Dragon Blood

3—WARDWICK

After I finished eating I ventured up to check on my guest. One of the maidservants had told me she'd brought soup and bread up but Tisala had been sleeping.

The Lord's Chamber at Hurog would show well against any room I'd ever seen, including the royal chambers at Estian. It had been a gift from the dwarves who'd snuck in while I was away at Iftahar working out some business with my uncle.

The wood trim was some exotic southern hardwood, full of swirls and rich color. The dwarves had taken advantage of the complex grain and carved fantastical shapes in odd places. The walls were layered in plaster drawn into soft patterns gleaming with powdered gemstone. High above, skylights let in slits of sunshine through narrow strips of thick, clear crystal. It was luxury I still could not accustom myself to—and it was distinctly odd in the spare style of Hurog keep.

"You live well for a poor northern barbarian," commented Tisala hoarsely.

Her eyes had been closed when I came into the room, but she was awake now.

I waved an arm at the whole room and said, "A gift from the dwarves."

She grinned suddenly. "Save a race from extinction once, and have to live with it forever. I killed a couple of bandits and passed out—I didn't expect to wake up in luxury. It's certainly not what I expected from Hurog." The grin disappeared as quickly as it had come—it must have hurt the purple bruise that had bloomed on the right side of her face since I'd last seen her.

"One of my people found you," I said. "We brought you here this morning. I believe there's some soup and bread around somewhere if you're hungry."

Ignoring my offer of food, she looked at her unbandaged left hand, which looked significantly better than the last time I'd seen it, and her face registered astonishment. "Just this morning?"

"Oreg is a good healer," I said. "You came to the right place—your hand had gone septic. Anyone else would have had it off."

She was silent for a moment, flexing her fingers slowly. Still watching it, she said, "I'm so sorry to show up here like this, but I couldn't think of anywhere else I could go."

"My home is your home," I said, meaning it.

"He'll look for me," she said, "because he thinks I am the key to two things he wants very much."

"Jakoven?" I asked.

She nodded, and met my eyes. "He thinks I know the names of the nobles who are giving aid to Alizon."

"Do you?" I asked.

"Not all, but enough to hurt a lot of people who are doing nothing but protecting a man from unlawful, unjustified prosecution—unlawful at least until Jakoven officially declares Alizon a traitor."

The king's half brother had disappeared almost a year ago, about the same time the royal armies descended unexpectedly on his estates. Alizon had escaped with little more than the clothes he was wearing—and a large number of allies who were willing to hide him. The king had pressed no charges, saying he preferred to wait until his half brother could defend himself.

Tisala sat up, her face tightened in pain but her chin rose to stifle any hint of sympathy. "I needed a place to hide until I recovered. I'm sorry I've put you at risk—but I don't think he'd ever consider looking for me here."

"King Jakoven doesn't like me much anyway, nor I him, for that matter," I said wryly. "You are welcome here as long as you like, and know that you are not hurting my standing with the high king."

"I didn't come empty-handed," she said. "The second thing Jakoven wants from me is the means to convict your cousin Beckram of being a traitor." She flexed her hand again and continued, "It seemed to be a matter of some importance."

I noticed that she didn't say Beckram wasn't involved.

I turned away and stared at a dragon carved into the mantelpiece. According to my uncle, who was seldom wrong when it came to matters of court affairs, King Jakoven was angry about his half brother's growing support, but he didn't appear to take it as a serious threat to the throne. A view I thought, regretfully, that was fully justified.

"How did you escape?" I asked. "Torturer's victims are usually carefully guarded."

"I wasn't held in the castle," she said. "Jakoven had me secreted away in the basement of a building in town."

Jakoven always played games, intrigues within intrigues. Some things, though, made sense—of course he'd secreted her someplace other than the castle. He'd lose a lot of support if it became known he'd tortured Tisala—a woman of high birth. "Correct me if I'm wrong," said Tisala thoughtfully. "But Jakoven's murdered several of the queen's other lovers. And he was trying to kill Beckram and got Beckram's twin instead four years ago. It would be easier for Jakoven to have Beckram killed than to pin a charge of treason on him."

I shrugged and sat on the foot of the bed, leaning against one of the elegantly carved posts. "You're right. But when the king killed Erdrick, I don't think he realized just how much power the name Hurog still holds on the heart of Shavig. Politically, it is smarter to have Beckram proved a traitor and executed than to have someone kill him. Besides, then the punishment would fit the crime. My uncle forced the king to back down for Beckram's sake—a charge of treason would humiliate Beckram equally." I slouched a little, sliding down the bed, and Tisala casually pulled away from me.

"Though Jakoven failed with you, you are hardly the only person the king could torture a confession out of. I need to get word to him. Do you know if Beckram is in Estian now?" I asked. I didn't keep an eye on my cousin's travels. Iftahar was much nearer to Estian than Hurog was, and Beckram went to Estian on a monthly basis.

