Chapter 4:

Night Society

"Bowie," Rhode grunted, hastily setting aside the drawing he was working on. He would tell Bowie soon, but not yet. Not too soon. After the idea had settled a little bit, once it was less formative…

"Rhode." Bowie smiled and took a seat. "How are you?"

"Crippled. But you already knew that."

Bowie met his gaze unflinchingly. "I know that you blame me for that, but I did do my best."

"Blame you?" Rhode muttered. "Well, yes, I do. But at the same time, I saw you Bowie. You leapt in there and fought Galam for minutes with incredible swordplay. You defeated a Devil Lord. What you did…" He shook his head. "It was incredible. You could have been faster, because I saw you coming at his back. So yes, I blame you for this." He gestured at the bedcover, aware that Bowie couldn't actually see his useless legs. "I blame you for it. But I don't hate you. I can't." The end of his monologue fell like silence. Even more than that though, it was what Bowie had unwittingly shown Rhode that he was so appreciative of. A battle like that of such proportions… historic. Truly historic. How could Rhode not love Bowie for showing him that?

Bowie stood. "I see," he said at last. "Well, I'm sorry about that. I know I could have… could have done better. But I tried my best." He paused. "And I did save you. I…" He swallowed hard.

Rhode fingered his bushy beard, uncomfortable. "Ahm. Forget I said it if you need to. Just habit, that sort of thing you know." He brightened, remembering a bit of news he hoped would cheer Bowie up. "It'll be part of my book too, you know. Rhode's History of the Demon Wars."

Bowie grinned. "'Wars?"'

"There's been the one in Rune," Rhode pointed out. "That makes it plural. With all these devils active, might be some going on in other parts of Parmecia. And then there was the destruction of Odegan. No evidence, I admit, but if there weren't devils at the bottom of that, I'd be very surprised. Yes," he went on, warming to his theme, "the Demon Wars as I call them are the perfect subject. You realize that it's arcane, socio-economic, and political? A perfect research subject! A fitting way to move on from my last book, which was a history of Western Parmecia. Nearly five hundred years worth of it too! That was unprecedented in the field until I wrote it."

Bowie laughed. "I hate to cut you off, but if this is all the case, then perhaps this is the best time to bring this up. Would you like to be Granseal's Royal Historian?"

"Royal…" Rhode's voice dropped off into a hoarse whisper. Grans, the envy of the academic world… One of the richest cultures in all of the world, and never before had a foreigner been offered a chance to research it. That hadn't stopped many from trying, but if they were actually giving him access… Official access… Head spinning, Rhode managed to say, "Yes! I…" He bowed his head. Remarkably, he felt like weeping. He whispered, "Thank you my boy. This is a great gift."

Bowie smiled tiredly. "Don't get too excited. If you accept this post, you'll have to tie the rest of your life to Grans. It would be quite an insult for you to leave, after that."

Rhode made a vague gesture. "King Granseal is old enough that I'll outlive him. And anyway, even if I don't, this is Grans. This is a historian's dream." He settled back in bed, his head swimming with visions of the book he'd write, the acclaim he'd gather, the knowledge he could unearth!

Bowie fidgeted uncomfortably. "I have to go," he announced abruptly. "The tourney will be starting any time now and there's the feast tonight and…" He coughed, twisting his hands. "You should come Rhode. A litter could take you. You should be there. You fought for Granseal. You're… well, you're a hero. You almost died fighting King Galam."

The historian's good humor evaporated at that. Vain man. And this post, it's just compensating me for almost dying… He sighed loudly. That's unfair of me. Bowie legitimately cares about the people he calls friend, and what else is he to do? "So did you," he told Bowie.

Bowie's mouth quirked. "I'll see you later," he said. His voice was flat, but his eyes, honest and blue, were full of hurt as he backed from the room.

