” Talamir sighed. “Crathach says that he 
doesnt want any more stress on her right now; between matters of state and the 
Princes continuous pressure, shes got more than enough on her. Hes playing the 
bereft orphan very convincingly, and of all of the acts he could contrive, thats 
the one that will make her excuse him nearly anything.”
Alberich counted up the months in his mind. “Spring, then,” he said with a sigh. 
“But the Prince himself will, perhaps, overstep before then?”
But Talamir shook his head. “No, I think that this patron, whoever he is, has 
found a way to clamp controls down over the Prince. More than just Norris, I 
mean, or even young Devlin. Devlin cant be more than a messenger. It astonishes 
me. And I wish I knew how real the threat to Selenay is.”
Alberich nodded. There was the real question, truth be told. There were actually 
a number of interpretations that could be placed on what Norris had said to his 
control.
First, it could be all bluster. It was one thing to say that the Queen was 
dispensable; it was quite another to actually act on those words. Norris was, 
when it all came down to cases, a commoner. Whatever he knew about life at Court 
he could only learn from brief glimpses and the rather unrealistic views of life 
among the highborn that he got from his plays, or just perhaps by whatever his 
patron told himassuming the patron told him anything at all about life at Court. 
Selenay was surrounded night and day by Guards that Alberich himself had trained 
and could vouch for, and by the Heralds as well. To actually assassinate her, 
someone would have to get past them and Selenays own impressive self-defense 
abilities, and it was guaranteed that whoever tried would not survive the 
attempt. So the enemy would have to find someone highly skilled, clever, and 
suicidalnot an easy task. Poison was out of the question; Healers checked 
everything that she ate and drank, and even if someone managed to slip poison 
past them, there were no “instantaneous” poisons other than some rare 
snakebites; Healers would almost certainly be able to save her. Norris (and, 
presumably, his “patron”) might simply be counting on the hazards of 
childbearing to remove Selenay. To Alberichs mind, that was as foolish a hope as 
finding an assassin; Selenay was in excellent health and by no means delicate. 
Women gave birth without complications every day without the small army of 
Healers to attend them that Selenay had.
“I wish I could hazard a guess,” Talamir replied. “It seems a preposterous idea 
on the face of it. The ForeSeers are no real help either.”
Alberich knew what that meant. Too many future possibilities to sort out. That, 
or so he had been told, was why he never got any visions inspired by Foresight 
that extended into the future by more than a candlemark. His Gift evidently 
operated in the same fashion as he didif there were too many choices, his Gift 
elected not to show any of them, so that he could concentrate without 
distractions pulling him in a dozen directions at once. It only showed him 
things he could actually act on.
“It is that I think, sometimes, our Gifts are more hindrance than help,” he said 
sourly.
“Some of them, at any rate,” Talamir agreed. He looked broodingly off over 
Alberichs left shoulder for a long moment, staring at nothing, but doing it in a 
way that tended to raise the hackles on the back of Alberichs neck. What was he 
looking at, so intently, with that expression of focused detachment? Alberich 
was used to that “listening” look that Heralds got when they were conversing 
with their Companions, and this wasnt that expression. It also wasnt the 
absentminded look most people got when they were engrossed in their own 
thoughts. The closest analogy that Alberich could come to was that odd look that 
cats sometimes got, when they stared intently at something that apparently wasnt 
there. It was a Karsite tradition that when they did that, they were looking at 
spirits. Talamirs look was very like that.
But if the Queens Own was seeing ghosts, he hadnt said anything about it to 
anyone.
Alberich repressed a shiver and coughed quietly to bring Talamirs attention back 
to the present.
Talamir blinked, and picked up the conversation where it had left off.
“I have to think at this point that your actors conversation was a deliberate 
attempt on his part to remind his control and his patron that he knows where all 
the skeletons are,” Talamir said. “I think he was trying to extract more money 
from them to buy his silence in case anything did happen to the Queen.”
Alberich thought that over. It was plausible. More plausible than any of his own 
theories. Norris might stay bought, but when you did that, there was less 
incentive for your “employers” to try to keep you in their pocket once they had 
what they initially wanted.
And theaters were more expensive to maintain than a stable full of racehorses.
“A dangerous ploy, that one,” Alberich observed. “He could be removed before a 
danger he becomes.”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” Talamir admitted. “But that is the best fit for what you 
overheard.”
Alberich nodded his agreement, but not without a sense of relief. If that was 
all it was . . . !
They finished their business, and Alberich made his way back to the salle 
through the dark. Not alone, of course; the moment he crossed over the fence 
into Companions Field, Kantor joined him.
:Youre still troubled,: his Companion observed.
:I dont like it, for some reason,: Alberich admitted. :Unfortunately, I dont 
know why.:
:Well, what can you do about it?:
He pondered that for a moment, trying to think of all of the times Selenay could 
be vulnerable. Not when holding Court, not at Council meetings. Probably not in 
the gardens or in her own quarters, or at meals or entertainmentsunless the 
harpists suddenly produced arrows and used their instruments as bows.
Not very likely.
But before the arrival of the Prince, Selenay had occasionally donned the 
working Whites of a common Herald, and gone off for a long ride, down to the 
Home Farms, outside the walls of Haven, usually accompanied only by Talamir and 
sometimes not even him. And then, if ever
:You know, I believe I am going to start attending the Hurlee practices,: he 
said slowly. :I believe I will begin working with the Hurlee players. She might 
object to an escort; she wont object to a crowd of cheerful youngsters nattering 
about sport. In fact, she might even enjoy their company. But it will not take 
much to turn them from gamesmen to melee-experts.:
:Hurlee is cursed like a melee already,: Kantor observed.
:And that is the point,: Alberich replied. :Furthermore, unless she is really 
craving privacy, Selenay wont think anything of a Hurlee team riding along with 
her. Theyre only Trainees, not Guards.:
:So she wont object?:
He smiled. :I believe she will welcome them.: Then he sobered. :The hard part 
will be in training them to be weapons at her side, without any of them 
realizing that is what I am doing.:
:If anyone can,: Kantor said firmly, :you can.:
He sighed, and hoped his Companion was right.
20
A harsh, cold wind blew across the Hurlee ground, rattling the last of the sere, 
brown leaves still clinging to the trees. A helm and neck-brace werent much help 
in protecting from the cold; the wind ripped gleefully down the Weaponsmasters 
collar and the sudden chill brought back memories of long patrols in the lonely 
hills of Karse in weather worse than this, when he would wake cold, patrol until 
he and his men were warm only where their bodies were in contact with their 
horses hides, then gather around smoking fires where you warmed little bits of 
yourself, while the rest stayed achingly cold. Nowwell, he had come from a warm 
salle, and he would be going back to it; this was just minor discomfort, 
inconsequential.
Alberich gravely surveyed the twelve best Hurlee players in the Collegium now 
gathered before him; in their turn they gazed fearlessly back at him. They were 
all superior athletes, all either in their last or next-to-last years, and all 
were old enough to give Alberich respect untempered with fear. They were past 
that half-fearful, half-awestruck stage, past thinking him an unreasonable 
taskmaster. They knew him now, knew what he was about, knew why he did what he 
did with them. There were those that were this lots yearmates that still had not 
grasped those truths; that was why he had picked his candidates so carefully.
And if they suspected what he was about with them now was going to be something 
more than turning them into vicious Hurlee playerswell, he reckoned they only 
thought to the moment when they were to get their Whites, and assumed that he 
was fitting them better to be Heralds in some of the more dangerous sectors. And 
it was true enough that this training would serve that end, so they were not 
entirely wrong.
