My uncle was leaned back in a wooden chair, elbows braced on the chair arms and his hands folded thoughtfully under his chin. I knew that pose and wondered when he would loose his first attack in whatever conversational battle they were engaged in. Axiel stood with his back to them all, watching the fire dance. Tosten was seated a little apart with his battered harp, playing a bit to keep anyone from overhearing the discussion. I’d used him that way before—no sense making things too easy for the king’s spies that doubtless infested both Hurog and Callis.

Tisala sat on the flagstone of the floor, her shoulder resting against Haverness’s knee. I met her steady gaze and saw something that made me think that Oreg might be right. Neither she nor I smiled, but some connection was made anyway. My heart picked up an exalted rhythm as I realized it was no longer a matter ofif she would agree to marry me, butwhen .

“How stupid do I look?” Haverness asked gently, in reply to some statement by Alizon that I’d missed while exchanging glances with Tisala. “You and I know that the stories of the Empire are greatly exaggerated. You’ve heard what minstrels have done to the battles of the Rebellion and it has only been a few decades since then. If the Bane ever existed, which I question, it was likely no more powerful than something our wizards could conjure up.”

“IfI could level my keep with magic,” I said mildly, “then why couldn’t the ancients create a tool that would do the same?”

Haverness rolled his eyes, reminding me forcefully of his daughter. “I’m just trying to convince the old fool that he’d do better not to mention the Bane to the people who are here. Tell them Jakoven’s a mage if that’s true—and my daughter tells me he is. But if you tell them he’s got Farsonsbane, then you’ll lose them.”

“He has the Bane,” said Oreg quietly. “To maintain otherwise is a dangerous lie. They need to know what they face.”

Haverness shook his head. “Yesterday, after Alizon told me the tale you’ve concocted, I spoke to my own wizard. If he doesn’t believe it, how do you expect to convince my Oranstonians?”

“Oranstonians believe in magic,” replied Oreg. “They worship Meron the Healer, who asks for sacrifices of magic.”

“Peasants worship the Lady,” corrected Duraugh gently. “Haverness is right. We had trouble getting our Shavigmen to accept the Bane.”

“I heard about your convenient dragon and walking dead man,” said Haverness dryly.

“He was alive,” said Garranon shortly. “He was a good man and he suffered and died because of my carelessness.”

“He died because of Jakoven,” corrected my uncle. “Don’t you forget it, Garranon.”