"No, that's my whole point. You didn't think! You didn't think about anything but your selfish pursuit, and now your brutal act will bring the full weight of the empire's scrutiny into the north and give Loethar the excuse he's so badly wanted to tear this part of the world apart. Everyone else will think he's searching for a brutal murderer, but you and I know that Loethar is really searching for me, Leo, because he doesn't even know you exist. Congratulations-you've all but given us to him. And you killed a good man in the bargain. Get out of my sight." Faris didn't wait for a response. He clicked at his horse and the beast moved forward. One by one, the men followed him and gradually the main party had drifted away, leaving Leo with rage and hurt, his damaged pride and a dawning disgust at what he had brought down upon the people he loved, the people he called family.

"If it's any consolation, he doesn't stay angry long," Jewd commented from behind. Moments later his horse drew alongside Leo's. "I know it hurts but he's right."

Leo felt sickened. "I hadn't thought it through, Jewd. I'm an idiot."

Jewd reached across and squeezed Leo's arm. "You know, I could share some tales with you about Kilt Faris when he was your age. Now that he's reached his wise fourth decade, he has plenty of experience and wisdom to draw upon. If I reminded him of his reckless youth, he might well cringe. But, your majesty, the key here is learning from a mistake. I think Kilt feels far more responsible for you than he lets on."

Leo looked at Jewd uncertainly, his cheeks still burning from the harsh conversation. "You really think he humiliated me for my own good?" he said, irony in his tone.

"Most definitely. Kilt Faris doesn't do anything reckless anymore. Surely you've grasped that by now?"

Leo shrugged. "There are times when I could believe he is repulsed by me."

Jewd's gaze was filled with reproach. "He wouldn't waste the words on you if he didn't think the breath was well spent." He gave a small gesture of resignation. "Don't get me wrong, he's as angry as I've ever seen him and your killing of Freath was ill-inspired and very dangerous, no matter what your reasoning was. But most of his fear is for you."

"That's not how it felt," Leo groaned.

"This fellow called Vulpan is unnerving him. He seems to recall him from his brief time at the Academy in Cremond. He is seeing much danger in this whole turn of events and Freath's death will now intensify the precariousness of keeping you safe."

"Then I will leave. I don't want to cause any more danger."

Jewd stared at Leo, a wry expression creasing his face. "Now that's just the very petulance he was referring to."

"No, I mean it!" Leo said earnestly. "I don't want any of our band captured or hurt or in any way singled out. I've always been a liability, Jewd."

"No, not really, because no one has ever known about you, other than us. And your secret has been ferociously protected by Kilt, or hadn't you noticed?"

Leo nodded sheepishly. Jewd was making him feel worse than Faris had.

"Very few people know you're even alive," the outlaw continued.

"And now there's one less," Leo said, feeling miserable.

"Indeed, one we could have made such good use of. Imagine what Freath could have told us if he'd spied directly for Kilt."

Leo considered this. "I'm an idiot. Piven isn't the simpleton Valisar. I am."

"No point in taking that attitude. And also no room or time for self-pity, please-that's another attitude that will get Kilt's ire up. You're better than that, your highness."

"Don't. You know I hate the title."

"Then don't act high and mighty. You might think that killing Freath fulfilled an oath you made many anni ago but, Leo, you were a child then and thinking like a child. You're a man now. And you're a king. You have to start thinking like a sovereign, which means thinking about what is best for your people rather than just you. Your people are right here," Jewd said, pointing at the retreating men. "We're all the subjects you have for the time being and you weren't putting us first or even your crown first when you took Freath's life. You've always told us Brennus put the throne before anything. In your situation, he too might have wanted to kill Freath, but search your heart and ask yourself whether he would have." Jewd straightened in the saddle and looked toward where Faris had gone. The men were no longer visible. "But you're still young. Hopefully you've learned an important lesson today. Kilt is true to you and his wrath today was testimony to how badly he wants you to act as the king you must become if you're going to challenge Loethar."