The real purpose was a secret held by him, Talamir, Kantor and Rolanand the 
Companions of these dozen young Grays. After careful consultation with Kantor, 
he and Talamir had elected to include the Companions, but not the Trainees, 
because of the risk that someone would let something slip. No secret was ever 
safer, and he and Kantor felt that to get the best result, he needed the 
informed cooperation of the Companions. Other than that, no one else had been 
told. Not even Myste knew, though of course, he would tell her eventually for 
the sake of the Chronicles. Just not now; later when the danger was past, and 
his fears were proved falseor true.
The twelve sat shivering in their saddles, waiting for him to speak. They wore 
more than the usual Hurlee protections; shin, knee, and calf-guards, 
kidney-belts, elbow-guards, arm-guards, neck-braces. And they were finding, as 
he already knew, that none of these protections helped against the teeth of the 
wind.
There were no observers today. No one wanted to sit in the cold, in the open, 
with no shelter on a day like this. Not even to watch the best Hurlee players in 
Haven. It seemed an especial irony that rather than being overcast, the sun 
shone down among swiftly-moving scuds of cloud in a mostly-blue sky. It gave no 
help against the cold.
“Two teams of six for now,” he said, and pointed. “Harrow. You sit out, throw in 
the ball, referee. I will play this third and the next.”
When Hurlee had first been turned into a game and not a form of exercise, it had 
started with as many players as could be crowded onto the field, but now the 
official tally was twenty-four on the field, twelve to each side. Two of the 
twelve were goaltenders, two played close to the goals, and another two were 
“rovers” outside the scrum, on the alert for a miss-hit ball or a pass from one 
of their own side. Alberich was paring the teams down again to two goaltenders 
and four others; four roaming players, one on the home goal, one on the shared 
goal.
“A new rule,” he continued. “The Companion a fair target is.” He was counting on 
any ambushers being armed with swords rather than any other exotic weaponsit 
would be easy enough to incapacitate Companions by thrusting the shafts of 
spears among their legs in a meleea broken leg would send a Companion down as 
easily as a horse. But it was still possible, more than possible, for a 
Companion to be killed by a sword thrust. He would have to teach them to avoid 
the possibility.
And as for the stroke that had killed the King and his Companion, and killed 
Rolans predecessorwell, that would be coming in later lessons.
“Yes,” he repeated, with a little more force. “The Companion a legal target is.” 
That startled them, though the Companions all nodded or snorted and pawed the 
ground to indicate willingness. Well, they knew, and knew why; this only 
surprised their Chosen. Startled, and shocked them, as if he had suggested that 
they should practice assassination techniques on infants. Still, they were all 
intelligent, and in a moment, they nodded too. And this probably confirmed their 
suspicions; that he was fitting them for dangerous missions, missions in which 
their Companions would most definitely be targets, the targets of people who 
were out to kill them, not incapacitate them.
Well, he was. If he needed them, it would be facing people who would probably 
strike at their Companions first. The Prince might be willfully ignorant when it 
came to the Companions, but his comrades werent. And they would know what the 
Tedrels had known; kill the Companion, and the Herald is lost as well.
“And Companionsyou are to target opposing riders,” he continued, and he thought 
he caught a wicked glint in one or two blue eyes. “Pull them down, out of the 
saddle; knock them over. Chase them to the boundaries.” The Companions would be 
quicker to adapt than their Chosen; at least at first. The Companions of this 
lot were all full adults, more experienced than their riders.
“So” he held up his stick; the “traditional” beginning to a Hurlee game was for 
all players to raise their sticks and crack them together. Belatedly, the rest 
of them cracked theirs against his. “Harrowthrow in the ball and referee. Signal 
no fouls, only danger or hurt. We play.”
Harrow had a whistle, but under these rules, he wasnt to blow it except to start 
game play unless someone was injured. These were real no-holds-barred 
conditions, with the Hurlee stick becoming a weaponclub, spear, staff, whatever 
suited. As the two teams lined up against each other, staring at each other, 
waiting, it occurred to him to be amused at himself. Who ever would have thought 
that his impulse to give a set of overexcited youngsters something to burn off 
some energy with would have turned into this?
Harrows whistle cut through the cold air, and the “game” began.
As he had expected, the Trainees promptly forgot the new rule about targeting 
Companions. He hadnt, though, and Kantor charged straight into the Companion of 
the opposing teams captain, using his greater bulk and muscle to literally knock 
the other off his feet. The others scattered before that charge; Kantor in a 
full charge was a terrifying sight. Kantor angled sideways at the last moment, 
ramming the other with his chest, as Alberich thrashed at the rider with his 
stick, and missed, the rider ducking under the blow. The shock of the meeting 
jolted through him. The Companion went over, knocked right off-balance, his 
rider remembering his equitation classes and jumping free at the last minute, 
and as Alberich charged down on him, he brought up his stick defensively in time 
to deflect the blow Alberich was aiming at his head.
Alberich and Kantor galloped past and Kantor whirled with a hip-wrenching 
reversal of direction, charging for the opposing teams goalminder. Meanwhile, 
thinking just a little faster on his feet than the rest, Alberichs shared-goal 
minder followed the Weaponsmasters example and slapped his counterparts 
Companion over the rump with his stick. Trumpeting indignation, the offended 
Companion leaped out of the way, giving Alberichs team a clear shot at the goal.
Which they took.
Harrow whistled to stop play, and ran in to fetch the ball.
The first play was over, and the only “casualty” was one rider unhorsed, one 
Companion slapped. And the second would likely not happen again. Alberich felt 
his heart swell with pride. They were good. They were more than good. They were 
brilliant: adaptable and clever.
And before time to change came up, they were all playing by the new rules 
without having to think about it too much.
Not that any of them had much of a chance against Alberich, because he was not 
holding back for their benefit. He wanted them to feel what it was really like, 
fighting against an adult, and an experienced and cunning one as well. He had 
tested the Princes skills himself, and he was not going to assume that the 
Princes chosen accomplices, should he try this thing, were going to be any less 
skilled. But unless the Prince somehow recruited people from the Tedrel Wars, 
none of them would have had anything like real combat experience, nor anything 
like what he and these Trainees were practicing.
When change-up came and Harrow signaled them, for the sake of making it a bit 
fairer as far as scoring was concerned, he switched sides; Harrow came in, and a 
player from the other team came out. And the game began again, except that this 
time, they all were playing like they meant it.
And at the third change-up, Alberich sat out altogether, and ran a critique from 
the sidelines. By this time, they were playing by the new rules without having 
to concentrate on them, and the riders suddenly found themselves confronted by 
something that had never happened to them before.
Their Companions were no longer entirely mindful of their Chosen. Not when they 
were busy avoiding dangerous blows themselves. That meant that there were 
moments out there when they were no better off than if theyd been riding a 
superbly trained horse. Those were the moments of greatest danger, just as they 
had been in real combat. Those were the moments when, if they thought about it 
at all, these young Trainees got their first taste of real, bone-chilling fear.
When he brought the game to an end, they were allhimself includedabsolutely 
exhausted, bruised, and battered. And there was a light of grim, ready-to-drop 
satisfaction in their eyes.