"No," she whispered. "I don't know. Do you think Jakoven took others to make them accuse Beckram?"

I had been thinking about it from the angle of containing the threat toward my cousin, but, prompted by her question, I realized that anyone Jakoven had taken was likely to have been at least an acquaintance and probably a friend of Tisala's.

I sat forward and Tisala jerked back from me. When she realized what she had done, she flushed with embarrassment—but she didn't relax.

I'd fought side by side with Tisala. The thought of what it would take to make her flinch from anyone made me want to hit something. I wanted to say something to comfort her—but the closed look on her face told me she wouldn't talk about it.

"Do you think Jakoven has taken someone else?" she asked again.

"That depends upon what he really wants," I said finally. "If he's really trying to break Alizon's support, he'll go after the lower born first. Build up cases against the nobles from the confessions he gets from the ones he can attack with impunity."

"What do you mean 'if'?" she asked.

"I told you," I said. "On the run the way he is, Alizon's no threat to the king now. He has no access to his wealth or lands—both of which have been padding the king's purse nicely. Alizon might have had a chance four years ago, if Kariarn had been a little more successful in his attempt to take over Oranstone—and if Alizon weren't illegitimate. When Alizon's caught, Jakoven will make a fool of him and confine him somewhere convenient—like the asylum next to the king's younger brother, Kellen—where Alizon will die from choking on his dinner some night after everyone has forgotten about him. Jakoven's too smart to make a martyr out of his half brother either by a long trial or by killing him."

"So what do you think King Jakoven is doing?" asked Tisala after a moment. I thought she sounded bleak—had she really thought Alizon had a chance of oversetting his brother?

"I think Jakoven's moving against my cousin," I said. "Though he's taken quite a risk in doing it."

"What do you mean?" Tisala wasn't sitting up quite so straight anymore, and her face had gone from pale to gray. She tried to lean back against the headboard of the bed, but desisted as soon as her raw back touched the wood. I could have moved away and allowed her to lie back comfortably, but I didn't want her to feel as though I was making allowances for her fear. I hadn't done anything to her—she just had to force herself to remember that.

"Taking you could have precipitated a scandal," I said. "Even with your father disowning you, you are a highborn lady—and as such entitled to a certain amount of respect to your person. The Tallvenish are very protective of their aristocratic womenfolk, and it is the Tallvenish who are the heart of Jakoven's seat upon the throne."

"Not that protective," she protested. "They wouldn't change their allegiance over a woman—especially not an Oranstonian who fights like a man."

I raised my eyebrows at the bitterness in her words and I wondered how uncomfortable she'd found life in Estian after the freedoms her father had allowed her.

"You're right," I said, "at least in that most of them wouldn't have run to your rescue. But it would be as bad for him as if he were caught having relations with one of his hunting dogs. They would lose all respect for him, and that would be dangerous. My cousin's downfall must be important to him in order for him to risk being found out."

"So he won't stop with me," she said. "And he probably didn't start with me, either."

She sounded a little frantic, and I wondered if there were a man in particular she was worried about.

I shrugged. "I don't know. It would take more than the word of a peasant or merchant to give King Jakoven a clear shot at Beckram. Someone that everyone knows is one of Alizon's supporters. Have you been missing anyone who fits that bill?

She shook her head. "No—not when I was taken. I don't know about now."

I shifted forward slowly, to give her time to control her initial recoil, and put a gentle hand against her shoulder. "There's nothing you can do from your sickbed. Rest."

She held still under my touch, but made no move to lie back until I got off the bed.

"Do you need help?" I asked, letting my hand drop casually to my side. "I know what your back must be feeling like."

"No," she said. She hesitated for a moment, then sank back beneath the woven blankets and turned painfully onto her side to take pressure off her back and sore rib. "I can't think," she muttered.

"Don't panic," I said. I'd been healed by Oreg a couple of times, too: I knew how it felt to have exhaustion pull my consciousness away from me. "It's just the magic."

Her lips curved up as her eyes closed. "They call you a wizard—the Shavig Wizard, as if there were no other mages to come out of Shavig—or Hurog, for that matter. Did you really pull Hurog apart with your power?"

"No," I answered. With my soul, perhaps, mine and Oreg's, but not my magic. "Rumor exaggerates. Oreg's our wizard here. On a good day I can light the fire in the hearth." I was a bit better than that, or had been before Oreg decided last month that I needed to learn to use my own magic rather than Hurog's to power my spells.

The smile fell away from her lips and she struggled up on her elbows and forced her eyes open. "I shouldn't have come here," she said, her voice slurring the words. "It's too dangerous."