"How, Jewd? With what? Our small army of twenty?"

"Don't judge too hastily. Who knows what can be achieved with the right timing and the right plan? Loethar used cunning to destroy the Denovian Set's rulers. He's now applying that same cunning to re-build the set. You will have to match his cunning."

"What will happen with Freath?"

"Jorn's taking him back down. I think he'll try and leave his body somewhere near to the mountains rather than in the town center. He has to be found, so we might as well choose where."

For the first time since he'd drawn the blade, Leo felt the utter futility of his own actions. "I hadn't thought about all that," he admitted. "Where to leave the body, how it should be found, how the death should be made to appear...it's overwhelming. What do I do now?"

Jewd sighed sadly. "Ride through the storm with Kilt and perhaps say a prayer for Freath's soul. He deserved better."

Roddy was scared. He'd never seen a dead person before. He'd seen his fair share of animals slaughtered but that usually involved a lot of activity and squealing. This man had died silently; he hadn't even seen death coming. Roddy felt frozen to his spot in the tree he'd climbed to get a better view of what was happening between the three people.

His mother would be furious with him. Perhaps she was past angry now and was just scared that he was nowhere to be found. He felt badly about that, especially in the light of already having given her the worst fright in almost burning to death.

He remembered seeing the barn on fire, and running inside for Plod, unprepared for the sheer force of the flames. The heat and the suffocating smoke burned his eyes, forcing him to close them almost immediately. And then he had lost all sense of direction.

Strong hands had grabbed him, he recalled, but within moments he and his would-be rescuer had been engulfed by the flames. Roddy could remember the lick of their heat and the instant, shocking pain as his shirt disintegrated and his skin began to bubble.

His next memory was waking up in his mother's cottage, the youth who had called himself Petor bending over him. Roddy would never forget Petor's smile, filled with warmth and so much affection. Roddy could still feel the tingle of a mighty magic fizzing through his blood, the magic of life over death. The magic of opposites, Roddy thought, for how could Petor give Clovis life and in the same day take it so brutally? Roddy pushed away a tear that had welled.

After he'd been brought back to life, his mother and Aunty Fru had stolen out of the room to fetch water for his parched throat and probably to discuss the event out of earshot. Roddy had seen the man next to him cast him a single glance before he, too, left the room, moving swiftly. Roddy knew where Clovis was headed because he too inexplicably felt the same driving desire. He had slipped from the window soundlessly, and he too had begun following their healer out of the town.

Roddy stared down at Clovis's corpse. He'd lost sight of Petor and the man missing a hand. But he knew he could track them if he moved fast. Digging deep for courage, he lowered himself carefully from the tree before moving to stand over Clovis. He knew he should be revolted by the blood but he was just sorrowful for the death. If he felt revulsion, it was toward himself, for this driving need that he didn't fully understand. Piven-as the man had named him-was the link to what he wanted, what he now realized he was seeking.

He'd never told his mother about this feeling he'd always had, this restlessness. It wasn't until he'd seen Piven, locked gazes with him, experienced the beauty of his magic, that he realized his compulsion had a focus. One side of him begged him to ignore it, to stay safe; the other urged him to leave his mother, his home, and follow.

Petor will provide answers, the whispers assured him. Petor will lead you to where you need to be, they insisted. But another part of him hinted that to follow Petor meant only misery and pain. Roddy didn't know which side of him told the truth, who he should trust. Up until this day he'd always erred on the side of caution, banishing the whispers as best he could. But feeling the touch of Petor's magic had dismantled that fragile shield. Now, suddenly, he didn't have the strength to deny his desire to learn the truth.

He closed Clovis's eyes. There was nothing he could do except commit the man's slackened face to his memory. Roddy hated to rifle through the dead man's few possessions so he took the small sack and slung it around his own body. It hung low on him but its weight felt reassuring.

"May Lo speed you to his gates," he whispered over the corpse and then he knelt and kissed the cooling cheek of his rescuer. "Thank you, Clovis, for my life," he said gravely, before he covered the dead man's face with a hat he found nearby. He wasn't sure who it belonged to but it would do and no one needed it.