Rhode sat there a while longer and sighed. He ought not to have said anything. Absently tugging at his beard, he picked up the drawing again, studying it. He sighed again and set it back down. He could think about restoring mobility of sorts to himself later. Rhode picked up a second piece of a parchment, an empty one this time, and his quill. He sat there, thinking for a moment, and then started to put the words to paper. Upon his triumphant return to the city of Granseal, Lord Bowie…

---

The day was beautiful, breezy and clear. A perfect day for the tourney, and if only she could forget, it would have been one of the most perfect days in Sarah's life. But of course she couldn't. Sarah had never seen such a splendid event, and her role under Bowie in the war insured that she was seated with the nobility now. And so, she kept stealing glances Princess Elis.

Jealousy was unbecoming and a waste of energy. Sarah knew that, but Elis was so perfect. Exquisitely shaped, richly dressed, artfully styled… The only thing that Sarah was grateful for was that Bowie at least was not in the stands. On the other hand, his participation in the tourney doubtless meant that he would take the reward from Elis's scented hands. Assuming he won. Which he would of course. Bowie always won. Even though he had only recently joined the king's council, he had fought in the tourneys for years, and he had started winning regularly about three years ago.

"Ha!" Lord Zocc leaned over, touching her arm. "Your knights put on a splendid display, my lady. This is twice as good as th-" A roar went up, cutting off the rest of Green Baron's words.

Sarah looked back out at the field, and gasped. Jaha was lying sprawled out on the ground. She nearly rose, but then remembered that there were healers already assigned to aid injured combatants. It felt strange though, watching Jaha, whom she'd known all her life, being carried off of the field to be healed by somebody else.

Lord Zocc laughed. "I seem to have lost my bet." His eyes were shining, sparkling with good humored sincerity. Sarah abruptly shifted in her seat, slightly away from this charming lord of the Galamani Delegation.

We must hope that power never falls to this one, clever as he is. Very nearly as charismatic as Bowie too. If Galam were ever in his hands…

She forced a smile, stealing another glance at the fields. Sir Eric would receive his reward from Elis, and then the final joust would begin. Perhaps if Bowie saw her in the stands… But I'll always just be next to Elis. Her lips twisted as all other concerns melted from her. I should just tell him how I feel.

There was a slight rustling sound to her left, and she looked back over. Kazin had risen and was saying loudly, "…some refreshment I think. May I bring you gentlemen anything?"

Lord Zocc laughed again. "I fear not, my dear Lord Kazin. I have sworn not to get drunk until the ball, and without that risk, where is the joy in the drinking?"

A small, nearly melancholy, smile played across Kazin's lips. "Of course. Anyone else? Lord Kronos?"

He took a few steps further, his gaze taking in Sarah. "Can I get anything for you?"

She frowned at him. "But you'll miss at least the beginning of the match!"

"I intend to," Kazin muttered, seemingly more so to himself than to her. He shook his head. "And anyway, I'll still be able to catch most of it certainly, probably all of it. Nothing?" His voice sounded tight.

"No, thank you." He started away, and, on a sudden impulse Sarah called after him, "Mayhaps we can talk tonight?"

His cheek twitched. "Why not?" He quickly made his way out of the stands. Sarah watched him go, momentarily distracted from her maudlin ponderings. She'd always been fond of Kazin, but even she had to admit that his abrupt departure, his whole manner, was a little odd.

Mayhaps being host to the Delegation is just wearying work. It would be, to show every courtesy to the Galamani… It has to be something like that. Kazin's always had superb patience.

Her attention snapped back to the field of battle as the final two combatants made their way to the stands, each mounted on a horse. Minister Graig stood to announce the two men as was his duty. His thin voice rose. "Your Grace, I present to you the two who have come to risk themselves for the honor of the royal ruby. Lord Bowie of Granseal and Colonel Zellar of the same."

King Granseal nodded ponderously several times. "Well, do your best gentlemen and we'll see who the victor is this year, eh?"

"I don't think there's any doubt about that, Your Grace," said Bowie.

There was general laughter in the stands at the comment, and Zellar's face twitched. For just a moment Sarah pitied him. But then she was swept up in the event again, and had only eyes for Bowie. His face was alive, full of laughter and the sun shone on his hair. Her breath caught in her throat.

