“Perhaps.” Oktar looked thoughtful. “If we knew what was coming, we would know … but we don’t.”

“Do you really think it could be within Gird’s will?”

“Within the High Lord’s will, I would say, sir king, or perhaps Alyanya’s, or both. Gird is my patron; I am trained in Gird’s way, but what we have learned from these explorations in Kolobia suggests what we know of Gird Strongarm is still very far from all the man was or thought.”

Mikeli sighed, then nodded. “Well, then. Marrakai and Serrostin are off at their estates, so I will send word to my uncle that I need to talk to him.”

He wrote that note, handed it to a courier, then went to find his brother. Camwyn and Aris were reading, he discovered, a most unusual activity for the pair of them, explained only by the slightly cooler breeze coming from the shaded north windows.

“What’s that?” he asked, as they scrambled up from their seats.

“Marshal Oktar suggested I study the different versions of the Code,” Camwyn said. He looked pale, Mikeli thought, not nearly as brown as he’d been earlier in the summer. Yet he was both taller and more muscular.

“Relating to magery in particular?” Mikeli asked.

“Not just magery,” Camwyn said. “He asked me to compare the versions across time and between the Finthan Code and ours.”

“Going to make you a judicar, is he?” Mikeli said. “I wouldn’t think you’d like that much, would you, Cam?”

“I don’t know.” Camwyn scratched his head, then shook it. “Not if it means always staying indoors—but this is more interesting than I thought.”

Mikeli closed the door to the room and sat down on the remaining chair. “I need to talk to both of you. You’ve been careful; no one’s found out yet—but that won’t go on forever—”

“I’m trying—”

“I know. But what I haven’t told you before is how many other people are showing up with some sign of active magery—and not just here in Tsaia. In Fintha as well. The Marshal-Judicar tells me that’s why we’ve not heard anything definite from the Marshal-General. She’s dealing with outbreaks of magery there, and there’s growing fear in the population. As there is here.”

“There are others?” Aris said, sitting up straight.

“Yes. All of them younger than Beclan, so far, that we know of. No one knows why it’s happening, what caused it—”

“Or who caused it,” Aris said. Then, belatedly, “Sir king. Pardon.”

“Or who, you’re right.”

“I think it’s the regalia,” Camwyn said. “Or the dragon. Or maybe both.”