"What would have been dangerous," I said, "would have been not knowing that Jakoven was moving against my family. For that you are welcome to stay here until you grow old and rot." My words eased her and she allowed me to pull the covers over her again. I waited until her breathing slowed before I touched her cheek.

She wasn't objectively beautiful—she had her father's hawklike nose for one thing. On her father it was distinguished. On her it was … intimidating. Her face was all angles except for her slightly slanted eyes and overlarge mouth. She was too tall as well, and not in the slim-fragile manner of most tall women. Instead, she was lithe yet muscular, stronger, I daresay, than many men.

To me she was glorious, even battered as she was. For the past four years I had measured every woman I met against her, to their detriment. Now she was here, in my bed.

Tisala progressed rapidly from invalid to cranky and bored. Sympathetic, I brought out a chessboard to help her pass the time.

"My father taught me," she said apologetically as I stared at the board as if that would explain how she beat me faster than Oreg ever had.

I gave her an annoyed look, sat back on my chair, and shook my head. "You never apologize for winning, that just increases your opponent's humiliation."

A slow smile crossed her face. "I know."

I shook my head again. "No. When you win, you want to crush your opponent, not just humiliate him. A humiliated opponent just gets vicious, a crushed opponent crawls off and never bothers you again. Watch."

I took a deep breath, then hit the table with sudden violence, scattering hapless chess pieces on the floor. "Hah!" I bellowed. "Do you call that a game! My grandmother's dog played better on its deathbed. Fifteen moves! Teach you to believe it when someone claims to play a little chess!" I subsided slowly.

Tisala had flinched at my first move, but it had been reflex only, and even when I loomed over her, she was relaxed in her chair. It had taken me weeks to get my father's warhorse to trust me that much—but Tisala had only been abused for a short time.

"Subtle, Hurog, subtle like a battle-ax," she said. "My father taught me better manners than that—but I suppose we must take into consideration that you are a Shavig barbarian and given to fits and starts."

I collapsed back into my chair and put my hand over my heart as if she had wounded me.

She'd been here for five days and looked much better than she had at first. Her left hand was healing well. Though it would never be as strong as it had been, she'd be able to hold a shield or use a bow with it.

Giving up my pose, I reset the board, having to scramble under the bed to find the dark rook, and we started again. This time I was playing for death. Lunch came and went, and the early shadows of the shorter winter days necessitated the lighting of candles before the game was over. I beat her this time, but I'd had to work at it.

"Hah!" I bellowed, hitting the table, and she laughed.

Better than the healing of her body was the easing of her spirit. She hadn't talked about what had happened to her, and I hadn't pushed. I knew from experience that some wounds heal best in silence. Later, when the experience wasn't so fresh, I'd press her on what had happened, and in the meantime I worked on helping in other ways. She didn't even flinch at my aggressive gloating.

When she quit laughing, she said, "Not that I don't appreciate the game, but don't you have other duties here that call for your attention?"

I picked up the scattered pieces from the floor again, and said, "The harvest's in and stored. My aunt needs no help keeping the Guard busy. I could help lay the floor in the main hall, but it's not necessary."

As I set the pieces back in their case, I asked her something that had been bothering me. "What were you about in Estian? I thought your so-public fight with Haverness was staged, but I've never figured out the reason for it. What did your exile to Estian accomplish?"

"What was it supposed to accomplish?" she asked.

I scowled at her. "No one who plays chess like you would do such a stupid thing without reason."

"How was it stupid?" she asked. "I fought with my father. He tried to tell me how to think, and when I refused to agree with him, I was asked to leave—I think he believed that would make me give in. So I left."

"And went to Estian," I said.

"Where else?"

I laughed. "That might work with Tallvenish folk, my lady. But I've seen how your father dotes upon you. Like me, he might understand that Alizon's rebellion hasn't a chance of succeeding, but he'd never toss you out for that. What took you to Estian?"

She was silent, but it was a challenging silence. I'd grown up with a sister who couldn't speak and communicated by expression. Figure it out yourself, Tisala's folded arms and superior expression said.

What makes Tisala unusual enough that Alizon's cause would pull her to Estian? I wondered.

I smiled at last, getting it. "A man, even a man of high rank, whose support of Alizon became common knowledge would be taken in for treason."

She smiled back, but didn't say anything.

"But a highborn woman would be safe because of Tallvenish custom—at least you should have been. They would need a single woman—otherwise her husband would be expected to stop her. But to what purpose … " I stared at her and she stared back blandly.

This woman, something whispered deep inside my heart, this woman is for me.

The bruises on her face were yellow and green. She was too thin, making her nose stand out even more. She wore one of my oldest robes and one of the pieces of chicken we'd eaten at lunch had left a greasy spot on the material over her arm. And none of it mattered at all.