King Granseal shrugged his enormous shoulders. "Well, mayhaps the ruby will go to you at last, Zellar. We'll see." He waved his hand vaguely signaling the two men to their places, at the respective ends of the field.

As Zellar trotted his horse over to the far side, he called out confidently, "You'll see, Your Grace. I have him this year."

"Why, Zellar?" Bowie called after him. "Have you been practicing this year?"

The crowd loved that, but Sarah was no longer paying attention to the banter. She was watching Bowie avidly, completely unaware of Lord Zocc to her side. Don't let him be hurt, she begged silently.

She started as she heard a familiar voice nearby. "I never know whether to be amused or insulted by this display," Chester was saying lightly. He nodded grandly in the direction of the contestants as Bowie and Zellar both raised their lances. "You must admit, they're going to great pains to act centaur."

"Chester!" She smiled at him. "You weren't in the lists this year."

"I gladly ceded my spot to Sir Eric. He is a noble man, and deserved the chance to prove his skills. The one year makes little difference. Besides, had I enlisted this year, you would have had no company in the stands."

She'd already turned back. "I had Kazin," she replied absently, forgetting that he should probably have been back by now. "Be quiet. The tilt's starting."

A collective, hushed silence had fallen in the stands, the same way it always did. The two men steadied themselves on their horses, and then galloped toward each other. Sarah clenched her robe in both hands.

Both lances met their targets, but neither man fell. That was normal, of course. For the last three years (although this was a much grander event on the whole) Bowie and Zellar had always fought each other for the championship. For the last three years, Bowie always won. But not without Zellar putting up a respectable challenge.

Reeling slightly in his saddle, Zellar retook his position, even as Bowie began the next charge, fractionally ahead of his opponent. Zellar came forward to meet Bowie's charge, and his lance nearly sent Bowie spinning.

Sarah gasped, and vaguely heard Chester talking with Lord Zocc in the background. "I have never seen the colonel show a better arm, or aim for that matter, than that last tilt, milord. You are truly privileged to witness it."

Louder than that, however, was Zellar's triumphant laughter. "I have you this year!"

Bowie shook his head determinedly, steadied himself, and set off again for the third pass. Zellar confidently leant forward, his lance still aimed better than Sarah had ever seen it. At the last moment Bowie simultaneously shifted slightly in his saddle, and dipped his lance just slightly down and to the left. Zellar's lance struck just on the edge of Bowie's, scraping ineffectually away, even as Bowie brought his own lance up as hard as he could. The blow struck true and Zellar crashed to the ground.

"No!" Zellar struggled to get up, simultaneously shouting, "Sword!"

Bowie laughed. "Come off it, man. You've already lost."

"Sword!" Zellar nearly regained his feet, only for Bowie to come forward, jabbing playfully down with his lance. Zellar fell back to the ground, scrambling away from Bowie's horse and lance, both of them keeping him from surging back up.

The stands roared with shouts and laughter. Over it all, the droning voice of Minister Graig announced the closure of the tourney. Sarah leant forward eagerly. Bowie and Zellar were nearly at the stands. If she could just catch Bowie's eye before he accepted the ruby of victory…

Bowie laughed again, and offered a hand down to his fallen opponent. "Are you alright?"

Zellar recoiled from it, scrambling further away than ever. "Get away from me!" The colonel staggered to his feet and tore off his helmet, his face contorted as he stared at Bowie. After another moment though, the expression was one replaced with a twisted smile.

The two men approached the stands, still surrounded by the screams and applause. Graig, having by now retaken his seat, leaned over and said loudly, "Well done, gentlemen. This year, you are both truly worthy."

King Granseal guffawed. "Truly worthy! Eh, but still not enough balance Zellar! Knocked right off your horse."

Princess Elis rapidly rose to her feet, interrupting the stream of her sire's words. "Valiant knights," she pronounced, favoring Zellar with a brief glance and Bowie with a smile, "you have done us honor this day." She turned her full attention on Zellar. "As befits the warrior of only second stature in our ranks, you may kiss my hand." She held it out, that absurdly pale and dainty appendage, and yet so elegant. Sarah couldn't remember how many times she'd wished she had hands half as lovely as Elis's.