:And youre warm,: Kantor observed, with weary humor. :Though you wont stay that 
way if you start making a speech.:
Alberich ignored him. “Good,” he said, and their eyes lit up. “Very good. Look, 
you. This a special class will be. Every day, this time, until I say. For now, 
we Hurlee a-saddle, but the next step will beunhorsed, and you Hurlee aground 
until you can get mounted again. And those mounted will try to separate you from 
your Companion. And you will be trying to take the Companion down from the 
ground. So be thinking on this.”
“Yes, Weaponsmaster,” they said in a ragged chorus.
Harrow, quicker than the others, looked pale, but asked, “You mean, were trying 
to repeat what killed the King and the Monarchs Own Companion?”
“You are striving to prevent that,” Alberich corrected gently. “And it will take 
time. So here you will be, every day, for two candlemarks or a full game, 
whichever arrives first.”
“But what if weve got a class or work scheduled?” one of them piped up, voice 
trembling only a little.
“See Talamir; he will tend to it,” Alberich ordered. “This class, precedence 
has.” And several of them exchanged meaningful glances. Sober ones, too, he was 
proud to see. So, they knew; somehow in this first round of mock-combat, they 
had learned that deadly lesson, that fighting was dirty, foul, and uglythat 
combat meant hurt. That they could be hurt, which was a difficult lesson for any 
young person to grasp.
He did not think that they had yet come to grips with the other lessonthat they 
could die. But at least they knew that there was no glory to be found in this, 
and there was a great deal of danger.
He hoped.
:Oh, they know. And theyre thinking furiously, trying to come up with the reason 
for all of this,: Kantor told him. :Dont worry; well encourage the “right 
answer.”:
Good. He needed them to concentrate on that “answer.” Because by the time the 
snow was falling, hed have them practicing in full armor.
And by the time it melted, he would have them practicing in sets of custom-made 
armor that would not show under Trainee Grays. When that armor arrived, he 
wanted them to be firmly fixated on their own answer, and not his.
He raised his stick; automatically, they raised theirs, and they all clashed 
together overhead. “Good game,” he said with satisfaction. “Same time tomorrow.”
***
Fat, fluffy flakes of snow fell thickly from a sky that was a uniform, 
featureless gray from horizon to horizon. The damp, still air seemed oddly warm, 
but perhaps it was only because there was no wind blowing at the moment. Already 
the new snow was a thumbs-breadth deep everywhere, covering the old, crusty, 
knee-deep stuff, softening the harsh, bare bushes and skeletal tree limbs.
It covered everywhere, except the Hurlee field, which was a churned-up mess of 
dirty snow, clods of earth, and grass. There was not a single spot on the field 
that wasnt pounded down with hoofmarks.
Despite the muffling effect of the falling snow, the game was loud enough. Not 
because of the shouting of spectators (there werent any), nor the shouts of the 
players themselves (mostly they just grunted). No, it was the clash of stick on 
armor.
Every one of the players wore armor, including Alberich; thigh-, shin-, and 
foot-guards, breast- and back-plates, shoulder-, neck-, and arm-guards, and, of 
course, the helm. It wasnt articulated plate of the sort that a knight might 
wear; the Trainees wore protective plates riveted onto leather. Much lighter and 
easier to move inrelatively.
Easier to fit under or over other garments, anyway. Under the armor, they wore 
padded gambesons, and over it, padded surcoats. The Companions were armored, 
too, at least for these practice sessionsa face-plate to protect their heads, 
articulated plate along their necks, and leg-guards. Alberich didnt want any of 
them injured either
He was on home-goal guard this session, which gave him more opportunity to watch 
the rest as they skirmished. And they had made amazing progress in the past few 
moons.
I should have expected it, I suppose, looking back on how all those young 
Trainees drove themselves before the last Tedrel War. He felt a warmth toward 
them that was almost paternal; challenge them, and they rose to the challenge. 
Let them but think that there was a challenge in the offing, and they rose to 
it. And theyd go through fire to meet it.
Most of the noise was coming from sticks connecting with the Companions armor, 
since they werent wearing any padding over it, and he wondered if perhaps he 
shouldnt order the armor off. When the day came that they began riding guardian 
on Selenay, there was no way to disguise what was essentially horse-armor, so 
the Companions would have to do without. If it was making the Companions 
dependent, possibly careless
:Its not; they just arent ready yet to have us dodging underneath them. Not with 
all that extra weight.:
Kantors assurance was all he needed; he stopped worrying about it. This was only 
the third session under armor, and they still werent used to it. Fortunately, 
the custom-made and fitted armor he had ordered up for them was going to be 
lighter than this stuff. Not as strong or protective, but it should easily be 
good enough against the kinds of light court-blades that the Prince and his 
friends sported, if Alberichs worst fears came true.
And if the Prince and his friends elected to attempt to hire professionals 
rather than doing the dirty work themselves, Alberich would hear about it. There 
was no job involving dirty work in Haven that at least one of his personae didnt 
hear about, either via the rumor vine, or directly.
If the Prince decides to hire out his evil work, wouldnt it be a great irony if 
he approached me directly?
Just as he thought that, the melee surged toward his goal; he judged his moment, 
and as soon as they drew near enough to be a threat to the goal, Kantor charged 
the rider nearest him. The Companions powerful muscles surged under him. Kantors 
unusual weight and sizequite as large as any war-horsewas next to impossible for 
another Companion to stand up to. The best they could do was to try and turn 
aside at the last moment so that he slid along a flankor to dodge out of the 
way.
But there was nowhere for this Companion to dodge to, and no room to turn. 
Kantor hit him hard, and the shock of the meeting jarred both his body and 
Alberichs. They bounced back; Kantor anticipated the shock and caught himself 
without a slip. The other Companions hooves scrabbled desperately in the snow as 
he tried to stay upright; the rider dropped his stick, grabbed the hold on the 
pommel, and hung on grimly.
And Kantor charged again, while Alberich swung at the rider.
It was a short charge, more of a push, but the other Companions hind feet slid 
right out from under him, at the same time that Alberichs stick connected with 
the riders helm with a solid clang that vibrated up the stick and into Alberichs 
arm.
Down they both went, the Companion sliding over sideways with a squeal of pain, 
the rider justfalling. Not jumping free, not even trying. And Alberich knew as 
soon as they started to fall that they were both hurt.
Blessed Sun lord. . . .
So did Shanda, who was refereeing; she gave a blast to her whistle as the two 
hit the slushy ground, and the scrum instantly stopped.
What have we done?
The rider groaned, and tried to rise as Alberich leaped off Kantors back and ran 
for him. The Companion got to his feet, with a lurch and a scramble, whining 
under his breath with pain, but when he stood, it was on only three legs.
:Not broken,: Kantor relayed instantly, :but its a bad sprain.:
Alberich unfastened Harrows helm strap and lifted the helmet from Harrows head. 
“Look at me,” he commanded, and it didnt take a genius to see from the unequal 
size of the boys pupils that hed been concussed. And it didnt take a genius to 
see why either; the padding had come loose and slid down the back of the helm to 
bunch up against the neck protector.
Shanda was on the case already; she and her Companion were dragging up the 
two-horse stretcher they kept at the side of the field. Alberich didnt have to 
give them a single order.
They worked as if they had rehearsed for this disaster; half of them lifted 
Harrow straight up off the ground without moving his back or neck, and placed 
him on the stretcher. Within a moment, they were heading toward Healers 
Collegium with Harrow held securely by the straps around the stretcher.
