I shrugged my shoulders and said before my uncle could speak, “Jakoven has declared war upon Hurog and we must fight. With your banner before us, we have hope of winning; otherwise we fail. I would rather fight a war for my rightful king than a war for survival. But for Lord Duraugh, Tosten, Beckram, my sister, myself, or any who have the blood of Hurog strongly in their veins, we have no choice.” I opened my mouth to tell them why, but Oreg got there first. Just as well, because my slow tongue was making my audience restless.

“The cost of doing nothing may be higher yet. Jakoven seeks to bring upon us a cataclysm as bad or worse than the one that destroyed the first empire.” Oreg’s voice was full of the mysteries of the ages. He could do that when he wanted to, pull the cloak of his years around him until the weight of time beat upon his audience like a mallet. “He has been trying to pull the secrets of the Imperial mages out, and he dabbles in things he knows nothing about. Farsonsbane destroyed civilization on this continent until the people deserted their cities for the wastelands. For nine and a half centuries the Bane was hidden, but Jakoven has found it again. If he lives long enough to unlock its secrets, we’ll wish the Vorsag had invaded and sold us all as slaves.”

Oh good,I thought, glancing around at the faces reflected in the firelight.They really needed something more to be frightened of.

“He doesn’t know how to use it yet,” I said. “But he’s convinced that the answer lies in the blood of Hurog. So you see that it is not some notion that you are the rightful king that sways Hurog to your support. Nothing so tenuous as honor or the belief in a cause. Hurog fights for survival—which makes us your staunchest supporters.”

Kellen smiled at me. “Your sword will cut my enemies as well as any zealot’s. I just wish I had a hundred more lords with cause to fear Jakoven.”

“Ward can bring you most of Shavig and a fair portion of Oranstone,” offered my uncle with unfounded confidence.

Kellen looked at Duraugh with interest. I looked at him with disbelief.

“Shavigmen have long memories,” Duraugh said. “They fought against Oranstone in the Rebellion because Fen, Ward’s father, fought. Most of them will fight shoulder to shoulder with Ward because he is the Hurogmeten—and because no Shavigman worth his salt ever turned down a good fight.”

“Myth,” I contradicted Duraugh flatly. It was dangerous to allow Kellen to believe that. “Shavigmen are men like anyone else. They fight when they have to and are not about to follow a callow boy blindly. You’ve been to the same Shavig council meetings I have.”