Zellar's strange smile twisted again and he stepped forward quickly, lowering his mouth to her hand and then backing off. He'd accepted the kiss for the last three years, of course, and Sarah supposed that it would have lost much of its appeal over time.

Elis turned a dazzling smile on Bowie. "And to the victor goes the ruby," she declared, leaning towards Bowie ever so slightly. Bowie smiled politely back at her, taking the ruby from her hand. Elis settled back in her seat.

Sarah sighed. It should be enough for her that Bowie had won, that Bowie was happy. It should be enough for her that the war had ended, that nearly all her friends were still alive. She could not deny that it wasn't.

---

Another three days of this, and I may throttle somebody, Kazin reflected. Zellar, perhaps. Or Kronos. He could think of no more pleasing a prospect other than the obvious. He glanced down the table, at Sarah. He found himself doing that far more often than he liked.

Bloody hell, this would be amusing if I was not myself. "I recommend the gamis, Lord Kronos." He gestured to the dish, mixed peppers and meat. "It's very good."

The lord of the Galamani Delegation took the comment as a slight. "We have gamis in Galam." He omitted Kazin's title, though that suited the mage just fine. He found the sudden nobility to be more than a little ostentatious, and he'd talked to people for years without one perfectly well. Kazin was far more insulted by Kronos's openly belligerent air. He sighed, pouring himself another cup of wine. What can I have expected? The Galamani may have accepted peace, but it's only for lack of viable options. Need they have sent someone as asinine as Kronos, however? At least I suppose Lord Zocc makes up for his manner somewhat.

The Green Baron, in the meanwhile, laughed aloud. "Peppers do not fare well with Lord Kronos's digestion, I fear. A tragedy."

The cold-eyed head of the Galamani shot a quick glance at Zocc, who returned it with an amiable smile. Kazin stifled a groan. Bloody lovely. As if we need tension between these two. Which one is really in control anyway? He glanced at Sarah, and then, hoping to diffuse some of the antagonism about the table, directed his words to a pale-faced young nobleman.

"Lord Darell." He inclined his head briefly. "As I recall, your family traditionally has some sway over the port of Galam, does it not?"

The young, and insignificant if truth be told, lord started in his seat. He started to stammer a reply, but Lord Kronos talked straight over him. "You're quite well-informed." His voice had taken on a bullying quality.

Gods, does the man want to make a scene? Bloody fool. He said as mildly as possible, "I like to know what I'm talking about. Would you like some more wine, my lord?"

Kronos stiffened. "I am quite capable of seeing to my own needs, Lord Kazin."

Kazin gave up. There was no point in trying to remain civil to a man like Kronos. He turned his attention in yet another direction. "I have to confess, I find myself intrigued by you, Master Shaita."

Kronos's pet ratman met his gaze uncertainly. "I… indeed?"

"Shamanry is such an unknown field." Kazin finished his wine, and poured himself another cup. "It's scarcely mentioned in any of the texts that I've studied. I didn't even know that there were any shamans in Grans. As I say, I find it intriguing."

Shaita licked his lips. "You are a… a mage, are you not?"

Kazin frowned. The ratman simply seemed out of place to him. His unease was more palpable than the occasion would have demanded. Although it could just be social unease. In his ragged clothing, in his subservient manner, Shaita was clearly very much not the sort of man one would expect to find at a royal ball.

"I've also studied sorcery."

"As has Shaita," Kronos snapped, jutting his chin forward. "I'm certain that any education would be quite one-sided."

Fortunately Kazin was spared the necessity of making a reply as the music started playing. The sounds of various instruments washing over him, Kazin almost relaxed for a moment. "If you wish, Lord Kronos, you may dance."

Kronos gaped at him. "I? I, dance?"

Lord Zocc laughed loudly. "Why not, Kronos? The Galamani are surely a match for whatever sort of dancing our Granserian friend here has in mind."

Kronos sputtered for a moment, shooting another one of those sharp glances at his compatriot. "I… of course, but what…?"

