First, he’d left his old leather armor at Water’s End.

  Second, though he’d get to carry a sword again, he’d be expected to forego the Brightstaff.

  Robes it was then.

  He washed quickly that morning, and dressed, and was not surprised to find his Knights of the Lake assembled in his sitting room. This morning, Deirdre was among them. The only one in leather armor instead of full plate, and the only one of them not wearing a Deepwater tabard. Though she had added a Deepwater patch to her armor at the left shoulder.

  She was also the only one of them wearing weapons as light as a rapier and dueling dagger. Of course, only a fool would think that made her an easier target than the others…

  “Marvelous look, your grace,” Deirdre said, smiling as her eyes scanned him head to toe. “Contrasts well with your grace’s skin and hair, while bringing out his eyes.”

  “Thank you, Deirdre,” Aefric said, immediately shifting his gaze to Beornric, who must’ve seen the question coming.

  “It is also Deirdre your grace can thank for stopping the two attempts yesterday.”

  “Hardly,” Deirdre said, scoffing. “They were just fools who had too much of drink and not enough of friends to keep them out of trouble. They hardly count as assassins, nor their efforts as attempts.”

  “Why would they come after me then?” Aefric asked.

  “Jealousy most likely,” Beornric said, stroking his mustaches. “I don’t think any of your grace’s policies so far would stir up discontent among the people.”

  “If they were even locals,” Vria said, her voice soft but firm. “Not everyone in that crowd was from Deepwater.”

  “True,” Arras said. “They might have been Malimfari, upset about Frozen Ridge. Perhaps having lost relatives, or—”

  “Nope,” Deirdre said casually, shaking her head. She flicked a speck of dust from her deep maroon leathers.

  “What do you mean, ‘nope?’” Beornric asked.

  “I mean that it wasn’t discontent or revenge,” she said with a small shrug, and turned to Aefric. “Beornric had the right of it, your grace. They were jealous that your grace has beauties like Sighild Ol’Masarkor fawning over him.”

  Everyone looked at Deirdre as though wondering how she knew this. Which made Aefric feel better, because he was on the verge of asking.

  Deirdre smiled, clearly relishing being the center of attention.

  “I believe I have proven to your grace,” she said, “that in addition to my rather significant skill at arms, I am a capable investigator?”

  One or two of the knights made small sounds of impatience. But Aefric remembered sending her on a mission to Ajenmoor. How she’d not only returned with more information than he’d expected, but also caused surprisingly little trouble in the process.

  “You have,” Aefric said, in tones meant to quiet interruption.

  “And as such,” Deirdre said, “when I spot trouble, if I have time, I try to understand that trouble before rooting it out. I find that leads to a more thorough solving of problems.”

  She gave a snort worthy of Yrsa.

  “And in this case,” Deirdre continued, sounding dismissive, “I had far more time than I needed to figure out not only what these two were up to, but why. I mean, before I put an end to it.”

  Aefric frowned. “When you say ‘put an end to it’…”

  “I didn’t kill them, your grace,” Deirdre said, grinning. “The baroness assigns a certain percentage of her soldiery to town watch duty during the Feast. I made sure that the troublemakers slept off their headaches in her lordship’s cells.”

  “Headaches from an excess of drink?” Beornric asked.

  “Well, that,” she admitted, before drawing her dueling dagger, flipping it in three tight rotations, and catching the handle again. “And the blows they suffered to the back of the head.”

  She mimed the movement, then sheathed her weapon and smiled.

  “I don’t believe anyone even saw me do it, your grace.”

  “Well done then, Deirdre. Thank you.”

  “A thing too small for thanks, your grace,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

  “Taking down two drunken, would-be assassins, perhaps,” Aefric said. “But doing so without permanent harm or any disruption of the Feast? That is a deed I wish to acknowledge with thanks.”

  “Then your grace is most welcome.”

  “Before we leave,” Arras said, stepping closer and lowering her voice a little. “Your grace should know that the second day of the Feast is known as the Day of Battle. The day is dedicated to tributes to the battle where Dereth Sehk claimed his great victory over the imperial forces of Orsk.”

  “That makes sense,” Aefric said, but Arras raised a halting hand.

  “It is said, your grace,” she continued, “that on their way to the battle, the nobles who served as officers kissed not only their own sweethearts, but anyone who wanted kissing before the battle. Noble or common alike. So if your grace kisses anyone before full sunrise, he should then expect to kiss any others nearby who want a kiss from him.”

  “Your knights have already done a fair amount of kissing before your grace joined us,” Deirdre said with a grin.

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Aefric said, chuckling. “Anything more I should know before we leave?”

  “There is one other small matter,” Beornric said. “A package arrived for your grace sometime yesterday. It was intended for delivery last night, but, well—”

  “Yes, Sighild had rather all of my attention when we reached my rooms.”

  Beornric gestured, and Wardius stepped forward, carrying a large, heavy leather book, along with a letter.

  “No magic,” Deirdre said. “I already checked.”

  “Thank you,” Aefric said, checking once more himself, to be sure, before standing the Brightstaff beside him and accepting the book and letter.

  The book’s title was A True History of the Great Battle of Dereth Sehk.