Meanwhile the other half of the Trainees left behind were buckling Harrows 
Companion onto the saddles of two more Companions so they could take some of his 
weight and he wouldnt have to put that injured leg to the ground. In another 
moment they, too, were on their way to the Healers, picking their way through 
the uneven snow.
Alberich was left to pick up the helm and stare numbly after them. He felt sick, 
but what could he do? There were injuries like this even in normal practice, 
much less the risky stuff he was asking them to do now. And if he didnt push 
themif they didnt push themselvesif it came to a real fight, they might not live 
through it. He wasnt going to apologize
But what were they thinking?
“Find us a substitute, Weaponsmaster,” called Brion over his shoulder as the 
second lot limped toward the Collegium with Harrows Companion. “Were not good 
enough yet, and this just proves it. Get us a substitute, or get us just a 
referee and you substitute, and well pick this up tomorrow.”
The words both startled and gratified him, and for a moment, he actually felt 
his eyes burn. “I will!” he called after them, hoping that they didnt notice the 
slightly choked quality caused by the lump in his throat. “But session is ended 
for today, I think.”
:Tell the others with Harrow, will you?: he asked Kantor.
:Certainly,: There was a pause. :Harrow says to tell you he apologizes for not 
checking his helm better, and that this is all his fault.:
That called for an apology. :Tell him that he is right but that it is also my 
fault for not checking the equipment first myself, and that I also beg his 
pardon for my carelessness.:
:That ought to scare him out of his bed,: Kantor chuckled. :You, apologizing!:
But as Alberich hung the faulty helm on the pommel of his saddle, and turned to 
mount Kantors saddle and head for the salle, he caught sight of movement out of 
the corner of his eye.
For one horrible moment, he thought it was someone from the Court. Perhaps one 
of the Princes people
Which could be a disaster.
Then he saw the color of the mount and the riders clothing and had another 
sickening feeling. This was another Trainee and Companion, and theyd seen the 
accident. If he thought he was being portrayed as a monster before
:No Companion thinks youre a monster.:
He hadnt seen them there; hed thought there had been no one watching. In a 
moment, he recognized them, with something of a start. The Trainee was young 
Mical, his Companion Elorantwo of the unholy trio whose antics had broken that 
mirror in the salle and had inadvertently sent him down the road to discovering 
what the actor Norris had been up to.
What were they doing here?
But Micals punishment was long since over; what could he possibly have been 
doing out here? It wasnt for pleasure; he looked practically blue with cold, and 
he must have been here the entire time theyd been playing.
“Weaponsmaster Alberich?” the boy called, as soon as he was within easy 
conversational distance. “Can we volunteer to be that substitute?”
Alberich raised an eyebrow, making certain that none of his considerable 
surprise showed on his face, although his jaw ached with the effort of keeping 
it from dropping. He knew very well that young Mical had a reputation as a demon 
Hurlee player, despite the late start that he and Eloran had on it because of 
the punishment work hed been doing. But that was regular Hurlee, not thisthis 
combat version. Surely no one sane would volunteer for this, not after today, 
not seeing that the Weaponsmaster would injure one of the Trainees and 
apparently not think twice about it. And Mical had at least three more years to 
go in his training, not one or less than one.
“How long have you watching been?” he asked, keeping his tone flat. He expected 
to hear a slightly cocky “Long enough,” but once again he got a surprise.
“A little more than two moons,” Mical replied. “It took me a while to get my 
chores scheduled so I had the candlemark free. I heard about it, and I started 
watching. At first it waswell, because it was Hurlee.” He emphasized the game as 
if invoking the name alone would explain everything. “Then I stayed.”
Kantor snorted. :Well, well. This is interesting.:
“This no kind of game is,” Alberich told him, harshly. “Not anymore. Not this 
group. There is this, serious injury today. More, there are likely to be.”
“I know that, Weaponsmaster,” Mical replied, head up, eyes blazing. “But Im 
good, really good at regular Hurlee, and I want to help.” His Companion moved 
forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Alberich, and the rest of his 
speech was made in a whisper. “I know why youre doing this,” he continued, and 
if his hands and voice trembled a little, his gaze was firm. “That is, I think I 
know what youre doing. Youre training up a bunch of people who are always at the 
Collegium until they graduate into Whites, and who nobody is going to even 
consider as adequate protection. Not even the Queen, so we could go anywhere. 
You think that if the Queen ever leaves the Palace grounds, someone is going to 
try to kidnap her. Maybe even the Princes friends, to try and get the Queen and 
the Council to agree to make him a King.”
Since that was very near to what Alberich was afraid of, he actually started, 
and stared at the boy, and this time he didnt even try to keep his jaw from 
dropping. “Buthow” he began.
Mical shrugged. “Healer Crathach is my second cousin, and my uncle knows people 
who know the Princes set. Im good at putting things together, and my Gift is 
Touchreading.” At Alberichs puzzled look, he explained. “If I pick up something 
barehanded, and I want to know, sometimes I can tell where its been and what its 
been doing going back to when it was first made.” He gulped. “I havent had it 
working for long, not so I could trust it. Otherwise Id have told you.”
Alberich blinked again. So did Kantor. :I was under the impression that Micals 
Gift was fairly unreliable.:
“My Gift-teacher still thinks its unreliable,” Mical continued. “But in the last 
moon its been getting a bit more under control, and that was when I noticed 
something. If someone has been handling what I pick up very recently, and 
feeling strongly about something, its pretty dead-accurate. I can pick up bits 
of what theyve been thinking about. When I realized there was something strange 
about this Hurlee team, I” He flushed. “I started snooping on you. Youve been 
awfully worried lately, and youve been doing a lot of repairs on the practice 
equipment.” His chin firmed. “I know this is dangerous; you just cracked Harrows 
skull for him, and that was just in practice! But I still want to help.”
Alberich thought about it for a long, long moment, as the snow fell all about 
them, sealing them off from the rest of the world inside a wall of white 
curtains.
“All right,” he said at last. “Come down to the salle with me. I will need to 
measure you, and get you armor. And your gods be with you.”
***
Mical went off with his measurements taken, a set of armor of the approximate 
size ready for him, and an admonishment to say nothing of his speculations, not 
even to his fellows on the team. “Tell them that you are the substitute, you 
may,” Alberich told him. “If you care to.”
Mical just shook his head. “They arent my yearmates, and itll be better coming 
from you,” he replied, showing a maturity that Alberich hadnt expected. “If you 
say it, theyll just figure you picked the best you could think of. If I do, itll 
sound like Im boasting.”
It sounded as if young Mical had learned a lot more in that glassworks than how 
to make mirrors.
And there had not been one single attempt on Micals part to suggest some of the 
stage-fighting techniques he had been so enamored with a year ago. Hed done a 
great deal of physical growing in the past year, too; hed gone from weedy 
adolescent to a young powerhouse with muscles as hard as rocks. It was no wonder 
that he was reputed to be such a demon Hurlee player. Evidently pumping those 
bellows had been very good for him.
But as Alberich brooded over his solitary supper, he was still worried. The boy 
might be big and strong, but he was still a boy, still three years younger than 
the rest of the team. Hed volunteered, but did Alberich have the right to accept 
him? He thought of poor Harrow, even now being taken care of by the Healers. He 
would be throwing young Mical into the middle of a team that was already playing 
a deadly game; theyd had moons of practice at it, and Mical and Eloran didnt.
:But hes been watching,: Kantor reminded him.
:Watching isnt the same as playing.: Would Mical just end up in a bed next to 
Harrow in the next day or two?
