"Sounds organized," Alis remarked.

"It is," Neil replied.

"But if a hansa is a thousand men, why is the country named so?"

"I never wondered about that," Neil answered. "Perhaps Lord Aradal can tell you."

Muriele hailed him, and the Hansan lord trotted his horse over.

"Your Majesty?"

"We were wondering why your country is named after a thousand men."

He looked briefly puzzled, then smiled. "I see. It's got to do with our history. The hansa is more than a thousand men; it is a sacred thing, a brotherhood, a saint-blessed guild. There was a time before the wairdu or the harji, but we always had the hansa. It's the foundation of our kingdom, and it's said that when we first conquered this land, we did it with a single hansa."

"It will take more than that to conquer Crotheny," Muriele informed him.

"Aye. But we have have more than that, as you see." more than that, as you see."

The outriders were nearly on them now. The leader was a knight in the livery of the Reiksbaurg, a writhing waurm and a sword. His helm was plumed with horsehair. He had about twenty men with him.

When he drew up, he lifted off his helmet, revealing a young man with high cheekbones, pale golden hair, and eyes as green as moss.

Aradal was already off his horse and going down on his knee.

"Your Highness," he said.

"Rise, please, Aradal, and introduce me," the newcomer said.

Aradal straightened. "Queen Mother Muriele Dare of Crotheny, I am pleased to present to you His Royal Majesty Prince Berimund Fram Reiksbaurg."

"My suitor," Muriele said.

"A most unsuccessful suitor," the young man replied. "It is most unflattering to be rebuffed not once but several times, and now that I look upon you in person, I am doubly, no, triply dismayed. Your beauty may be legendary, but even legend does you no justice."

Muriele tried to look flattered and abashed, but the boy was half her age and the speech sounded practiced rather than sincere.

"With that golden tongue you should have pressed your suit in person rather than through envoys," she replied. "Although to be honest, even Saint Adhen could not have persuaded me out of my mourning."

Berimund smiled briefly. "I hope to marry a woman as steadfast as you, lady. I should like to be mourned."

The prince reddened a little, and a shy look crept across his face. He suddenly looked very young.

"Let's hope no one mourns you for a long time," Muriele said.

He nodded.

"Blood and duty command me to tell you something else, Berimund. This host you lead-I hope it is not bound for my country."

"It is bound for our border," Berimund said, "but I am not leading it. I have been sent here, lady, to escort you to Kaithbaurg."

"That's sweet, but I already have an able escort," Muriele told him.

"The king, my father, was quite adamant about it. Aradal is needed elsewhere."

"Your Majesty-" Aradal began, but the prince interrupted him, his voice suddenly harsher.

"Aradal, if I wish you to speak, I will ask you to. My man Ilvhar will give you instructions. I will escort the queen from here."

He turned back to her. "Your men will be guided back to the border unharmed, I promise you."

"My men? They will stay with me."

He shook his head. "You may keep your maid and a single bodyguard, but the rest of your escort must return home."

"This is outrageous," Muriele said. "I was a.s.sured that the old covenant would be maintained."

"Aradal had no right to make such a.s.surances," the prince said. "Your country has been declared a heretic nation by the holy Church. The old covenants no longer apply."

"Do you really believe that?"

For an instant the uncomfortable boy showed again in his eyes, but then his lips pressed into a thin line.

"I won't argue about this, lady." He nodded at Neil. "And I don't expect an argument from your man, either."

"You're taking me prisoner and you don't expect an argument?"

"You wanted to talk to my father, didn't you?"

"Yes. To try to talk him out of this war."

"Well, the war is begun, and your daughter began it."

"What are you talking about?"

"She slaughtered five hundred holy warriors of the Church, sent by the Fratrex Prismo to keep the peace. The Church is our staunch ally. If it is attacked, so are we. Furthermore, we have news that she is preparing to a.s.sault our peacemakers in Copenwis. So we find ourselves in a state of war. You, Your Majesty, represent an invading force, and I would be fully justified in removing all of your men-in-arms from the fray. Instead, I'm doing the honorable thing and allowing them to return to Crotheny."

"And if I wish to return with them?"

Berimund opened his mouth, closed it, and seemed to think for a moment.

"My father told me to intercept your emba.s.sy and bring you to him on his terms. If there is no longer an emba.s.sy-if you no longer wish to meet with him-then I will take you to the border. He did not expressly tell me to take you prisoner."

"But you imagine that was his intent? That if I do go, I will be hostage?"

Berimund sighed and looked away. "One might imagine that, yes."

Muriele took a long breath, remembering the endless days in the Wolfcoat Tower, where Robert had kept her.

"You have some honor, Prince Berimund," she allowed. "If I go with you, I would ask for your protection."