He looked around to check there was nothing else here for him. As he spotted the cooked rabbits his belly grumbled. Roddy trotted over to the small fire, now just glowing ash, and retrieved the meat. Clearly no one wanted this either; it would not be stealing.

He ate as he walked. Soon he would run. He had no idea where he was going or why. All his instincts told him was that the young man Piven might provide answers. And he no longer felt as though he had a choice-not now that Piven's magic had awoken his.

Sixteen.

Loethar undid his shirt, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead from his exertions to return to the palace swiftly. The messenger had found him enjoying the surrounding landscape as a mist rolled across the moors, the threat of the morning sun promising to burn it away. The trio of minders had permitted the messenger through their protective ring to the emperor.

"What is it now?" Loethar had exclaimed, peeved by the youngster's arrival.

The youth had looked understandably nervous. "Urgent news, Emperor Loethar."

"It always is," Loethar had said wearily. "What is it?"

"I was sent by the empress to bid you to return to the palace immediately. It is not the child, I was instructed to tell you."

Loethar had taken a deep breath. His wife knew better than to summon him without just cause and he was relieved there was nothing wrong with his son. He had nodded, resigned. "I'm on my way."

The rider had turned immediately and urged his horse back to the palace.

"What is it?" Stracker had galloped back from where he'd been ranging ahead. "I saw a messenger?"

"Valya has requested me urgently back to the palace."

"The baby-"

"No, nothing to do with our child. Something else but she didn't say what, other than it was urgent. She would not call me back from a ride without very good reason."

They had ridden back to Brighthelm at full gallop, which had gone a little way toward clearing the cobwebs of tedium in Loethar's mind. But now, as he impatiently awaited Valya in his salon, he found himself irritated by inactivity and generally annoyed at the world for no good reason.

It was his mother who had noticed his discontent, she who had suggested he leave Penraven, even leave the shores of the empire for a while. "Take an ocean journey," she'd suggested. "Go meet your fellow rulers in Galinsea or Percheron, or sail south to Lindaran or northwest to Briavel and Morgravia. All the sovereigns would be intrigued to meet you again, I'm sure-and on their ground, all the better."

"It's tempting," he had replied on one of their many slow walks near the herb gardens.

"Do it, Loethar. You're driving everyone mad with your mournful expression. It's clear you're bored. The empire is running itself beautifully, you have reliable people in place, the cities are flourishing and so are your people-all of us, Plains and Set. You are not needed here, so do something!"

It was sound advice. "Not until Valya is pregnant again," he had remarked, knowing in his heart that siring his heir was truly the last obstacle to feeling his work was done. Once he had a son, or perhaps a pair of sons, he could stop fretting about the security of the empire and start to live more selfishly.

His mother had sighed and nodded, understanding. Since that conversation nearly one anni ago, his mother's physical condition had worsened dramatically. His mother was frail now, needing two sticks to walk and requiring "carriers" on hand day and night to attend to her whims and her ablutions. Now they no longer went walking together and she emerged from her chambers infrequently. In a strange way he missed her confrontations and her controlling nature. Now he found himself surrounded by people overly eager to please. If not for Stracker, whom he could never fully trust, and Freath, who, despite being a servant, gave him the only intelligent conversations he enjoyed, life would be interminably dull. And now Freath was gone to the north. Loethar sorely missed his dry humor and wise counsel.

Valya arrived in a cloud of perfume and groans at her swollen ankles, even more swollen belly and the whole tiring nature of trying to give him the son he craved.

"Valya," he acknowledged with a perfunctory kiss to her hand. "I trust this is not trivial. My daily ride is very important to me."

He noticed she ignored his barb but her eyes flared with plea sure at his disheveled state. "I'm so used to seeing you neat and tidy, Loethar, that I forget that the barbarian lurking beneath all this finery still excites me," she drawled.