The Green Baron shrugged, adding casually, "Of course, if nobody wants to mingle, why should we press that on them?"

Kronos swallowed. "Of course, any who wish to… do so may… I believe. A dance may do me good." He rose hastily and stalked out onto the floor.

Kazin smiled. "You have a cruel tongue, my lord. You've set a wolf amongst the noble ladies of our court."

Zocc laughed long and loud. "You misjudge me, Lord Kazin. It was solely for Lord Kronos's sake that I spoke at all. Our dear Lord Kronos does have a habit of getting wound up. A conquest will be good therapy for him."

Kazin chuckled. "Your words fail to convince, Lord Zocc." He rose, finished his drink, and poured himself another. "I have other duties to attend to," he apologized. "I pray that you will understand."

Zocc shook his head amiably. "It's no matter to me, Lord Kazin. I'll drink to it." And so he did.

Kazin glanced over at Shaita who remained in the same seat looking more uncomfortable than ever. "We shall have to finish our talk some other time, Master Shaita. I should find it most interesting."

The ratman's mouth opened, but nothing came out for a moment. Just as Kazin started to turn away, he called out, "We shall, my lord, we shall. I'll be certain of it."

Kazin arched a brow at that, but nodded politely before making his way towards the doors. He wanted to take some air, wanted to think things over. The tourney today had only confirmed what he'd suspected long ago; that Sarah was deeply, irrevocably in love with Bowie. As if that needed confirmation. It's been obvious for as long as I've known them. No, the only wonder there is that Bowie doesn't seem to no-

"Kazin!" Sarah's hand pressed itself to his arm. "You promised we'd talk," she said, smiling at him.

"Oh." He put a hand through his hair to conceal how sweaty his palm had just become. "How thoughtless of me. I fear that with Lord Kronos to entertain, I must have forgotten." The lie sounded genuine to him, at least. Where in Volcanon's name did she come from?

"Oh, I uh…" Sarah looked at the ground, her voice diminished. "I suppose that that would be kind of consuming, huh?"

"Bowie honors me," Kazin said, struggling to keep the sour note from his voice.

"He's dancing with Elis." Sarah sighed, and tugged Kazin's arm a bit closer to her. The mage found himself in something of a predicament with that. Did it mean he should allow her to pull him another half-step in or…?

"Its good image, I suppose," he said, wishing he could escape this. Things would be so much easier if Bowie wasn't my friend. Oh, it was true that Kazin resented Bowie, but that was only natural. And anyway, Bowie isn't the problem. He never was. Far more than any of the others, or so Kazin judged, he saw Bowie's flaws. Bowie had any number of good points, of course, and that was partially why Kazin resented him. Bloody hell, I wish I was him. Who wouldn't? If there's any one single thing wrong with Bowie, it's the fact that nothing is wrong with him. Though things are of course. But perception…

Sarah sniffed slightly, and looked up at him, though she was only slightly shorter than Kazin himself. "You don't have to say that, Kazin."

Don't I? What else, pray, should I say? 'Oh, I'm sorry Sarah, while you're deciding whether or not to be heartbroken, but I harbor some interest in you myself?' "She might have made the first gesture."

Sarah blew out a puff of air. "I'm being morbid, anyway." She smiled at him again. "Do you want t-"

"Sarah!" The boyish shout was the same as ever. Kazin stifled a groan as Jaha stumped towards them. "Oh, Kazin." He added a perfunctory nod to the end of the statement, and then immediately turned back to Sarah.

Of course he would. None of the others see me as quite a real man, simply because I wasn't born in Granseal. And that humiliating little exercise Bowie just had to put me through when they first came to me for help…

"… Was really disappointed earlier. I thought that I might have…" Jaha's voice broke off, and he looked longingly towards the dancers. "And then I lost." He shook his head. "Oh well, luck's luck, right?"

Kazin's arm was beginning to get numb. Sarah hadn't relinquished her grip on it, nor had she deigned to notice him since Jaha had engaged her. Not that she bloody well would. Their little group is so tightly wound together I couldn't get a fingernail between them. He nursed his resentment with the wine in his other hand, and with silence.