:Eloran is getting some special coaching, this minute,: Kantor told him. :This 
business is half the Companions job, remember. And Eloran is a lot faster than 
Harrows Companion.:
Another shock; this was a day full of them. :I thought all of you were fairly 
equal:
:Oh, no. Not that any of us is the Companion equivalent of Myste: There was a 
snicker in that, and Alberich could hardly blame him. Poor Myste! By now she was 
so notorious that Selenay just had a page assigned to her to follow around 
behind her, picking up the things she dropped and gathering up the things she 
put down and forgot. Well, she might forget where she left her spare pair of 
lenses; she never forgot a fact, a law, or a precedent.
:Some of us have different priorities,: he replied truthfully.
:As do we. At any rate, Eloran is a little nimbler than Lekaron, with slightly 
better reactions. That should make up for lack of experience.: But he detected a 
hint of doubt in Kantors mind-voice, and oddly enough, that comforted him. If 
Kantor was having feelings of guilt, at least it meant that Alberich wasnt being 
overly nice about this situation.
:Theyre terribly young,: he said gloomily.
:Lavan Firestorm and his Companion werent any older.:
:And Lavan never got the opportunity to grow any older.:
Kantor was silent for a moment. :Lavan never really got the opportunity to 
volunteer. Mical did.:
There was that. But could someone that young have any real idea of what he was 
volunteering for? Bad enough to take the Trainees he hadall adolescents to one 
extent or another thought they were immortal, that death was something that 
happened to someone else; the older lot at least were well aware that they could 
be horribly hurt. But fifteen-year-olds truly thought that they were immortal, 
yes, and invulnerable, that even injuries would nod and pass on by. And in spite 
of what hed seen, was this truly informed consent?
:When do you trust someone?: Kantor asked, seemingly out of the blue.
:Excuse me?:
:When do you trust someone? Is it by age, or maturity? What is the magic number? 
When do Trainees start to think like adults?:
He understood what Kantor was saying, of course, and his head agreed with it. 
Mical had been there on the worst day the team had experienced. Hed watched them 
for two moons at least. And hed evidently learned some sobering lessons in the 
glassworks.
Hed shown every sign of acting in a measured and mature fashion this afternoon. 
So when did Alberich stop doubting and start trusting?
:When my gut decides to go along with my head, I suppose,: he replied glumly. 
:And my gut is going to be screaming, “ but hes only a child!” for a little 
while longer at least.:
He might have said something more, but at just that moment, a bell rang out, 
cutting across the winter night.
And for one, horrible moment, he thought it was the Death Bell, and his thoughts 
fastened on Harrow
But no, it wasnt. It was the Great Bell at the Palacenot the Collegium Bell, 
that sounded the candlemarks and the meals, but the huge, deep-toned Bell that 
sounded only for major occasions. So what
A moment later, his question was answered.
:Its time! Its Selenay!: said Kantor, and given the gravid condition of the 
Queen, that was all Kantor needed to say.
Selenay had gone into labor. By dawn, Valdemar would have an Heir-Presumptive.
And from that moment on, the Queen would be standing between Prince Karathanelan 
and his ambitions.
Alberich shivered. It had begun.
21
“Im sorry, Weaponsmaster,” Mical sighed. He pushed the papers away from him, and 
reluctantly, Alberich took them and folded them up, tightly. “All I get from 
them is” he screwed up his face, “the writer was in a hurry, really annoyed with 
something, and wanted to get this over with. I think he was that actor fellowthe 
one we all thought was sointeresting.” He paused again, then smiled wanly. “And 
about the only thing that I can tell you besides that is that he thought the 
person he was writing to was very, very thick.”
Alberich sighed. It had been a long shot, of course. Hed hoped that somehow the 
secret instructions from Norris to the Prince would have some link to the 
unknown patron. Butno luck, it seemed. Whoever the patron was, Norris had not 
been thinking of him when hed been writing the Princes “scripts.”
“My thanks, regardless, Mical,” he said. He saw Mical glancing with longing at 
the door, and he found a bit of sympathy for the boy. It was the first fine day 
inwell, since autumn. And Mical, no longer under punishment-duty, was probably 
afire to be out in it. “Go along”
He hadnt so much as gotten the words out when Mical was out the door like a 
shot.
“Frustrating,” said Myste redundantly. “Weve got one end of the pathNorris to 
Karath. We have the other, Devlin to Norris. But we still dont have the 
so-called patron who links it all into a neat circle.”
“Nor will we,” Alberich said with grim certainty. “I believe it was the same 
person who was paying for unrest against the Queen earlier. I even believe it 
was the same person who was selling information out of the Council during the 
Wars. And I have my suspicions who that person is. Unfortunately, I do not have 
a shred of proof. He is too clever at covering his tracks and hiding his 
identity. He is probably in disguise most of the time when he deals with 
underlings.”
This “certainty” was not true Foresight, but it came with the scent of Foresight 
on it. He would have liked to confide his suspicions to someone who had some 
other Gift that might be used to spy upon this person, but unfortunately, the 
suspicion was so wild that he knew that even the Heralds would have stared at 
him with incredulity.
Yes, even Talamir. Even Myste.
Even, perhaps, most of the Companions.
:But not me,: said Kantor, with equal certainty. :So you and I will watch and 
wait and bide our time quietly. Well catch him eventually.:
“So all we can do is keep a guard on Selenay?” Myste asked mournfully.
“It seems so,” he replied. She sighed.
:I wish I could tell her,: he said to his Companion.
:You can when its over,: Kantor replied. :Youre used to keeping secrets.:
And that, alas, was only too true.
It was just too bad that Selenay had not realized that little fact before all of 
this had begun, and had confided in him rather thanwellwhoever she had, who had 
been so poor at keeping them.
***
Selenay tried to concentrate on the reports in front of her, but her eyes kept 
drifting to the window, and her thoughts drifting off into nothingness. It was 
only two moons since the babys birth. Two moons. Spring was just beginning 
outside those windows, and she was stuck inside. And when she managed to wrench 
her eyes and her thoughts back to the job at hand, an angry wail from the next 
room cut across her concentration and she winced, and shoved down the surge of 
angry irritation that made her want to go into the nursery and put a pillow over 
baby Elspeths face
And immediately, she felt sick with guilt.
horrible thought. She was a horrible mother. How could she think such things 
about the baby? She should have been all moony-eyed and willing to bear with 
anything. She should be longing to hold Elspeth, to cradle her for hours and 
hours, she should be spending every waking moment hovering over the cradle, 
gazing down at the little mite with adoration.
Instead, she had thoughts of wanting to smother the poor thing. She was unfit to 
be a mother. She should never have had a child. . . .
:Thats not a child,: Caryo said testily. :Its a stomach with a warhorn attached 
to one end, and a mechanism that produces more excrement than a full-grown cow 
attached to the other.:
Selenay was glad that there wasnt anyone in the room to see her as she choked on 
a laugh. There was some truth to that, though Selenay herself seldom had to 
attend to the latter. Still. The former
Elspeths wails scaled up a notch. Selenays own nurse, old Melidy, was in charge 
of the nursery, but she seemed to have her hands full with Elspeth, who had an 
awfully robust set of lungs for something so small, and the need to demand 
attention constantly.
Do all babies cry so much?
At least baby Elspeths demands were reasonable; milk, comfort, a clean napkin. 
Unlike her father. . . .
Selenays irritation increased, as did her headache.
