“The marquis was gone. The reason for taking it went with him,” the bellowing voice of Ethelred thundered. The regent must be standing very near the window, as she could hear him the best.

“Gentlemen,” Saldur said, intervening, “water under the bridge. What’s past is past. What we need to concern ourselves with is the present and the future, and at the moment both go by the same name—Gaunt.”

Again, there were other voices speaking too faintly, their sounds fading to silence. All Modina could hear was the hoeing of servants weeding the vegetable garden below.

“I agree,” Ethelred suddenly said. “We should have killed that bastard years ago.”

“Calm yourself, Lanis,” Saldur’s voice boomed. Modina wasn’t certain if he was using Ethelred’s first name or addressing someone else whose voice was too distant for her to catch. “Everything has its season. We all knew the Nationalists wouldn’t give up their freedom without a fight. Granted, we had no idea Gaunt would be their general or that he would prove to be such a fine military commander. We had assumed he was nothing more than an annoying anarchist, a lone voice in the wilderness, like our very own Deacon Tomas. His transformation into a skilled general was—I will admit—a bit unexpected. Nevertheless, his successes are not beyond our control.”

“And what does that mean?” someone asked.

“Luis Guy had the foresight to bring us a man who could effectively deal with the problems of Delgos and Gaunt and I present him to you today. Gentlemen, let me introduce Merrick Marius.” His voice began to grow faint. “He’s quite a remarkable man … been working for us these … on a …” Saldur’s voice drifted off, too far from the window.

There was a long silence, and then Ethelred spoke again. “Let him finish. You’ll see.”

Again, the words were too quiet for her to hear.

Modina listened to the wind as it rose and rustled distant leaves. The swallows returned and played again, looping in the air. From the courtyard below came the harsh shouts of soldiers in the process of changing guards. She had nearly forgotten about the conversation from below when she heard an abrupt communal gasp.

“Tur Del Fur? You’re not serious?” an unknown voice asked in a stunned tone.

More quiet murmurings.

“… and as I said, it would mark the end of Degan Gaunt and the Nationalists forever.” Saldur’s voice returned.

“But at what cost, Sauly?” another voice floated in. Normally too far, it was now loud and clear.

“We have no other choice,” Ethelred put in. “The Nationalists are marching north toward Ratibor. They must be stopped.”

“This is insane. I can’t believe you’re even contemplating it!”

“We’ve done much more than contemplate. Nearly everything is in place. Isn’t that so?” Saldur asked.

Modina strained to hear, but the voice that replied was too faint.