"Perhaps," I speculated, hoping she hadn't read what I was thinking in my face. "Perhaps there is a nobleman who would like to see Jakoven fall. Maybe this nobleman has money to support Alizon, perhaps it is information, or even just a message. Perhaps he wants to be completely anonymous. If there were someone who could be trusted to pass things on, an anonymous servant or even a street child could be sent to this supporter of Alizon—if people knew who he—or rather she was."

She raised her eyebrows. "Truly you have an active imagination, Ward."

"Accurate, too," I said. "How did you contact Alizon?"

She opened her mouth, then shut it. When she spoke, she said, "I'm not a fish to rise to your bait. Suffice it to say that your casting is in the right area and we'll leave it at that."

But it wasn't so easy to leave the information I'd gotten from Tisala alone. Jakoven was moving against Beckram, my cousin—my responsibility. The king's gambit with Tisala had failed, but he had many other arrows in his quiver.

Over the next few weeks as the first snows left the mountains white and frosted the air, I pondered Jakoven's next move. But the only thing I settled upon was that it would be disastrous to wait for Jakoven to play his own game. I'd have to make a move of my own.

"I'm going to Estian," I said over supper.

The guardsmen ate in their quarters, but there was enough tile done in the great hall that my family took our meals there, my family and our guest. Tisala had been mobile enough to take the stairs for the last week, so she'd begun to join us for meals. We sat close to the great fireplace that tried to make up for the open doorway, where soon the great doors would hang. The armorer's first attempt at hinges had been beautiful, but not strong enough to hold the doors, so he was trying again.

"Estian? You are mad," said Oreg with conviction, though not disapproval—more as if he were delighted with the discovery. He'd finished eating and was settled back watching the rest of us.

I grinned at him.

My aunt Stala, seated next to him, shook her head—but I think it was at Oreg and not at me. She was my captain of the guards and my mother's baseborn sister, a Tallvenish woman who'd taken her destiny in her own hands and shook the world. She bore the scars of those battles gracefully and there was not a man in the Blue Guard who would not die willingly for her, including me.

"You forced me to stay here," said my brother, "by following me to the capital every time I tried to go, threatening to expose yourself to the possibility that he would decide to enforce his own writ and have you caged in his zoo for unwanted nobles—"

Tosten had been intent on supporting Alizon—something I'd determined was both dangerous and useless. But Tosten was still young and hotheaded; he'd been very close to both of the twins, and Erdrick's death had hit him hard.

"Unwanted crazy nobles," I murmured, taking a bite of stew and relishing the taste of fresh carrots. By the end of winter we'd be out of vegetables. I glanced at Tisala and she sent me a strained smile in return. She obviously agreed with Tosten.

"Unwanted crazy nobles," Tosten snapped with a wave of his hand. "Now you want to hie off and see what Jakoven's been up to? You might do well to remember that the last Hurog who stuck his nose in Jakoven's business got his throat slit."

"He killed Erdrick," I acknowledged. "And now he's after Beckram. I need to find out what's going on, before we end up with Beckram dead as well."

Tosten's fists came down and made the table jump. "And you can look after Beckram's business so much better than he can?"

It wasn't the words that got to me, it was the tone of voice that implied simultaneously that Beckram was competent and I was an idiot.

I bit back several things that would have been unforgivable—foremost was reminding everyone that it was Beckram's affair with the queen that killed his twin, Erdrick. I took hold of my temper and told them the truth as I saw it. "I am Hurogmeten, guardian of Hurog. Beckram is of Hurog blood and thus under my protection. If I cannot or will not protect my own—I am nothing."

"That attitude would surprise the two other Hurogmetens that I've known," said my aunt dryly, referring to my father and grandfather.

"Meten means guardian, and Ward is Hurogmeten," said Oreg before taking a bite of bread.

"What can you do that Beckram can't?" protested Tosten. "I say warn Uncle Duraugh and Beckram and let them deal with it." But the heat was gone from Tosten's voice. He knew all of Hurog's old songs and stories better than I did. He knew the duties of the Hurogmeten. If Oreg's firsthand experience had robbed the old lays of veracity, it hadn't robbed the ideal of its power.

"I need to have a better feeling for what's going on in court," I explained. "Jakoven's abduction of Tisala is just the start. Something ugly is about to happen, and I'm afraid Hurog is going to be caught up in the middle of it."

"Who are you taking with you?" asked Aunt Stala, and the matter was settled.

We planned the trip over the last of the meal, and if Tosten didn't eat much, he didn't protest again, either. We had just stood up to let the kitchen staff clear the dishes from the table when we heard the clatter of racing hooves.

The armsman who ran in was white-faced. "My lord," he said. "There's royal troops riding in."

My mouth went dry. Were they here after Tisala? Thoughts flew through my head. But I'd decided after I heard Tisala's story that it wasn't likely that Jakoven would come after her here—too many people to silence with too little gain. He wouldn't want anyone knowing he'd tortured Tisala.