Hed been pouting again this morning. He didnt even have to say anything anymore, 
just pout and look aggrieved and put-upon. His pouts didnt seem quite so 
attractive anymore either, and his bereft-orphan pose was beginning to look a 
great deal more like a pose than like her own, real grief. She knew what true 
mourning looked like, from the inside, andwell, all his protestations to the 
contrary, it had begun to look to her as if his fathers death and brothers 
estrangement were things he really didnt feel deeply about.
If at all.
Oh, come now! said her conscience. You cant blame him for wanting to be a King, 
now that his brother is King of Rethwellan. And hes been thoroughly agreeable 
since Elspeth was born. Didnt he say he had sent for his old nurse for her, so 
that old Melidy wouldnt have to do all the looking-after by herself? And with 
two Chief Nursery Attendants on the job, there shouldnt be any more of this 
howling while youre trying to get some work done.
Agreeable he might be, but she couldnt help the feeling that it was all on the 
surface. He certainly wasnt about whenever something needed doing. When they 
retired for the evening and she wanted to tell him about the annoyances of the 
day, just to get them off her chest, he would launch off into some hunting story 
or other, ignoring her hints that another topic any other topicwould be welcome. 
And what had happened to Karath the lover? All very well to speak tenderly of 
wanting to give her plenty of time to recover from Elspeths birth, but just how 
long did he think she needed?
Besides, it wouldnt hurt her to be held and comforted, now and again. She could 
do with more of the commiseration about the burdens of the Crown that he used to 
give her, and less complaining that he wanted the crown himself.
Hes the father of your child, she reminded herself. Though as Elspeths wails 
turned into distinctly angry howls, that was seeming less and less of a good 
thing.
Finally, just when she thought that her head was going to split, she heard the 
sound of feet running into the nursery and the howls cut offand lest she worry 
that someone else had put a pillow over the babys face, she heard suckling and 
cooing noises. The wet nurse had been found, it seemed. Her Highness was now 
satisfied.
If only His Highness could be satisfied so easily.
She sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose to try and ease the pain in her 
head. Demands for attention, demands for service, wanting everything now, this 
moment, totally self-centered. . . .
Perfectly reasonable in an infant.
Not so attractive in her father. And unfortunately, at this late date he was 
unlikely to grow out of it. Things seemed dreadfully clear, all of a suddenwhen 
she wasnt looking into those beautiful eyes, and listening to that honey-sweet 
voice whispering in her ear. When she had been sleeping alone for far too long. 
When she realized that the demands were never, ever going to stop, and she began 
to understand Caryos antipathy to himand wonder which Karath was the real one.
What was I thinking? she thought with despair. What have I done?
She dropped her head into her hands, and for a moment, gave way to the despair.
She who had been afraid of being trapped had trapped herself. She was trapped 
within the hard shell of the Crown, trapped with an infant she had not really 
planned for, trapped with a husband who was
Face it, Selenay who is beginning to look like someone who put on a show for 
you.
She wanted, suddenly, to get away, away from the Palace, away from the Crown. 
Not forever, just for a few candlemarks, where she could be just Selenay, not 
the Queen, not a mother, just herself. She needed to be able to think clearly, 
and she couldnt even think at all with the baby fussing in the next room. 
Something had changed between her and Karath; she needed to figure out what it 
was, and somehow get things back to the way they had been before that terrible 
quarrel.
If she could. She had to think about that, too. She had to be able to step back 
from the whole situation and try to look at it objectively, as if this was 
Selenay sitting in judgment in the City Courts.
If only she could go somewhere that held no memories of the Prince, where she 
could be herself entirely again, the Selenay she used to be.
Ill do it. To the seven hells with these reports. They can wait a few 
candlemarks more. She pushed away from her desk and stood up. :Caryo? Would you 
be amenable to a ride to the Home Farms? Just the two of us?:
***
This was the best day for practice that they had gotten in a long time. Spring 
rains hadnt yet begun, the ground was good and dry, and although the air was 
chill, it was not cold enough to be uncomfortable even if you werent moving.
Alberich watched his teams as they writhed in a knot of flying sticks and 
flailing bodies; the view was excellent from the sidelines, and he allowed 
himself a moment of grim satisfaction. They were good. And they were ready. He 
had believed in them, and they had repaid that belief in full.
Even young Mical, that most unlikely of prodigals.
The boy had flung himself into his self-appointed niche with the controlled 
energy of a tightly-wound spring, and a concentration Alberich suspected he 
never would have had if he had not spent those moons in the glassworks. You 
dared not lose your concentration around hot glass, for if you did, the best you 
could expect was the total ruin of all your work. And the worstthe worst could 
cost a limb, or a life, or worse than just your life, if you were a glassblower. 
He didnt know if the Collegium Healers could do anything about scorched lungs 
before the patient died of the injury. He did know that it was one of the 
nastier and more painful ways to die.
Although no such disaster had occurred at the glassworks while the two Trainees 
had been serving their time there, Mical had probably been witness to several 
minor accidents, and certainly had been told all of the horror stories. It was 
amazing to see the level of steadiness and concentration he had attained
It was nevertheless true that steadiness and concentration couldnt make up for a 
difference of three years of age and growth. The boy was not the most skilled of 
the skirmishers. Although in the normal Hurlee games Mical was a star player, in 
these practices he was merely at the level of all the others. Still, given that 
they were three years older than he, and had several moons of learning and 
practice that he hadnt had, that was absolutely astonishing.
Part of it, Alberich was sure, was a natural ability in combat, or exercises 
that were combatlike. Alberich had taught a few youngsters who possessed that 
near-magical combination of reflexes, strength, coordination, cleverness, and 
the instinct for combat; Mical was definitely one of that number. Take, for 
instance, the way that he and Eloran worked together, moving through the pack, 
smooth as an otter in a fast-flowing stream. Never a wasted moment, often 
managing to anticipate the next blow and thwart it by the simple expedient of 
not being there when it fell
the next blow
Flash of blue.
Alberich clung to his pommel as the Foresight Vision slammed him between the 
eyes,
Selenay
But it wasnt a long one.
It didnt need to be, actually. He had spent the last several moons anticipating 
exactly what it showed him; all it needed to give him was the where and the 
when.
Where
Outside the city walls, on the Home Farms. He recognized that spot, along the 
riverbank, beyond the point where he and Selenay had fished for eels. It was 
secluded there, quiet, and out of sight of any of the farmworkers.
When-
Soon
Too soon. Moments at most. Terror rose in him.
:Not for us!: Kantor said fiercely, before he could even begin to panic, as the 
players suddenly froze in place, their Companions relaying to them what Alberich 
and Kantor already knew. “Weapons!” cried Harrow. “No time!” shouted someone 
else, and suddenly they were all in motion, Alberich and Kantor in the lead, 
flying across the grass, leaping obstacles, scattering Trainees and courtiers 
out of their way, and out of the main Palace Gate before Alberich even had time 
to think about what they were doing.
They knew! How did they know?
Nono they didnt knowor hadnt known consciously before this moment. But the peak 
of readiness they had attained was such that at this point they had been ready 
for anything.
: Warn Caryo!: he told Kantor urgentlyand needlessly, of course
:Ithe traps sprung. Dont panic. We can get there in time: And with grim 
satisfaction, :They werent expecting her to fight.:
Alberich had his sword, for even in the Hurlee practices he never left the salle 
without putting it in a saddle sheath. The teams, however, had no weapons. But 
they did have their modified Hurlee sticks, special sticks sheathed in metal, of 
a wood so hard they called it “ironwood,” so dense and tough that even without 
the metal sheath it dulled blades that tried to cut it. And they were all in 
their fitted armor, which Alberich had insisted they wear as soon as it was 
available.