  Frowning, Aefric handed the book to Beornric and looked at the letter. It was sealed with a gauntleted fist. The sigil of the duchy of Merrek. But it was impressed in pale blue wax, not crimson. So it wasn’t officially from the duchess, but a member of her family.

  Aefric had a pretty good idea who sent it then.

  He opened the letter, and began to read.

  My dear Duke of Deepwater,

  If all goes well, your grace receives this book on the first night of the Feast of Dereth Sehk. I hope that your grace has enjoyed the Day of Challenges, and that he emerged victorious from the challenge he no doubt faced to begin the day.

  As I had the honor of first telling your grace the story behind the Feast, I had hoped to attend this year. But I place your grace’s wishes ahead of my own desires in this matter.

  I do, however, hold out hope that your grace will visit us at Fyrcloch. If only to investigate our vast library, and learn more of the history of Dereth Sehk, as well as any other such other matters as might pique his interest.

  Thus, do I present this book to your grace with my compliments. It is only an overview of the material, and incomplete, but it makes a good beginning for the study of Dereth Sehk.

  I hope that your grace will enjoy the book, and perhaps think well of me on occasion.

  Yours most sincerely,

  Zoleen Fyrenn

  Despite himself, Aefric found he was touched by the gesture. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge her?

  He shook his head. He couldn’t puzzle through the possibilities. Not here and now. But he would keep this in mind, for later.

  For now…

  “Thank you,” he said, gesturing for Beornric to set book and letter down on the table, beside the beautiful ivorywood statue of the rampant horse of Norra that Herewyn had sent after the dance. “Is there anything else?”

  “No, your grace,” Beornric said, handing the book and letter back to Wardius, who set them where Aefric had indicated. “Kian and Bess await without to guide us to the baronial box in the Teryrnon Grand Theater for breakfast and the day’s festivities.”

  Kian and Bess weren’t the only ones awaiting Aefric outside his rooms that morning. All twenty-four soldiers of his personal guard were mustered there.

  The servants, of course, were dressed in the pale blue livery of Norra — no battle dress for them — but the soldiers were even more kitted out for war than usual. Deepwater tabards over suits of chainmail that covered from coif to leggings. Longswords on their belts and pikes in their hands.

  And yet, this was almost exactly how his personal guards dressed every day. Was it the tabards that made the difference? No, they wore the tabards often when outside Water’s End.

  It might simply have been their bearing. Each of his soldiers seemed to take to heart the spirit of the day, and put a little extra into their movements and posture.

  Aefric almost felt as though he were actually being led to war as they marched down the stairs and out of the tower into the pre-dawn.

  The skies were a little cloudier that morning, and the air still chilly because the sun had not yet made its ascendance above the mighty conifers of Kerrik Forest to the east.

  Nevertheless, if anything, the streets teemed with even more people than the day before. Several thousand, already up and eager to get the day’s festivities underway.

  And from the smells, many of them never stopped drinking last night. Not even to bathe.

  Aefric found himself quite glad for the ring of knights and soldiers surrounding him. Not so much for safety — though the possibility of assassins kept his eyes moving — but because without them he might not have made it to the Teryrnon Grand Theater before noon.

  The streets were just that packed.

  Aefric and his company, however, had an interesting effect on foot traffic.

  At the head of Aefric’s group — just in front of the two guiding servants — marched a pair of his soldiers who called out every few steps, “Make way for his grace, the Duke of Deepwater.”

  And people did.

  From what Aefric could tell, they didn’t even seem to resent clearing space for him. If anything, they cheered him. A decent percentage of them, anyway. Though that might have been more out of joy of the Feast than because of anything Aefric had done to win their love.

  Alcohol might’ve been a factor as well.

  What was even more interesting, though, was that foot traffic was smoother once Aefric passed.

  It seemed that after people moved aside for him, everyone heading for the Grand Theater followed in his wake. Which made it easier for those few who were trying to go other directions — to one of the other theaters perhaps, or even just off in search of work or breakfast or perhaps their beds — to make progress along the sides.

  Either way, the dark skies overhead were just beginning to gray as Aefric reached the massive, oval structure of the Teryrnon Grand Theater. Truly amazing amounts of dark gray granite had gone into this edifice. Taller even than Herewyn’s tower, and perhaps almost as long as Aefric’s ducal castle, the Castle at Water’s End, was wide.

  The outside of the Grand Theater was lit by many torches in sconces. The sight of torchlight on such dark stone — especially with the skies above still more dark than light — made Aefric feel as though he were underground, on one of his old travels.

  Perhaps finding some lost, ancient ruin of a civilization that might have fallen before Orsk even developed his empire, oh so long ago.

  Aefric felt that good flutter in his belly. Not hunger — though that was there too — but adventure. Without even meaning to, he ignited the large, yellow diamond embedded in the top of the Brightstaff, to add more light as they approached the open doors.

  Beyond those doors he could see a wide staircase that followed the curve of the building left and would take him up to the baronial box.

  Guards outside those doors stood aside for Aefric’s party.

  As the last of Aefric’s trailing soldiers entered, those doors closed with the booming finality of a tomb.

