“Of course,” Aefric said. “And if you wish, in time, you might be allowed to visit him as well.”

  Aefric doubted that very much, but the poor things looked too heartbroken already.

  “But I must ask, Mayor Brangton,” Aefric said. “If you have not been troubled this morning over thoughts of missing the boy when he leaves, what then troubles you so?”

  “Oh,” Mayor Brangton said. “Forgive me, your grace. I’ve just had a rika from my son. Negotiations in Ajenmoor … are not going well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Aefric said. “May I ask what the matter is? I might be able to assist.”

  “Your grace is most kind and generous,” Mayor Brangton said, sounding much more himself. “But this is a simple matter of business. And as the business is personal, not that of the town, I would not feel right about exploiting your grace’s generosity for my personal gain.”

  Leca’s eyes actually widened in surprise for a moment, before she caught herself and put her smile back in place. But when she met Aefric’s eyes, he had no doubt.

  The mayor was lying.

  The only question was, about what?

  Aefric had originally intended to board the Calming Influence at about dawn, and be back at Water’s End by midmorning.

  He should have known that leaving Lachedran would not be so simple. He really should have. A full season now, he’d been a duke. He’d had plenty of time to adjust to the realities of travel as a noble, compared to travel as an adventurer.

  The problem was that for the last several days, he’d been living like an adventurer again. Out in the field. Handling his own backpack. Camping every night.

  Old habits of thought and expectation had come back quite easily.

  When Aefric had been traveling on his own, or with an adventuring band, leaving anyplace was rarely more complicated than gathering together his pack, and either setting out on foot or ahorse.

  As a duke, nothing was ever quite so simple.

  First, it was expected that he wouldn’t gather his own possessions, for travel. He was supposed to send someone for them. Of course, given that Aefric’s backpack was sitting in a chest locked by magic, this was not an option.

  And yet, explaining this fact to the mayor’s majordomo took longer than Aefric would have needed to just retrieve the backpack himself in the first place.

  Didn’t help that the majordomo, Pleton, was an officious, furtive little man in black velvet, who seemed to look more and more ratlike, the longer Aefric had to deal with him.

  Likely that was just Aefric’s irritation.

  Likely.

  Even after the backpack issue was resolved, Aefric still had to wait while his clothes and other belongings were fetched by servants. Because that was how things were done.

  And then the majordomo smelled those clothes with his twitching little nose, and took his servants to task for not having had their duke’s garments cleaned the night before.

  A high-pitched tongue-lashing that might have gone on for some time, had Aefric not, finally, cleared his throat loudly.

  Even then, Aefric had wasted more time explaining to the majordomo that no shame would fall on the mayor’s household if their duke returned to Water’s End with a pack full of smelly clothes.

  The majordomo refused to believe this, until Aefric finally insisted that he did not have time to wait while his clothes were cleaned.

  At that point, Leca had to step in and speed up the process. The mayor himself was busy, though whether that was with town matters or personal matters Aefric didn’t know.

  Once Leca became involved, the leaving process accelerated. She clearly knew how to run the household and the majordomo. She even made sure that Edric was dressed in a fine tunic and breeches for the trip. And he carried the rest of his belongings in a small, brown canvas pack. His wide eyes looked torn somewhere between terror and excitement.

  Nevertheless, even with Leca’s aid, it was almost midmorning by the time Aefric got to say his goodbyes to the mayor — who would not miss his duke’s departure, of course — Leca, the children, and Sufidia.

  Aefric’s knights and troops — along with Edric, and a covered cart carrying the soldiers who fell in the Dragonscar — were gathered on the cobblestones outside the mayoral buildings. Ser Yrsa had already reported that all were present and accounted for, save the six who were in the healers’ care. Further that all of Aefric’s people had reported being fed and treated well during their night in Lachedran.

  It was already a warm morning, and the fresh smell of the lake was calling to Aefric. As he mounted Windsong and took his place flanked by Sers Yrsa and Beornric near the head of their procession, Aefric started to believe he might get back on something like a reasonable schedule.

  If the winds were fair. And from the snap of his banner, held aloft by the soldier riding behind Aefric, the winds showed promise.

  The delays, however, were not over.

  Aefric had raised his hand to give the order to move out, when the majordomor cried, “Wait!” and came running up, waving his little hands.

  The man really should have had a tail to stroke nervously.

  Before Aefric could even ask, the reason for this delay became apparent.

  Mayor Brangton, Leca, and Sufidia came trotting up on dappled geldings, with the children following behind, on ponies.

  “Come, your grace,” Mayor Brangton said with a smile so bright that Aefric immediately felt suspicious. “Let us see you to your ship.”

