He continued his wanderings, across the great road and beyond. A packet of dried venison from one pocket stifled his noonday hunger, and when he reached a place where food was served he bought a flagon of mead to wash it down. He could have made it taste like a king’s feast if he had wanted, but he was rarely so self-indulgent. As for his clothes, black though they were, they had accumulated by this time a patina of dust and sweat and would never be mistaken for a Magister’s attire.

He could have cleaned them, of course. He didn’t.

Around the back of the great estate, beside the great fence that guarded the king’s property, he paused. It was quiet here, for the thickly forested hunting grounds beyond offered no good view of the royal habits. Fine for him. He called a bird to him—a hawk responded, strong of limb and elegantly feathered—and he whispered instructions into its ear, gave it a fine silver ring he had been wearing, and set it free. It soared over tree and stream and quickly was lost in the distance, winging its way toward the palace.

Minutes passed.

Half an hour.

He ate the last of his dried venison and reflected that he should have bought more mead.

At last there came a change in the air that he could sense before he saw it. A shimmering, a shivering, that echoed in his own soul, stirring the fires within. When the air began to ripple before him he was prepared, and when the field of ripples was large enough and steady enough for his purposes he stepped into it—and through.

On the other side was a vast, shadowy chamber, filled with black-robed men. The windows were narrow arrow slits that let in little light, and the vaulted ceiling and dark stone walls drank in the meager offerings of the only lamps in the room, a single pair set along the mantel of a man-sized fireplace.

The Magisters stood about a long table of dark wood, their chairs pushed back behind them. They were all ages, all races, all shapes … and all men. Of course. The nature of women didn’t allow them to join such company.

The stranger looked about him, studying each in turn. The few whom he knew received a nod of acknowledgment, but there were not many. Those who frequented Danton’s court were unlikely to visit the southlands, and Magisters of the southlands rarely braved these hostile latitudes.