“Wardwick of Hurog,” he called. His voice echoed against the stone of the keep; it would have carried easily over the clash of swords on a battlefield.

“Welcome, Lord Garranon,” I said, trying to sound relaxed and a bit amused. I’m not sure I succeeded, but I really scared two or three of the men closest to me. I was unarmed, but they moved back to give me room anyway.

Garranon turned his horse and rode it back to where I stood and handed me a much folded sheet of vellum. His face was carefully expressionless, but his eyes told me he wasn’t here willingly.

In a voice that carried clearly to anyone in the bailey who cared to listen, he said, “The king has discovered that his will was not done concerning this, his writ. He desires you, your brother, Tosten, Lord Duraugh, and his son Beckram to come before him and discuss this matter.”

“I see,” I said, handing the writ back to him. I wondered what I would have thought about that little speech if I hadn’t talked to Tisala first, knowing that the king was still angry with my cousin. Would I have thought King Jakoven had chosen to hold a real, legal hearing? Perhaps—but probably not. I wasn’t as stupid as I sometimes looked.

“None of the others you have named are here now.” I wouldn’t hand them my brother if I could help it. “I am always my king’s humble servant and am willing to join him in Estian. Would you come in to eat your evening meal?” Tosten had enough sense to stay out of the way as I’d requested.

Garranon glanced at the general—I was going to have to find out who that was, as he was apparently in charge of this mess.

The general shook his head. “Our king desires your presence as soon as possible. We leave now.”

I raised my eyebrows. “It will take me a moment to pack and gather my retinue.”

“My orders were that there was to be no retinue. We have a spare horse. You will come now and bring Lord Tosten. We were informed that your brother was in residence.”

They weren’t even going to let me pack. So much for the polite fiction of a “discussion” before the king. I couldn’t see what Jakoven was gaining by this, other than the enmity of all of Shavig, but I would find out eventually. Moving against the Hurogmeten was something entirely different than moving against Beckram, the half-Shavig son of Lord Duraugh of Iftahar. It had to be something bigger than simple vengeance—though with Jakoven it was hard to say for sure.