That left only one answer that would send a royal troop: the writ.

Should I run? Oreg would take me—but that would leave Hurog and those who belonged to her vulnerable—and my family open to charges of treason. My uncle couldn't prove he hadn't helped me, could he? Nor could Beckram, if that was truly whom the king was after.

We could fight. It would start a civil war. Shavig would fall behind us. Oranstone might as well—but they had to worry about the Vorsag invading again as they had four years ago. Except …

I shook my head as I dismissed the thought of civil war. It might have happened if the king had attacked us next year instead of this. Today, Hurog would fall in a day, and presented with that accomplishment, Shavig would moan and groan, but ultimately submit to Jakoven's hand.

We were ready to hold off bandits, but the king's army was another thing entirely. Maybe if we had a real gatehouse and portcullis on the curtain wall we could have withstood for long enough. Instead we had nothing but an outer wall with a stout wooden door barred against intruders—the keep had no door at all.

"No need to go to him, he's come for you," said Stala, confirming my thoughts.

The pulse of fear beat heavily in my throat. I didn't have much time. "Tisala—go to my room now and stay there. It'll be death for everyone if the king's men find you here. I'll make certain they don't search the keep, but I'm not sure I can keep them out of here altogether."

Blessed woman turned on her heel and made quick time up the stairs without argument. I waited until she was out of hearing and turned to the others.

"Stala, you keep the Guard from fighting, do you understand? They, and you, must stay here to protect Hurog. Keep Tisala safe as long as you can. As long as the troops say nothing about her—we don't, either. I don't think the king will try and force the issue—it would leave him with too much to explain."

Grim-faced, Stala nodded.

"Tosten, stay out of sight, too. As soon as we are gone, ride for Uncle Duraugh. Make certain he knows that Beckram is in trouble. I would have expected to hear from him sooner than this—maybe something happened to our message."

"You're going with them?"

"Yes, I have to. Don't worry, I'll get out of it. Oreg, can you find your way to Estian and to me in secret?"

Of us all, only Oreg didn't look worried. "Of course."

The sound of hoof on tile made us all jump. But it was only the guardsman's horse. He hadn't taken time to secure her and she'd wandered through the open doors and come to see what the fuss was about.

I ignored the man's embarrassed apology and set my foot in the stirrup. His stirrups were too short. From the mare's back I said, "Luck to you all," and rode out of the great hall without a backward glance, afraid that I'd lose my nerve if I didn't go.

I dismounted at the gates and tried to send the armsmen there to their quarters, but I made the mistake of letting them know just what I thought the king's troops wanted. They were reluctant to leave me alone.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," said Soren, dropping to his knees on the cold ground. "But you took my family and me in when we would have starved to death last winter. I'll not leave you alone with an unfriendly troop of men."

There was a murmur of agreement; the man who'd stayed on the wall called out as the king's troop approached. They were making good time, I thought, if they followed so close on the heels of my lookout.

"If I'm here alone," I explained, "they'll see no need for violence. But they've come looking for a fight—and they'll find reason for it if they can."

"If you are given an order, you will obey it," said my aunt's voice coldly. "Ward, you know better than to explain your orders." She looked at Soren and the defiant men, and sighed pointedly. "And if you have to explain your orders, make certain you do so clearly. Gentlemen, Oreg will accompany the Hurogmeten at a distance and retrieve him if it looks as though the king intends to harm him. In this way Ward is safe and Hurog won't suffer under an attack we cannot win. So go now before you endanger him further."

Her clear voice carried to the tops of the wall and the man who was there scrambled down the ladder and started for the guards' quarters without a word. His action inspired the rest, and Soren jumped to his feet and retreated with them, leaving me standing with my aunt.

"What'd you do, tell them you were going to let the king's men take you in order to save everyone here?" she said dryly after they'd gone.

I flushed and she shook her head. Then she leaned forward and pulled my ears until I bent down and she could kiss me. Without another word, she followed the path the men had taken and I was alone in the darkening bailey.

I walked to the gates, but before I could touch the bar to open them, something hit them with a reverberating crack and they bounced and flexed against the bar. The king's men were using a battering ram before parlaying with the guards that should have been on the walls. It made me even more sure what they were here for: They didn't parlay, because no man would give himself up to be taken to the Asylum unless he was truly crazy. For a second a humorless grin twisted my lips.

They hit the gates again. I wondered a minute where they'd found a timber to use as a ram, then remembered the rubbish pile just outside the wall. There might have been a broken timber or two large enough put to use.

The cups had bent around the bar until only a crowbar could have released it. Not having one handy, I moved out of the way and waited for them to open it from their side.

When the doors fell, the king's men swarmed over and I was glad I had decided not to fight. There must have been two hundred men. Flattering, I thought sourly.