Unfortunately, Valya had never fired any genuine lust within him. Even at the beginning, it was more her fiery determination and propensity for revenge that had attracted him; that and her knowledge of the Set. He'd married her because he didn't know what else to do with her. He knew that she loved him, revered him even; there were moments when he briefly felt badly about the way he did not and never could respond in the way she dreamed, but she seemed to be able to overlook those shortcomings in their relationship with ease. Loethar knew much of her ability to see only the bright side of being together was connected with the riches and power her marriage afforded her. He forgave her that. So long as he never heard of her abusing that power so that it lowered people's esteem of him, she could do what she liked. Her only use to him now was to be a provider of sons. Set sons. And in that she had failed...so far.

"Why have I been summoned? Make it good," he warned, moving her hand from his chest.

"My darling, I have unhappy news."

His gaze narrowed. She looked breathless and excited. Something in the cruel slash of her mouth told him she was excited for all the wrong reasons. "Tell me," he ordered.

"It's Freath."

He frowned. Freath? "What's happened? Is he unwell?"

"You could say that," she smirked. "We have news that he is dead."

"Dead?" he exclaimed.

She nodded. "Murdered, apparently."

Loethar blinked, not at all sure he'd heard right and hating that Valya seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. He took a moment to gather his wits. This must be some sort of mistake. "Who brought this news?"

"The soldiers who escorted him. I haven't even let them rest. They await your pleasure. Freath is in the chapel, pale and cold." He could see the delight dancing in her eyes at the last comment.

"That will be all, Valya. Best you get back to your confinement. If Stracker's around, I would speak to him."

Valya's lips pursed. She moved to the outer chamber and he heard her fling the door back, barking an order. She returned sullenly. "He's being fetched. Aren't you going to ask how I feel?"

"I can see how you feel. Elated."

She shrugged. "That's most unfair, Loethar. I am about to deliver a child. I have far more important things on my mind than the death of a mere servant. I shall leave you now."

Loethar forced himself to say nothing. He didn't want to upset her and threaten the baby. Nothing mattered more to him right now, not even Freath's apparent death. But he could feel his wrath gathering. How could Freath be dead? "Come!" he yelled at the sounds of footsteps outside his chambers. He marched into the private salon area as the door was opened and Stracker entered.

"I've only just heard," he admitted. "It seems your wife got to you with the news first."

"Have the other escorts sent to the chapel," Loethar ordered, his expression like a thunderstorm.

A man-the lead escort-was shown into the chamber.

"Is is true?" Loethar demanded, ignoring his obeisance. "Is Master Freath dead?"

The man nodded miserably.

Loethar pointed at him, furious. "Tell me what occurred and keep it to the point."

The man swallowed, showing how fearful he felt. "Highness, we accompanied Master Freath, as instructed, into the town of Francham in the north. He was staying at an inn called The Lookout."

"What do we know about the inn?" Loethar interrupted, looking at his general.

Stracker shrugged. "Nothing special about it. Most popular inn in the town. The population is transient so plenty of strangers are coming and going through the inn's doors."

Loethar's expression darkened further. "Go on," he said to the warrior.

"Er, my lord, we took the horses for stabling while Masters Freath and Felt went directly to the inn. To my knowledge there was nothing out of the ordinary. They ate a meal at the inn and-"

"Wait! What do you mean to your knowledge? Were you not there to see with your own eyes what was going on?"

"Er, well, you see, my lord, Master Freath told us that he had no plans to do anything more than eat a hearty meal, share a flask of wine with Master Felt and take an early night."

Loethar blinked. He knew what was coming, felt a familiar rage rising. "And the trio of soldiers I sent to escort my aide into what we believed might be hostile territory were where this night? The local brothel?"

"He insisted, my lord," the soldier replied.

"Insisted what?" Loethar demanded. He impaled the younger man with a stormy gaze. "What did he insist upon?"

To his credit, the man spoke evenly, confidently. "That we should eat where we wanted and, er, take the night for ourselves."

"And you did just that, didn't you?"