And the Companions were armored.
In all the time that Alberich had been a Herald, he had not understood what it 
was like to be in the saddle when Kantor was at full gallop. He had heard about 
the extraordinary speed of a Companion, but he had never fully experienced it 
for himself. When Kantor had rescued him from the burning shed and carried him 
out of Karse, he had been drifting in and out of awareness.
It was exhilarating and terrifying.
Already the troop was down in the crowded streets of Haven, and the houses and 
shops blurred past as the hapless bystanders pressed themselves against the 
walls in an effort to get as far out of the way as possible. Somehow the crowds 
were parting before them like a school of minnows in front of a pike.
Thank the Sunlord! Being in the lead as he was, he could see them making way, as 
if something invisible was shoving them to either side of the street ahead, just 
in time to avoid being trampled. But if someone didnt get out of the way in time
:They will. You leave that to us.:
Somewhere behind them, the Palace and Collegia were a-boil; of course, only he 
and his teams had been instantly ready to respond, but the rest, every man and 
woman who was in Whites and no few in Grays were scrambling to join the rescue, 
getting weapons, saddling upsome, like Keren, probably not even bothering with a 
saddle.
How did that bastard know? The vision had shown him the Prince and a mob of his 
hangers-on; how had he known that Selenay would be there, and alone, when even 
he hadnt known shed left the Palace?
He must have had a small army of watchers on the Palace, waiting for her to 
leave under exactly the right circumstances, following her to see where she 
went, sending back the message he had been waiting for. This was not 
spur-of-the-moment or something conceived in passion. This had been long in the 
planning, probably from the moment he came into Valdemar.
Or else someone else had planned it all for him.
No time to think about that now. He had to try and remember what the vision had 
shown him
Swiftly, as swiftly as Kantor was running, he worked out a rough plan. Theyd 
have to be fools not to expect rescue coming from the Heralds. But they wouldnt 
be looking for it so soon.
Alarm bells were sounding all over the city; if the Prince had thought he was 
going to be able to carry this off quietly, he was going to get more than one 
rude surprise. At least the alarms had the effect of clearing the streets 
entirely; Kantor somehow redoubled his speed, and they shot through the gates 
going at such a rate that even Alberich was dizzy. And he was not going to think 
about what would happen if any of them tripped and fell
There was no finesse in this. Down the road, in at the gates of the Home Farms, 
riders clutching their weapons in grim silence, hooves pounding like thunderso 
loud they couldnt hear the fighting ahead of them
so loud that the ambushers surely thought it was thunder
And they didnt even pause as they sighted their target. Just as the team had 
been taught, just as they had practiced for moons and moons, they crashed in 
among the milling ambushers, exactly as if it was a Hurlee skirmish. They broke 
into the mob around Selenay, and their sticks went to work.
In that first and last glimpse, Alberich got the sudden, heart-sinking 
realization that there were more of them than he had thought there would be, or 
than he had Seen. A lot more. The odds were roughly two-to-one, in fact.
Hard on the heels of that realization was anotherhe hadnt heard about this down 
in the rough parts of Haven because the Prince hadnt needed to recruit anyone 
for this plan. Hed brought them with him, in the guise of servants, of 
hangers-on, of sycophants.
And last of alleven as he raised his stick and Kantor ran straight into the 
horse of one of these pseudo-servants, he looked up and saw Selenay lose her 
sword
to Norris. Norris, who had regarded women as mere objects of convenience, and 
would no more hesitate to kill her than he would hesitate to kill a fly.
There was a bulwark of fighters three deep between him and her. There was no way 
he could fight his way to her in time.
And that was when he saw the incredible, the miraculous, the totally insane.
Eloran, coming in at full gallop from the side, where there was no one in the 
way; crashing into Norris horse.
Just as Mical rose in his stirrups, pushed off, and with the momentum of Elorans 
charge behind him, flung himself out of his saddle at Norris. Somehow he wrapped 
his arms around the actor when he hit, pinning Norris sword to his side as they 
tumbled out of the saddle to the ground. Somehow he managed to stay uppermost. 
They went over the side of the horse and out of sight.
Selenay took advantage of the moment of confusion that followed to get Caryo a 
little farther into the open, where the Companions hooves came into play. That 
cleared a little more space for her to fight, and as Alberichs stick connected 
with the man in front of him, Kantor shoved through to her side.
“Here!” he shouted, and tossed his sword, hilt-first, at her.
“ Here! Alberich!” he heard from somewhere below, and as Kantor pirouetted on 
his hindlegs, Mical thrust a sword up at him from the ground, hilt first, doing 
so left-handed, holding his right tight to his belly. Norris wasnt moving, so 
the blade was presumably the actors. Alberich snatched it, and Mical scrambled 
out of the way. Eloran rammed his way in beside his Chosen, and, even 
one-handed, Mical was able to haul himself back up into the saddle.
From the way he was holding that arm, however, he wasnt going to be a further 
factor in the fighting.
Then it all stopped having anything to do with thought, as the mob closed in 
around them again, and he and Selenay fought side-by-side against the tightening 
circle. Kantor kept himself interposed as much as he could between the fighters 
and Caryo. He was armored; Caryo was not.
Norris sword wasnt much better than a Hurlee stick, but at least it had a 
pointed end and not a blunt one.
And that was just about all that Alberich had time to think about.
Then, for what seemed like forever, it was all shouting, blow and counterblow, 
screams and blood and last-minute parries, and far too many people trying to 
kill his Queen.
Until suddenly the fighting melted away from in front of him, and those who were 
not on the ground groaning (or dead) were in full retreat, as the reinforcements 
came pounding up on their Companions with swords in their hands and rage on 
their faces.
And it was at that moment that he looked down and realized that the last man he 
had bludgeoned to death with that pathetic excuse for a sword was the Prince.
He had not even known who it was he was fighting.
***
Mical had a broken wrist; there were some slices and cuts to the others, but his 
was probably the most serious injury. Alberich could have wept with relief; his 
gamble of putting them into armor had worked, for the Princes ambushers had 
foolishly worn none at all.
Mical had done the impossible, and Norris phenomenal luck had run out just 
before the Princes had, for when Mical had hit him and taken him down to the 
ground, he had not been able to compensate for his attackers weight. All of his 
agility and training had, after all, counted for naught. Hed broken his neck as 
they hit the ground together.
Alberich limped over to where Crathach was tending to the boy, who looked up at 
him, too weary and full of pain to care about much of anything. “That, one of 
your fool play-acting moves was,” Alberich growled. “Yes?”
The boy nodded.
“And practiced it, you have been?”
Mical hesitated. “Um. Sort of. With a straw-man. Eloran and I didnt think it was 
really going to work, so wed kind of given up on it, but when we came up on the 
ambush and saw Norris with Selenay. . . .” He shrugged and hissed with pain. “I 
knew I couldnt fight him; its not just stage-fighting he knows and hes better 
than me. The important thing was to immobilize him long enough for you to get to 
her.”
He would have said more, but Alberich held up his hand. “Enough. Good reasoning. 
Right action. Never do it again. Your neck broken, it could have been, not his.”