With no one to offer them a fight, they stopped, casting alert gazes at the arrow slits in the third floor of the keep and the guard towers along the walls. I was standing next to the doors behind the men and they didn't notice me at first

The Blue Guard would never have made such a mistake—but these men weren't trained by my aunt. A harsh blow of a battle horn from beyond the walls stopped them, but they looked only in front, missing me entirely. If I hadn't been so frightened by what I intended to do, I would have grinned. Standing head and sometimes shoulders above most people, I didn't get overlooked very often.

Their ranks parted reluctantly and three men on horseback rode between them: troop commanders. The man nearest me was one of the king's pet sorcerers riding a big piebald mare with blue eyes. Vanity on his part, I thought. He preferred not to share his real name and was known as Jade Eyes. I'd never met him, but I'd heard him described. His face was extraordinarily beautiful, but it was his eyes that clinched it. They were a pale green rarer for humans than his horse's blue eyes were for a horse. The color stood out more in the context of the deep wine-red of his hair.

Beckram had told me that Jade Eyes was one of the king's lovers, though that wasn't the reason for his rank of king's sorcerer. I could feel his power washing over me as he searched my home for something. Whatever it was, he did not find it. Not even the most powerful sorcerer in the Five Kingdoms could invade Hurog with magic, not as long as Oreg was here. I doubt Jade Eyes even knew he'd been stopped.

Most days, Oreg was just Oreg, and I took the power he had for granted. Only once in a great while, like when he fooled the king's best sorcerer, did the knowledge of how good Oreg was awe me.

I turned my attention to the second of the two men. I did not know him, but, by the markings on his armor, he was one of the king's generals.

The third man was Garranon. There was no mistaking the slender build and curly brown hair, even though he rode on the far side of the other two men. His presence surprised me.

For well over a decade he'd been the king's favorite, until he chose to try to save his native Oranstone rather than cater to the king's whims. I understood he was still a power in court, but Jade Eyes had mostly replaced him in the king's bed.

I liked Garranon, which was odd, since he'd been the one to bring the original writ that robbed me of my home. But he'd had reason enough for it then. I did not like it that he'd come a second time.

When they'd ridden to the front of their army, the sorcerer and the general stopped—but Garranon rode his horse a few paces forward.

"Wardwick of Hurog," he called. His voice echoed against the stone of the keep; it would have carried easily over the clash of swords on a battlefield.

"Welcome, Lord Garranon," I said, trying to sound relaxed and a bit amused. I'm not sure I succeeded, but I really scared two or three of the men closest to me. I was unarmed, but they moved back to give me room anyway.

Garranon turned his horse and rode it back to where I stood and handed me a much folded sheet of vellum. His face was carefully expressionless, but his eyes told me he wasn't here willingly.

In a voice that carried clearly to anyone in the bailey who cared to listen, he said, "The king has discovered that his will was not done concerning this, his writ. He desires you, your brother, Tosten, Lord Duraugh, and his son Beckram to come before him and discuss this matter."

"I see," I said, handing the writ back to him. I wondered what I would have thought about that little speech if I hadn't talked to Tisala first, knowing that the king was still angry with my cousin. Would I have thought King Jakoven had chosen to hold a real, legal hearing? Perhaps—but probably not. I wasn't as stupid as I sometimes looked.

"None of the others you have named are here now." I wouldn't hand them my brother if I could help it. "I am always my king's humble servant and am willing to join him in Estian. Would you come in to eat your evening meal?" Tosten had enough sense to stay out of the way as I'd requested.

Garranon glanced at the general—I was going to have to find out who that was, as he was apparently in charge of this mess.

The general shook his head. "Our king desires your presence as soon as possible. We leave now."

I raised my eyebrows. "It will take me a moment to pack and gather my retinue."

"My orders were that there was to be no retinue. We have a spare horse. You will come now and bring Lord Tosten. We were informed that your brother was in residence."

They weren't even going to let me pack. So much for the polite fiction of a «discussion» before the king. I couldn't see what Jakoven was gaining by this, other than the enmity of all of Shavig, but I would find out eventually. Moving against the Hurogmeten was something entirely different than moving against Beckram, the half-Shavig son of Lord Duraugh of Iftahar. It had to be something bigger than simple vengeance—though with Jakoven it was hard to say for sure.

"Ah," I said. "Tosten has a lady friend whom he is visiting. He hasn't been completely forthcoming on where she lives—I believe it is somewhere within a day's ride of here. He's quite enamored of her. You know how young men are." Due to a beating my father had once given me, I speak very slowly. It was making the general restless, so I continued talking. "Still, he usually only spends a couple of weeks at a time with her, so he should be back next week some time. Would you like to wait?"

