“Good. Fine.” The Duke’s voice was silky with pleasure. “I thought you’d like it. That’s all for now. Let me look into it further. Let me see if there are pitfalls. I’ll keep you posted. You can go now.” He leaned back. As everyone neared the door, “Oh. Don’t discuss this with anyone. Anyone at all. Colonel, yes, I want you to stay.”

The Colonel had risen but not left the table. He seated himself again. He rested his forearms on the tabletop and stared at a point over the Duke’s right shoulder.

Once the door closed, the Duke said, “Actually, we’re farther along than I admitted. Babeltausque put me in touch with some old friends from the Pracchia days. They’ve agreed to help.” Babeltausque was a sorcerer in the family employ. The Colonel loathed him.

“That’s a strange face you’ve got there, Colonel. You don’t approve?”

“No, My Lord. I don’t trust the wizard.”

“Perhaps not. They’re a slimy, slippery breed. Never the less, we seem to have adequate resources for the project. We have but to convert the woman and send her on her way.”

“I see.”

“I really do get the feeling that you don’t approve.”

“I’m sorry, My Lord. I don’t mean to appear negative.”

“Then you’ll take the mission? You’ll go to Kavelin on our behalf? You’ll be away for years.”

“I am yours to command, My Lord.” And how he wished he were not. But one had to pay one’s dues.

“Good. Good. Make yourself free of the castle. I’ll keep you posted on developments.”

The Colonel rose, bowed slightly, left the room smartly. A soldier doesn’t ask, he told himself. A soldier obeys. And I, sadly, am a soldier in the Duke’s employ.

ONE: YEAR 1016 AFE
RULERS

Bragi groaned. Inger shook him again. “Come on, Your Kingship. Get up.”

He cracked a lid. One glassless window stared back with a cold eye. “It’s still dark out.”

“It just looks like it.”

He grumbled as his feet hit the chilly floor. It was one of those ice-bottom days, going to turn hellfire come afternoon. He gathered the bearskin round him and told himself there had to be a point to rising.

It was springtime in Kavelin. The days were hot and the nights were cold. The weather was foul more often than not.

Bragi yawned, tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. “It raining? My head feels like it’s packed with wool.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that. Yes. One of your steady Kaveliner drizzles.”

He said what everybody always said. “Be good for the farmers.”

She completed the ritual. “We need it.” She posed. “Not bad for an old broad, eh?”

“Pretty good. For a wife.” There was no heart in his jest.

Her too-small mouth fashioned a pout. “What do you mean, for a wife?”