Jaha shrugged, though he still looked rather disappointed. "So, hey, want to dance?"

Sarah laughed. "It might be a little hard, Jaha."

The dwarf grinned. "I'll have you know I'm twice the dancer one of your clumsy elves would be…" The grin slid off his face. "Uh… sorry Kazin."

Kazin took the opportunity to detach himself from Sarah's grip. "Not at all," he said coldly. "I confess, my skills for dancing are quite limited." He glanced at Sarah again, and said, "You should have fun anyway. I'm sure that it'll be an excellent experiment." He bowed his head. "If you'll both just excuse me then…"

"Sure. Oh!" Jaha called over his shoulder, "I think Slade was looking for you earlier, by the way."

Kazin nodded again. "Thanks." He trudged off towards an inconspicuous looking wall thinking, dammit, what was the point of that? So alright, it wasn't a good time for me or for her, but why should I care one way or the other? And it's hardly Jaha's fault that I didn't grow up with him.

"Kazin!"

Again? Bloody hell. Forcing a smile, Kazin turned. "Oh. Luke."

The prince of Bedoe indicated a seat. "If you'd sit with me?"

Kazin forced a laugh. "Why not? You have the wine."

Luke, the birdman prince of Bedoe, turned a sharp eye on Kazin. "Is this a bad time?"

"Now what on earth could make you think that," Kazin drawled. "We won the war, didn't we?"

"Bad times are the only ones I've gotten over the last several days," Luke responded. He added, "You might want to go easy on the wine, Kazin."

Kazin shrugged. "Whatever you say." It was good advice anyway, though Kazin was reluctant to admit that. He was a little drunk and very tired.

Luke spread one wing. "I'm sorry I stopped you, it's just that…" The birdman, dressed very richly for the event, even wearing his small crown, fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, Bowie trusts you. He listens to you."

"I am hardly the only one to hold that distinction. Shocking though it may seem, you apply to both of those as well."

"Kazin, be serious for a moment. Bowie's hardly met with me at all about the treaty with Bedoe, and King Granseal won't even talk to me."

Kazin sighed. People had a habit of spilling their confidences on him, and he didn't know why. It can hardly be because they think I don't judge people, I do. Perhaps logic does have some appeal to people after all. Dammed inconvenient habit, though. And frankly, Kazin was getting quite tired of it tonight. "Alright. I'll mention it to him."

Luke nodded his eyes keen. "Thank you." He hesitated a moment. "Do you… you don't seem to be enjoying yourself much."

"You try to entertain Lord Kronos for three bloody days."

Luke smiled. "Good point. I'd forgotten about that."

"Because you can afford to," Kazin agreed sourly.

"Gentlemen, might I join you?" Stepping out, seemingly from nowhere, Slade descended on them, nodding and smiling as was his wont.

Kazin sighed. "Jaha tells me you've been wanting to see me."

Slade's expression sharpened slightly. "Indeed. Tell me, Lord Kazin, do you see that grey-robed mage standing over there?" His paw was pointed halfway across the room, near King Granseal's dais.

Kazin frowned. "Aye… mage you say? I do feel his power." He shrugged. "What of it? Why are we watching him? Who is he anyway?" Better than contemplating Sarah, I suppose. This is no good anyway. I'm sobering up.

Slade smiled. "That is precisely what I want you to find out."

---

There were few things in life more pleasant than wine, or so it seemed to Zellar now. The insult implicit in the Galamani's presence seemed lessened somehow, and even the sting of losing the tourney was rather lessened. And anyway, only a fool turned up his nose at such good free wine.

Whistling lightly, Zellar strolled towards Bowie. Even Bowie seemed less hateful now. "Beautiful night, eh milord?"

Bowie, who had just finished a dance with the princess, spared Zellar only the briefest glance. "Yes. What do you want, Zellar?"