"No," snapped the man so quickly I heard his teeth click. "The king may send someone else for him if necessary." All polite fictions aside, I was a prisoner and he wasn't going to give me a chance to escape. He also was impatient enough that he wasn't going to search for Tosten. Something in me relaxed knowing my brother and Tisala were safe.

Garranon was still closer to me than the general, and no one but I could see his face. He gave me a wry smile. He knew me well enough to understand what I was doing to the general, but he made no attempt to interfere.

"Well then," I said with impatience, as if it had been the general who was keeping us waiting. "If you are in such a hurry, what are you waiting for? Where is this horse you have for me?"

The horse they brought forward was solid enough to bear my weight, but clearly wasn't going to outrun anything anytime soon. Maybe fifteen years ago it might have picked up a canter.

Garranon clearly expected me to object, but I didn't. I didn't need to escape on the road, because Oreg, as fanatically loyal to me as if the ancient platinum ring I wore still bound him to my service, would find me in Estian.

With a shrug, I checked the cinch, tightened it, and mounted. I rode out of the broken gates without waiting for them. I would have lost the pose of an uncaring, slightly silly lordling if I had looked back—so I didn't. The stupider they thought me, the easier it would be for Oreg to get me out of this mess.

We rode until full dark. We didn't make it to Tyrfannig, which was the nearest town, so they drew up camp in a relatively flat field. I protested mildly when my wrists were tied, but allowed it without active resistance. While the men cursed and stumbled about putting up tents, I sat by the fire and watched.

The soldiers had dismissed me as a threat, so the ropes around my wrists were loose and comfortable. They all knew the reason that the writ had been issued in the first place was that I was stupid. Very stupid. If they'd heard rumors that I'd recovered, the information was more than countered by my size (which had initially alarmed them), my slow speech, and the pretense I kept up that I believed I was going to a genial discussion despite the ties on my wrists. Garranon could have warned them, and I found it most interesting that he didn't.

I put my forehead against my knees and tried to get used to being off Hurog land again. My head ached, my bones ached, and my muscles felt without strength. It would ease in a couple of days, but only being back on Hurog land would make it leave entirely.

When I lay down to sleep, my arm was tied to the general's wrist and that rope was well-tied. He was taking my continued presence very seriously. That was all right—I didn't intend to escape tonight anyway.

As I closed my eyes, I could feel Jade Eyes watching me.

He hadn't yet uttered a word, but his eyes had followed me constantly. The surveillance bothered me, but it was the knowledge that he was a wizard that really gave me pause. Oreg was in a nearby copse of trees not a hundred yards away.

I knew where Oreg was because finding was my best talent. It was the only magic my father hadn't stolen from me the day he tried to beat me to death. I could work magic now, but finding was second nature.

I wish Oreg hadn't stopped so near us. In his dragon form he oozed magic. He covered it well, but I didn't know if he was aware how good Jade Eyes was. Dragons, I had learned, were arrogant creatures.

When I awoke, the first thing I saw was the mage's ice-green gaze.

"What is it?" Jade Eyes asked in a voice like honey, "that you do when you dream?"

It was an odd question and I couldn't see what he wanted from my answer.

Without conscious decision, I fell back upon my old habit of sounding stupid when I was defensive. "I sleep when I dream," I said. Had I done something while I slept?

"I could feel your magic beside us in the woods all night long," he said. "It tastes of you as your home tasted of you. But when the sun began to rise this morning and you awoke, the magic went away. Why is that?"

He had it backward, I thought. Oreg and I both tasted of my home, not the other way around. I realized that I'd been worried for naught. No one would believe in a dragon—Jade Eyes found it much easier to conjure up a new power from his imagination than to believe there were dragons at Hurog again. There was desire in his eyes that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the lust for power.

"I can't work magic anymore," I said. People who lusted after power were dangerous; one of them had destroyed Hurog.

"But that doesn't mean that the magic went away," he replied. "Magic doesn't do that. It came to us here and watched over you all night—I could feel it hover. You have given your magic an intelligence of its own. Did it happen when your father beat you?"

"If there is magic here, it is not mine," I said. I knew what must have happened: When Oreg had fallen asleep, he'd forgotten to mask his power. But Jade Eyes had certainly come up with an entertaining explanation.

He ignored me as if I hadn't spoken, rocking back on his heels and humming a bit to himself. When he stood up, he murmured, "I'll have to tell the king about this. How interesting."

Garranon's eyes met mine, worried. I shrugged. It wasn't a good thing to draw Jade Eyes's attention, but there was nothing I could do. Oreg was supposed to meet me in Estian, but he'd followed instead, and I had no way to tell him not to.

Ah, well, I thought, at least Jade Eyes thinks it is just me he is feeling. Nothing that would endanger Hurog.

Jade Eyes didn't speak to me again during the remainder of our journey, but he watched me all day, and when I awoke each morning, he was seated by my side staring at me again. The desire to cross my eyes and stick out my tongue at him grew almost overwhelming. But I was Hurogmeten and I had my dignity.