He paused at that, seemed to study something in his head, then nodded." You have it, lady, if that's really what you want."

"It is."

"Very well. Your knight may keep his harness, for now, if I have his word he will not attack unprovoked."

He eyed Neil, who looked to her. She nodded.

"I so swear by the saints my people swear by," the knight said.

"Thank you," Berimund said. He turned to Aradal. "Take the rest of these men back to the border. They are not to be harmed or disarmed."

He nodded at Muriele. "When you are ready, lady, we will ride on to Kaithbaurg."

Muriele felt her hair stir. The wind from the storm had reached them.

CHAPTER SIX.

A HEART F FOUND C CHANGED.

CAZIO DID NOT have pleasant memories of Castle Dunmrogh. A stone's throw from it he had watched helplessly as men and women were nailed to posts and disemboweled, and those doing it had meant to hang him. If it hadn't been for Anne and her strange powers, he probably would have died there. He very nearly had, anyway. have pleasant memories of Castle Dunmrogh. A stone's throw from it he had watched helplessly as men and women were nailed to posts and disemboweled, and those doing it had meant to hang him. If it hadn't been for Anne and her strange powers, he probably would have died there. He very nearly had, anyway.

Even without that recollection to color things, he still wouldn't have been happy. What was Anne up to? Was she being honest with him-did she really need him here-or was this punishment for opposing her?

He remembered Anne stepping into the clearing that night, regal and powerful.

Terrifying, actually. And since then he had many times felt that power and terror. It was hard to think of her as the nymph he had met swimming in a pool back in Vitellio.

Maybe she wasn't. Maybe that Anne was gone.

And maybe he didn't care to serve the new Anne anymore.

He sighed, gazing up the hill at the gray walls and three-towered keep.

"What do I know about running a castle, anyway?" he murmured in his native tongue.

"We're here to help you with that, sir," Captain Esley replied in the same language.

Cazio turned to the fellow, the leader of the men Anne had put under his charge. He was short, with a steel-streaked black beard and hairy caterpillar eyebrows shadowing dark eyes.

"A nineday on the road and you don't bother to tell me you speak my language?"

"I don't speak it so well," Esley said. "But I fought for the Meddisso of Curhavia when I was a young man and remember some."

"Listen, if you heard me say anything uncomplimentary about the queen-"

"I wouldn't have been listening to anything like that."

"Good. Good man. Viro deno. Viro deno."

Esley smiled, then jerked his chin toward the castle. "Looks in pretty good shape. Unless the Church sends half a legif to fight us, we ought to be able to hold, depending on the local forces."

"So we'll go introduce ourselves, I suppose," Cazio said.

"I'm sure they remember you, sir."

They didn't, or at least the outer gate guards didn't, so they sent for a member of the household to examine the royal letter before letting him across the moat with a hundred fifty men. Cazio didn't blame them.

After the wait stretched into almost a bell, Cazio rested himself in the shade of a pear tree and closed his eyes.

He woke with Esley tapping his shoulder. "Someone's finally come, sir."

"Ah," Cazio replied, raising himself up against the trunk of the tree. "Who have we here?"

It was an older man in an embroidered saffron doublet and red hose. He had a tuft of gray beard on his chin and a well-weathered face. He wore a floppy little hat the same color as his hose.

"I am Cladhen MaypCladhen de Planth Alnhir, steward of the house of Dunmrogh," he said. "Whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

"Cazio Pachiomadio da Chiovattio the very d.a.m.n tired of waiting," he replied.

"I am sorry for that," the man said. "I was not presentable when you arrived, and I thought I should muster the men. Considering all the trouble we had here last year, I don't like to take chances. May I see the letter, please?"

Cazio handed it over, and the steward examined it for a moment.

"This all looks good," he said. "I'm happy Her Majesty saw fit to reinforce us. There are all sorts of rumors about armies marching, although it's been mercifully quiet here." He handed the letter back. "Well, if you'll just follow me, we'll find you some quarters and you can start getting to know the place. I'm happy to pa.s.s on the responsibility."

"Why?"

The steward paused, seemingly confused by the question.

"I...I'm just not cut out for it, I suppose. I'm really more of a scholar. Not much of a politician or a soldier. But Her Majesty purged most everyone else because they were involved in that business in the forest."

He gestured. "Walk with me?"

"What about my men?"

"Yes, of course. We're only half-garrisoned; plenty of room inside."

They followed him into the outer yard, a pleasant green lawn that obviously hadn't seen any fighting in a long time. The flagstone path led to a rather long drawbridge whose lifting cables were affixed to the top of the inner wall some thirty feet up. The bridge did not also function as a door, as in some castles he had seen; the door was to the right of the bridge and was in fact a heavy-looking portcullis banded with iron.