Zellar shook his head, still smiling. Not even Bowie could ruin a night of good wine, insulting or not. "I'm just spending company with you, milord. Have some wine." He followed Bowie's gaze across the room to where Princess Elis sat.

"Mmm!" He smacked his lips. "Tasty dish, eh milord? You're a lucky man. That bosom…" He winked.

Bowie said tightly, "You're out of line, Colonel."

Zellar's good temper began to fade. That this arrogant man just took it for granted that he was the better of them… Zellar could hear his father's whispered slurs. "I came here in friendship, milord."

Bowie yawned. "Yes. Well. Thanks for the wine."

Zellar's hand started to curl, when he saw something else that completely distracted him from Bowie. "What is he doing here," he blurted out, staring.

Bowie followed his gaze. "Oh, him? Some guest of Graig's, I think."

Without a further word, Zellar stalked off. He couldn't be certain, but he could almost swear that he'd just seen the mage, Clatt.

---

Gerhalt frowned skeptically at the report. The beastman had lived most of his life in the wild, though he'd been a nominal citizen of Polca. He shook his head, fixing the young soldier before him with a piercing glance. "That's impossible."

Squirming under the gaze, Sergeant Jellik protested, "But its true sir! The rat's nest isn't where it should be. We looked, and they're not there."

The other solider, a dour man by name of Clovis, nodded. "He's right." There was no 'sir' from Clovis.

Gerhalt considered the situation quickly. Bowie had told him that they were there to track down a possible infestation of rats, and some bandits as well. The beastman was honored that Bowie trusted him enough to see to internal Granserian affairs. But in order for that to be any good, he had to make this mission a success.

He paced round the encampment, knowing that this was a lesson not just for his two scouts, but for all the fifty-odd raw young soldiers under his command. "No, you're not thinking lads. Clovis," he said, cocking his head towards the young man. "They tell me that you were seasoned a bit in the final battle with Galam. Now tell me something, did the Galamani fight with any rats in their ranks?"

"No." There was a pause. "A few, sir. Some of the mages had a few."

"Exactly. Rats can be controlled by magic, though they're not particularly useful in any given fight. But if the Galamani were not using them at large…" He shrugged his shoulders. "Jellik, what might make rats migrate to a new nest?"

The sergeant started. "Well… lack of food or disease. Cold."

Gerhalt nodded. "Well said. It's not been fiercely cold, now has it lads? Plenty of food around. That leaves disease as possible… but you told me there were no rats left. Disease never kills them all off."

Jellik started again. "You mean… the bandits might have?"

Gerhalt smiled. "Excellent reasoning. Yes, they might, if the rats were getting too troublesome. The way to handle this, a second scouting mission. Pick up some more details while the rest guard the camp. You two with me."

Gerhalt was happy to be out in the field. And he was pleased with how little resistance he'd met from the troops. He hadn't been sure how Granserians would take to having a Parmecian commander, but aside from a little rudeness from a few like Clovis, his command had been uncontested. "Just lead me back to the same spot." They're a good bunch of kids too. Just the sort that will be able to secure Granseal's future. Bowie's plan has merit.

Really, it had been remarkably generous of Bowie to grant him this command.

---

It was a cacophony of drums, horns, strings. Bowie's head ached and his eyes watered. In one evening he'd seen more opulence than he'd previously seen in a lifetime. And it wasn't as though he had never seen opulence before. Traveling the kingdoms of Parmecia, Bowie had seen astoundingly rich displays.

Mayhaps I owe Graig an apology. The cost of this must be well beyond anything I could imagine.

Still, all things considered, the affair was going about as well as could be expected. At least nobody had tried to get a swing in at the Galamani. Yet.

A roar went up near the end of the table. Bowie half turned, but he could hear King Granseal's voice perfectly from where he was. "No! I am the king, you do not tell me what to do!"

Bowie frowned, finished turning. Minister Graig was sprawled across the floor, and King Granseal was on his feet, red-faced with drink and rage. What in the name of the gods…?

The green-robed minister picked himself up. "Aye. Aye, Sire." His voice was stiff with outrage as retook his seat. There was an uncomfortable silence up on the dais for a moment, until Princess Elis rose quickly.