I was a model prisoner, joining in dicing games in the evening, and rowdy songs during the day. The general, whose name I finally discovered was Lawin, eventually only tied me at night. I didn't play stupid—as I once had—but I didn't go out of my way to discuss philosophy and battle strategies, either.

Garranon kept to himself, like a man who'd betrayed a friend. I'd have told him not to fret, but it would have looked odd for me to search him out. I knew he'd had little choice. Jakoven liked to watch people writhe. Truth was, I wasn't precisely Garranon's friend; men in his position couldn't afford to have friends. But I liked him, and always had.

On the evening of the third day of the journey, Garranon sat down beside me. He squinted his eyes and looked at two of the men who were putting up a tent with swift efficiency.

"Gods, I'm sorry, Ward," he murmured in a voice that wouldn't carry farther than my ears.

"No need," I said back. "I know whose decision this is."

We sat for a while more in a surprisingly companionable silence.

"He can't decide what to do with me," said Garranon with bitter amusement. Someone else might have thought the comment came out of the blue.

"Jakoven?"

"Jade Eyes is his new favorite."

I nodded my head. "Does it bother you?"

Garranon laughed. "Not if he would let me go. I have a son, did you know?" He continued without waiting for my nod. "He's three and I've seen him twice. When I request leave to go to my estates, Jakoven says he can't do without me."

"Jakoven's still punishing you for joining Haverness to run the Vorsag out of Oranstone?" It wasn't really a question.

He shrugged. "I don't know what he's doing." He buried his head in his knees. "I'm not entirely certain he does, either."

I disagreed. I thought the king knew exactly what he was doing to Garranon, but I didn't say so.

We stayed there in silence until it was time to sleep. I hope I helped him as much as he helped me keep my panic at bay. Oreg was nearby, but I couldn't see any way out of this without putting Hurog at war with the king. Maybe my uncle would do better.

It grew harder to keep up the "Hail, fellow, well met" image as we got closer to Estian. The last morning of the journey, General Lawin put iron manacles on my wrists.

"Sorry," he said, half apologetically, and handed me a water skin.

Feeling sympathy for him, I drank his peace offering. I gave it back to him and he took it gingerly.

He met my eyes squarely and said, "I am very sorry, my lord. I must do my duty."

Foreign magic, tainted and foul, burned through me, and I realized he hadn't just been talking about the manacles.

"The water," I said hoarsely. "Something in the water." Something more than the herbs my mother had favored.

Two guards, eyes lowered and faces grim … I blinked my eyes and they were replaced by two fire demons that clutched my manacles in their clawed hands. I spun, and the demons fell away from me to lie broken on the ground.

The pain of the magic elixir made my arms shake. Sweat ran into my eyes and distorted my vision until everything I saw was blurred in hues of red.

Someone called, "We need help!"

"I am helping," said a monster with glowing jade eyes. "If I don't keep this barrier up, his magic guardian in the woods will destroy us all. That's why I had to wait until now, during the day, when it is at its weakest. You go fight him—that's what you do."

They came with clubs and swords, and I hurled them into the ocean that somehow yawned behind them. After the first few, though, the demons were ready and their weapons began to find their mark.

"I thought the king wanted him alive," someone exclaimed harshly. For a moment I knew it was Garranon, but then that understanding left me.

It was hard to fight with the manacles on, so when I'd won myself some space, I pulled. The links bent, but not enough.

Someone swore, then said, "Look at what he did to that chain."

Something hit me in the back of the knee and I stumbled. My vision exploded in a flash of light as I was hit again.

I woke on a pile of straw in a small room dimly lit by a window high above. Garranon sat on his heels beside me.

"The demons didn't get you," I whispered, because I was certain I could hear the rustle of their feet just outside.

"I think they did," he said, sounding sad.

There was something I'd wanted to tell him, but I couldn't quite … "I have a secret," I said.

"Don't tell anyone," he replied, looking a little worried.

"It's for you—Ward wants you to know."

"Ah." He looked a little confused, but made no other sound.

"Isn't your fault," I said. It was harder to talk than usual, my tongue felt swollen. "Jakoven would have done it anyway."

"Would you have come if I hadn't been there?" he said bitterly.

I nodded. "Hurog's not completed. Not prepared to take on the king. Ward had to come, he knew it was a trap."

He knelt down. "Ward?"

But when he knelt, he turned into my father and I curled into a ball. Father was angry with me, and I knew that his anger always hurt.

After a while the door opened and shut, and I was alone.

If I burrowed under the straw that covered the floor, the demons couldn't find me. Terror was my closest friend; my room was rank with the smell of it. The only hope I clung to was that if I could hide long enough, I knew the dragon would come and save me.