  Spear-carrying town guards walked ahead of the procession, ostensibly to clear a path.

  A task that became necessary sooner than Aefric would have believed.

  The area of that small square in front of the mayoral buildings had been kept clear, it turned out, while most of the population of Lachedran had been working their way down towards the docks.

  Some on foot, some riding, and some in carts and wagons. But they were all coming to the docks. And had been, for quite some time. And it didn’t look as though any of them had come for their usual daily work.

  No. Aefric had the building suspicion that the better part of Lachedran’s population had gathered down by the docks, for no other reason than to see their duke on his way.

  In fact, there were already food peddlers moving among the crowd to sell their wares.

  And that wasn’t all.

  The docks of Lachedran were made from pale wood. Likely beech. And every so often, at the base of the piers, raised platforms had been built, where fish were sorted. And possibly sold.

  Once such platform had been cleared of fish. Recently, by the smell. And a small brass band had set up in one corner.

  The brass band started playing a fanfare as Aefric and the others approached.

  Aefric once more considered simply taking to the air and flying back to Water’s End. Surely no one could blame him…

  No. No. No point in offending an entire town. Whatever was coming, he could handle it.

  And so, a short time later, he found himself standing on that platform, along with Sers Yrsa and Beornric — with Edric half-hiding behind Ser Beornric — the mayor, his wife, his children, and Sufidia.

  The town guard had tried to form a ring at the bottom of the platform. Aefric’s knights and troops handled it themselves.

  The midsummer sun had started beating down heavily now, and the day would be hot already if not for the building westerly wind. Which was in Aefric’s face as he looked over the crowd.

  Aefric had to swallow his frustration, though. Because when he looked out over the crowd, he saw eager faces gazing up at him. Some of them were calling his name or wishing the gods’ blessings on him. Others were praising him as the Hero of Deepwater, or the Hero of Frozen Ridge.

  Suddenly he realized that this little bit of … pageantry was important to the people of Lachedran, not just their mayor.

  Aefric felt his stomach twist into knots.

  All these people. He’d never meet most of them. Not personally. He’d never know their names. Never know if they had good, happy lives or sad, miserable lives. Most of them would live — however long they lived — and never even see him again.

  And yet, every day he made decisions that affected them. From little things like the details of trade agreements he brokered or arranged, to taxes and construction efforts, to the potentially large things like that gold in the Dragonscar.

  Every one of these people would flourish or suffer by what he did as duke. And not just them. Thousands and thousands of others, all across his lands. And their children and grandchildren.

  All these people, smiling and waving and wishing him well. They were missing work for this. For some of them, this would be a moment they talked about later. The day they saw the duke.

  They would remember what he wore. How he behaved, up here on this stage before them.

  Aefric owed these people the best he could do for them.

  And right now, that meant smiling and waving. Meeting eyes where he could.

  “Good people of Lachedran,” the mayor boomed out, and at his words the crowd grew quiet to listen. “Thank you all for taking time out of your busy days for the unexpected blessing of our duke’s presence. His grace returns to us after facing horrors on our behalf.”

  A gasp from the crowd.

  “His grace personally stood to battle with smugglers.”

  A few outcries from the crowd, likely from merchants.

  “His grace personally stood to battle with slavers.”

  At that, the whole crowd seemed to call out their anger with one voice.

  “And yet, through the grace of the gods, the magic of his calling, and the strong arms of his warriors, our duke returns to us triumphant!”

  The mayor gave the crowd a moment to cheer their duke.

  Aefric did his best to keep his smile in place. Inwardly he hoped no skald started calling him the Hero of Dragonscar or similar rubbish.

  Frankly, talking about those fights just made Aefric wonder how Karbin was doing, tracking the slaver ring. If the refugees had been given homes and work yet. How Ge’rek and Po’rek were doing up in the Dragonscar…

  “His grace will now return to Water’s End,” the mayor continued. “But I knew that before he left, his people here in Lachedran would wish to convey their thanks for all he has done for them.”

  The cheer that followed was embarrassingly loud.

  “And now,” the mayor said, giving Aefric a smile, “perhaps his grace would be so kind as to favor us with a few words about his battles, before he leaves?”

  Aefric stomach sank and his mouth went dry.

  Yes. He definitely should have just flown back to Water’s End.

  Somehow the morning sun, here on this fish-smelling platform above the Lachedran docks, felt hotter than it had a moment before.

  The wind was blowing. Aefric knew that. He could feel it on his face. But he couldn’t hear that wind to save his life. No. His ears were far too busy listening to the rush of his racing blood.

  Compared to that sound, the huge crowd gathered here on the pale wood of the docks seemed to be completely silent. Waiting to hear their duke … what?