:"Father. You need some more wine. I'll pour you some." The old man pulled his arm out of his daughter's grasp.

"King! That's me!" Ramming himself into his chair, he seized the goblet from Elis and downed it at a single gulp. "My command to give. If I want a head, I take it! King. Old and nobody can vanquish me! Giving him to us! They're giving him to us. A gift. To do with as the king pleases." He snatched a flagon from the table, gulping much of it down. "And they'll fear us now. Fear me. The king."

Minster Graig muttered, "This is not seemly."

Bowie laughed, though he didn't quite disagree. "His Grace is scarce drunker than General Mrell."

"That is not seemly either. But at least the general is a quiet drunk." Graig's face was disdainful. "Nor are you seemly," he muttered.

The music was still crashing through his head, too loudly. There was something wrong here, but Bowie couldn't think… "What was His Grace talking about?"

Graig ignored the question. Bowie's sense of unease deepened. For the first time he looked around the table. King Granseal was isolated from nearly all effective warriors in the room… but Bowie. Blast it! I'm letting Slade make me paranoid. And yet, looking around, all Bowie could see was privilege. Even Princess Elis… What is she? Vanity and pride. A cunt, a pretty face…

Suddenly all he could think of was his poor old mother, working so hard all her life to recover from losing her husband young, raising a son alone. What privilege was there for her? He was angry, absurdly angry. I'd sooner fuck a pig than the princess.

His rage was just formless however. There was no one to hit, no one to relieve him from the burden of suspicion, of being lowborn. There was nothing to relieve the tension of being the champion. And women like Elis, women of class had always been kept from him, but now that there was the prospect of having a woman like that, it sickened him. Privilege and empty vanity. Well, I'll prove it dammit.

He lurched to his feet, his eye caught by a bold-eyed serving wench. A lowly woman. Did she repulse him? Ha! Who cared? He stepped up, aggressively towards her. He'd prove it. A cunt and a pretty face indeed.

---

"It's working," Kronos muttered to Zocc, nervously keeping his eye on the proceedings.

"Naturally. You dance beautifully, Kronos. A pity you never told me."

"Shut up! This isn't one of your stupid japes. We should… now?"

Zocc frowned. "Should we not give it a little longer, in case-"

"Bowie just left the dais, you fool. As Shaita promised. Bowie is not there. We'll have no better chance than this."

Zocc shrugged. "As you say then. Now."

Kronos smiled slightly. The gambit was as tense as it ever had been, but the resolution to action was a tension that he was more comfortable with. His eye lingered for a moment on Lord Darell. "That one?"

Zocc nodded. "Before he was excellent. After Lord Kazin's… disquieting interest however, I should call him necessary. Don't worry about that. Give me just five minutes and he'll be dancing."

Kronos nodded, and then leaned over to Shaita. "It's ready?"

"My lord. Yes. Quite prepared. Should… should I…"

"No! Not yet. As soon as that one," he indicated Darell with the tilt of his head, "is dancing… then."

---

Gerhalt knelt down at the earth, frowning. "This is… blood." He looked up. "And a deserted camp. How…?"

Jellik looked nervous. "It wasn't like this when we were here…"

Gerhalt paced about, speculating. "But that indicates… if it's that recent." He turned a sharp glance to the ground. "The traces of their… the bandits I suppose they must be, the traces of their tracks…" It hit him. His legs started to shake. "Heading towards our camp."

An unfamiliar voice rang out. "Naturally. That was the idea the whole time. Glad you picked up on it though. I rather liked it myself." From out of one of the tents a scarred man stepped out. Two others joined him from different tents.

"Your orders, Lord Forsyth?"

The man flashed a mocking grin at Gerhalt as the beastman started to step deceptively back. With the scouts backing him, and a quick dash… "Yes indeed," Forsyth said, stroking the scar on his cheek. "We wouldn't want you to leave here entirely unchastened, so… we'll kill your men."

Gerhalt started to spring forward, confident that he had the surprise and thus, the advantage. A sword took him in the back.