Michael walked alone for a long time, thinking. Prataxis had been his last friend here. He was alone in a hostile land now, surrounded by the growing might of people who hated him. He wouldn’t survive long if he stayed and tried to fight the good fight.

He wasn’t afraid. Death held no terrors for him. But he was lonely, and loneliness was a foe he did not know how to defeat.

Eventually he went down to Prataxis’s quarters and prepared the man’s manuscripts for shipment.

It was there, deep in the night, with lightning stalking the heavens and a hard rain driving into the streets, that Inger’s messenger found him. “The Queen would like you to join her in the audience chamber, Captain. Planning session, she said.”

Michael rose from Derel’s pallet. Despite the wealth that had been at the scholar’s command, he had lived a spartan life. “I’ll be right there.”

TWENTY-SIX: YEAR 1016 AFE

Bragi came out of it suddenly, like flying through a door kicked open. One moment he was unconscious, the next wide awake. He surveyed his surroundings. He was in a large, well-furnished room. It was daytime. The air was hot and muggy. He tried to rise. Pain stabbed through his chest. His muscles refused to do more than pretend to try. He fell back.

A man stepped through the door immediately. He wore the dress uniform of a noncommissioned officer and the badges of one of the legions of Shinsan’s Western Army. He stared for a moment, left without speaking.

So, Bragi thought. Captured. Must have something special planned for me.

They would, wouldn’t they? Mist had warned him often enough. They didn’t accept defeat gracefully.

The battle came back. All the stink and sweat and fear. All the memories of how badly it had gone, how badly it had hurt Kavelin. He sank into a morass of shame. He should have known better. But he had bet against the long odds, counting on his luck. And luck had deserted him. And that was only right. Only a fool bet his luck. A wise man accepted it when it turned his way, but he didn’t count on it.

Where am I? he wondered. It’s too warm to be anywhere in Shinsan.

The door opened. The noncom reappeared, followed by two maskless Tervola. A short, broad one wore the badge of an army commander. Bragi frowned. Hsung was tall and lean, like most of his breed.

The taller Tervola pulled the coverlet off Ragnarson’s nude frame, prodded his left side. Bragi winced. “Still tender?”

“A little.”

“Should be. You had six broken ribs and a punctured lung. Not to mention cuts, scrapes, bruises, and a concussion. A challenge to my art. He can talk, Lord Ssu-ma. Call me when he tires. I’ll give him a sedative. He still needs bed rest, and he looks like the kind who climbs out too early if you let him.”