  Aefric whirled. Raised one hand to force those doors open with magic, so that his exit would not be cut off if everything…

  He started laughing while his puzzled knights only just stopped themselves from drawing their weapons as they looked around for the threat their duke must’ve spotted.

  “Sorry,” Aefric said, a bit chagrined, as he closed his fist and tamped down the power he’d called up by reflex. “Old habit. Nothing more.”

  They started marching again up the stairs in that torchlit tunnel.

  So many boots on those granite steps. Even though the tunnel was more than wide enough and tall enough to easily accommodate Aefric and his knights and soldiers, still their boots echoed and echoed until it sounded as though he was surrounded hundreds of troops on those stairs.

  The sound brought a good smile to Aefric’s face. Reminded him of his exploration of newly renamed Castle Cairdeas, in Kivash. His knights had made much the same racket on those marble stairs.

  Although the sound echoed even more here, for the tunnel was tighter and longer. The design of the grand stairs in Cairdeas was far more open.

  They ascended about a hundred curving feet before reaching the end of the tunnel and stairs. The exit was guarded by two knights in full plate armor, with visors down, swords drawn and shields ready.

  They stopped the soldiers at the front of Aefric’s party.

  “Who approaches?” one of the knights said. Aefric couldn’t tell which one, but her voice was strong. A good voice for command.

  Seemed like an odd question though, considering that every knight and solider in Aefric’s company was wearing his ducal sigil.

  As he had done in answer to such challenges before, Beornric spoke for Aefric.

  “We are the party of his grace, Ser Aefric Brightstaff, Duke of Deepwater, Baron of Netar, and Hero of the Battles of Deepwater and Frozen Ridge. He has come at the invitation of her lordship, Baroness Herewyn Ol’Norette, for the festivities of The Day of Battle, the second day of the Feast of Dereth Sehk.”

  The guardian knight on Aefric’s left bowed.

  “His grace is known to all,” she said, “and his party is most welcome. Be it known also that Sers Beornric Ol’Sandallas and Deirdre Ol’Miri are invited to join their liege in the baronial box. All others must either stand guard in the hall, or, if they are knights, join their fellows in the knights’ box.”

  She and her fellow guardian knight both bowed, then moved aside to make room.

  Aefric and his party filed up the remaining stairs into an arched, candlelit granite hallway. The walls were lined with pike-bearing guards, fully kitted out in chainmail and helmet, with swords at their belts.

  Most of those guards wore the Norra tabard, but some wore that of Motte.

  Aefric’s soldiers peeled off to intersperse themselves among the other guards, as Beornric must’ve instructed them earlier.

  Aefric was surrounded only by his knights and the two servants when he reached the arched doorway on the right-hand side, which led into the baronial box.

  Beornric called the halt outside the box.

  “All right,” Beornric said. “Knights of the Lake, two hour rotations on guard duty. Micham. Vria. You’re up first. The rest of the you may relax in the knights’ box, which is…”

  He looked over at Kian, who bowed and said, “Stairs down, ser knight, just the other side of the baronial box.”

  “You heard Kian,” Beornric said, then turned to Aefric and bowed. “Whenever your grace is ready.”

  Aefric glanced at Deirdre, whose smile burned brighter in her jade green eyes than its ghost did on her lips.

  “I am always ready, your grace,” she said.

  Aefric turned then and led the way past two more of Herewyn’s knights — and a pair of Ferrin’s, by the seal of Motte on their tabards — and into the baronial box.

  Having been Duke of Deepwater for more than a season now, Aefric found that he was growing acclimated to a life of grandeur.

  The Castle at Water’s End was even grander and more beautiful than the royal palace at Armityr. When he was home, Aefric awoke every morning to a breathtaking view from his bedroom at a greater height than most keeps could boast from the tallest of their towers.

  Nevertheless, Aefric paused one step into the baronial box that morning, his breath stolen by the view before him.

  The box itself was both modest and elegant. Rather than simple granite benches, there were crafted granite chairs, with padded seats and backs for comfort. Granite braziers burned at the sides, chasing away the early morning chill, and filling the air with the pleasant scent of hickory.

  But what stole Aefric’s breath was the view beyond that.

  Herewyn had been calling this a theater — albeit a grand theater — but truly this was a coliseum. Vast benches, where thousands upon thousands upon thousands could sit and enjoy the spectacles that would be taking place in the arena before them.

  Aefric had never seen such a sight. Oh, as a child he’d stared up at the high walls of the coliseum in Sartis, and wondered at what went on inside.

  And in Goldenmoon, he’d received an invitation to some sort of summer games at their coliseum, but he’d been pressed for time and could not attend.

  Never had Aefric been inside such a magnificent structure. And certainly never had he seen one filling up with people, from the baronial box.

  No. Aefric had never seen such a thing.

  But when he had been the man called Keifer McShane, he had. Back in Oregon, on Earth, Keifer had attended college football games in structures that could almost compare to this one. But even those had been of steel and concrete, made with all the technical skill that twenty-first century American engineers could bring to bear.

  This coliseum here in Asarchai, though. This was all spell-fashioned from granite. A true masterwork of its kind.