On hearing this, Iome felt awed. So Raj Ahten was attacking more than one king of the North. She wondered at the depth of his plans. Perhaps we are all fools compared with him, she thought, as ignorant as my father tied at Raj Ahten’s feet.

Now Raj Ahten gazed down at Binnesman in the light thrown from the pyromancer’s brazier, and thoughtfully scratched at his beard.

“What is your name?” Raj Ahten asked the wizard.

Binnesman looked up, “My name is Binnesman.”

“Ah, Binnesman. I know your work well. I’ve read your herbals.” Raj Ahten smiled at him, patiently, glanced up at the pyromancer. “You bring him in chains? I would not have it so. He seems harmless.”

The flameweaver beside the Wolf Lord gazed at Binnesman as if in a trance, eyes unfocused, staring past him, as if she sought to work up the nerve to kill him.

“Harmless enough, Your Lordship,” Binnesman answered in a strong voice. Though he still crouched on all fours, he watched the Wolf Lord casually.

“You may rise,” Raj Ahten said.

Binnesman nodded, struggled to his feet, though his chains kept him bowed so he could not raise his neck. Now Iome could see more clearly that he wore manacles at his feet, that his hands were cuffed, and that a short, heavy iron chain led from manacles to cuffs to neck. Though Binnesman could not stand upright, the bowed stance did not bother him. He’d hunched over plants for so many years, his back had become stooped.

“Beware of him, my lord,” the pyromancer at Raj Ahten’s side whispered. “He has great power.”

“Hardly,” Binnesman chided. “You’ve destroyed my garden, the work of master gardeners for over five hundred years. The herbs and spices I’d have harvested are all lost. You are known as a pragmatic man, Raj Ahten. Surely you know these were things of no small benefit!”

Raj Ahten smiled somewhat playfully. “I’m sorry my sorcerers destroyed your garden. But we haven’t destroyed you, have we? You can grow another garden. I have some fine gardens, near my villas and palaces in the South. Trees from the far corners of the world, rich soil, plentiful water.”

Binnesman shook his head. “Never. I can never have another garden like the one you burned. It was my heart. You see . . .” He clutched at his robes.