Mical turned a bit green, and not from the pain. Alberich didnt blame him. This 
was his first kill, and it had literally been with his bare hands; not an easy 
thing for a boy of fifteen to cope with. Alberich turned on his heel and left 
him with Crathach, who was better suited to helping him deal with the emotional 
ramifications than the Weaponsmaster himself was. Alberich went to find the rest 
of his team, make sure they were all right, and if not, see that they were under 
someones wing before he went looking for the Queen.
He found Harrow last of all; the boy was staring down at one of the ambushers 
bodies, running his hands reflexively up and down the Hurlee stick. Just as 
Alberich came up to him, he looked at his hands and realized what he was doing. 
With an expression of repulsion, he threw the thing away.
“I am never playing again!” he said to Alberich, who nodded, understanding all 
that the youngster could not put into words. That it wasnt a game anymore; that 
it would be forever tainted for him. That he could never even think of Hurlee 
without knowing that he had killed at least one man with his stick.
“Go to see Crathach,” was all he said, and then made sure that he did so.
:Why do I think that Hurlee is now going to fade away into the mists that hold 
all old fads?: Kantor asked, rhetorically.
:Oh, someone might revive it again, when this lot has gone on into Whites. Not 
until then. And thats not a bad thing; it wont be such an obsession when it 
comes around for the second time.: He, personally, wouldnt be sorry to see it 
go. The business of the Collegia was learning, after all, not gamesmanship. And 
there were other ways to teach teamwork.
Selenay was sitting a little way away, under a tree; when Alberich came up to 
her, Talamir was speaking earnestly to her in a low voice. Alberich caught the 
name “Norris” and the word “script” before they both looked up at him.
She had been crying quietly, and she rubbed the tears from her face with the 
back of her hand. “So it was an act from beginning to end,” she said bitterly. 
“Every bit of it.”
“Tailored precisely to you, Majesty,” Alberich agreed, since she seemed to be 
waiting for a reply. “Sorry, I am.”
“I dont want your pity!” she snapped, then wilted. “Damn. I apologize. Its not 
your fault. And I probably wouldnt have listened to you before” The tears 
started again; she seemed unaware of them. “Its not fair. Im glad you killed 
him.”
“Majesty, I am not,” Alberich replied, and she looked up at him, startled. “In 
death, he has escaped the consequences of his actions. And left you to deal with 
them. I am not glad. And what His Majesty of Rethwellan will say and do, I know 
not.”
“Leave that to me,” Talamir said instantly. “Although, given not only what 
Karath claimed but what my agents have verified for me, there was definitely no 
love lost between the King of Rethwellan and his brother.” He brooded a moment. 
“No. No love lost at all. He seems to have beenmore welcome in his absence than 
his presence, and it was not by his doing that he was not told of his own 
fathers death until it was long past the moment when he could have been recalled 
for the funeral.”
Alberich nodded; that wasnt much of a surprise. “So, King Faramentha, not so 
displeased to hear of this will be?”
Talamir shrugged. “I believe that if we are discreet, or as discreet as we may 
be, having roused all of Haven, this will probably be no more than a matter of 
some delicate maneuvering. In fact, I suspect it will be of more import that it 
is clear that we do not hold His Majesty responsible for his brothers actions 
than that wewere forced to eliminate a Prince of Rethwellan.”
Alberich caught a little movement from the corner of his eye. Selenay was 
staring at him. “And when I think of what youve been doing so quietly all this 
time, Alberichand to think that at one point I thought you were just jealous 
because he was as good a swordsman as you and that was why you werent up at the 
Palace anymoreyoure”
She was about to say it. He cut her off.
“Selenay, no hero am I,” he told her firmly but gently. “For heroes, look to 
young Mical, who I think was certain he would be killed when the actor he 
attacked. Or Myste, who is no great dissembler, and could not have herself 
defended, had Norris discovered her intent.”
“If you are no hero, then what are you?” she demanded.
He managed a smilethe first genuine smile he had felt on his face since shed 
married. “Your Weaponsmaster. Your Herald.” And he held out his hand. “I hope, 
your friend and brother. Nothing more.”
She took it, and looked long and hard at him, and he knew then that at one point 
she herself must have had something of a crush on him, now long pastbut that she 
was afraid that he might now be the one with secret feelings for her.
It wouldnt have been the first time such a thing had happened. He was just as 
glad that the whole notion was so absurd. “I always wanted a brother, growing 
up,” she said aloud, and let go of his hand.
“Good.” He smiled again. “Then if my advice you will take, you will make of 
Myste and Mical great heroes, and let your Shadow Herald stay where best he is 
suited.”
“And I will second that,” Talamir agreed, and gave Alberich a look that the 
Weaponsmaster had no trouble interpreting. You can go now.
:Hmph. We know when we arent welcome.:
:Dont be absurd,: he chided Kantor. :Do you really want her weeping and raging 
at us? Then do you want to be embroiled in the political maneuvering this is 
going to cause?:
:Well: Kantor admitted. :No.:
:Good.: He scratched his head, encountered a patch of someone elses dried blood 
in his hair, and grimaced. :I want a bath. Lets go home.:
***
“I may never forgive you,” Myste said, her head on his shoulder. It was the 
first time shed been in his quarters since the rescue, and he was mortally glad 
to have her there.
He would be even gladder to have her in his bedbut not quite yet. For now, it 
was enough to have her in his arms.
“For telling Selenay to make you a hero?” he asked, amused, and shifted a little 
on the couch so that his position was a little more comfortable. “Someone has to 
be.”
“But why me?” she demanded.
“Because you earned it,” he replied, staring into the stained-glass face of 
Vkandis Sunlord. “Because people need heroes. But primarily because you are the 
least likely hero I can think of.”
“Well, there I agree with you, but wouldnt that”
“Hear me out,” he interrupted. “People need heroes, and Heralds are that. But 
Heralds arent very ordinary.”
“Hmm.” She did think about it. “I see your point. Most of them are athletic, and 
even if they arent handsome, the Whites at least make them look distinguished.”
“But you, my dear Chronicler, represent someone who is just like them, or like 
people they know. And you went and did something very dangerous, something that 
your Whites would not protect you from, something that not even your Companion 
could have protected you from.”
“Hmm.” She pushed her lenses up on her nose. “I see your point. And Mical?”
“Everyone likes to have heroes who are young, handsome, and a touch reckless.” 
He laughed. “It wont spoil him. He knows if he gets too much above himself its 
back to the glassworks for another couple of moons.”
She chuckled. “To think all this began over a broken mirror! Isnt that supposed 
to mean bad luck?”
“It was bad luck,” he pointed out. “For Norris and Karathanelan. Because if it 
hadnt been for Norris, the mirror would never have gotten broken in the first 
place.”
She fell silent then, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Comforting as it was 
to think that they had closed the circle, he knew that this was not in the least 
the case. Someone had been Karathanelans patron, and Norris; someone who was 
high in Court circles and privy to some very personal information about Selenay. 
And they still didnt know who that was.
No, the game wasnt over yet. And if or when that person was uncovered, there 
would, without a doubt, be more troubles on the way.
But at least for a little while, there would be some breathing space. And in the 
end, that was all anyone, Herald or Queen or ordinary citizen, could ask for.
“Now,” he breathed into her hair, “would you like to find out how a hero is 
rewarded?”
Her response was everything he could have wished forand he knew that for a few 
marks, at least, the world would be completely all right for both of them. It 
would not remain that way for long
but it was enough that it remain that way for now.