  Give them a speech? About battles?

  What in the thirteen hells had the mayor been thinking? Asking for Aefric to “say a few words” about battles against smugglers and slavers.

  And yet, Aefric had to say … something.

  He found himself remembering his life a world away. A life in which he was known as Keifer, and lived in a country where leaders were elected, not born or made.

  A world where those leaders had to win favor with speeches. Interviews. Debates.

  As Keifer, he had heard the words of politicians on many occasions. And a key point that had frustrated him then might be of use to him now.

  Those politicians, they never answered questions. Not really. Instead, they simply took the opportunity provided by a question to talk about whatever they wanted to talk about in the first place.

  The mayor wanted Aefric to give the people of Lachedran a brief speech? Well, fine. He could do that. And he didn’t have to talk about anything as … distasteful as recounting a battle.

  Aefric smiled as he stepped forward. He gave a quick nod to the mayor and his family — getting bows from them in return — then turned to the crowd.

  He raised his free hand. He was tempted to call light out of the Brightstaff in his other hand, but given the strength of the morning sun, the effect wouldn’t be very impressive anyway.

  “Good people of Lachedran,” Aefric said. “It brings me great pleasure to be among you today, after spending the night in your delightful town.”

  There was a burble of approval from the crowd, so Aefric waited a moment for it to die down.

  “I even got to partake of some of your marvelous cuisine. Your delicious spiced greens, your lake fish and lamb. And perhaps most important, the very variety of sausage made in this area since before there was a town.”

  The townsfolk’s approval was louder this time, and full of pride.

  “I found the local fare clever, with strong roots, and a hint of spiciness,” Aefric said. “Rather like the people, I expect.”

  That got him some cheers.

  “Would that I could pass a full aett here in Lachedran, getting to know your town and its people. But an aett would not be enough. I would need at least a season. And still I would fall short.”

  Aefric hadn’t planned to pause after that line, but the crowd didn’t give him any choice. They cheered louder yet.

  “But as your duke, my first thought must never be of my own desires and pleasures, but the duties that I owe to my people. And so, much as I might enjoy staying here all the way through the harvest festival, I must set sail this morning for Water’s End. Duty calls, and I must answer.”

  Mixed response to that one. Some were cheering, but others actually called for him to stay.

  “As your mayor mentioned, there have been problems with smugglers and slavers. I would see those problems ended. And that’s not all.”

  They were quiet now, listening, and Aefric let them wait just a moment before he continued, in somber tones.

  “We saved refugees, in those battles. People just like yourselves, save that they were displaced by the Godswalk Wars. Destitute, they wandered, seeking new lives, new homes, only to find themselves snatched up by slavers.”

  The crowd began to jeer the slavers. Aefric spoke louder to be heard above them.

  “I won’t have it. I will find homes for those refugees, here in Deepwater. I will find work for those refugees, here in Deepwater. And I will work to find all the people of Deepwater, commoner and noble alike, who were displaced during the wars. And I will see them restored.”

  The crowd roared its agreement.

  “Now, I know this is a large task,” Aefric said. “And I know that I will need the help of many to see it through. But the process must begin somewhere. And the process must begin sometime. And I say that this process will begin today. Right here in Lachedran!”

  The crowd’s approval bordered on frenetic.

  Mayor Brangton began to step forward, as though Aefric were giving him a cue.

  Aefric gestured to the mayor and said, “Now, I know that Mayor Brangton would be only too happy to undertake this task on my behalf.”

  The mayor started to raise his hands to speak. But Aefric kept talking.

  “But I also know that Mayor Brangton keeps a very busy schedule just looking after the interests of this marvelous town. And this is not a town matter. This is a duchy matter. I would not steal your mayor’s time for my own project.”

  The mayor frowned, but lowered his hands.

  “And so,” Aefric said, “I would charge his wife, Karaleca Ol’Nara, with this task. If she is willing.”

  Aefric turned and looked at Leca.

  She looked astonished, but the smile she gave Aefric was both sincere and determined.

  She stepped forward.

  “Your grace,” she said in carrying tones, “I would be both pleased and proud to see to this task. I will form a committee and begin the process this very day!”

  The crowd cheered.

  “Then I am twice blessed that I came to Lachedran,” Aefric said, addressing the crowd. “And I may leave you now, confident that Lachedran will lead the way once more, and help me help those who believe they have lost everything. Good people of Lachedran, I thank you.”

  As the crowd cheered, Aefric turned to Mayor Brangton and Leca.

  “Mayor Brangton, I thank you again for your hospitality. You have an excellent town here, and I know that you will continue to steer it in the right direction.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” Mayor Brangton said, and bowed.

  “Leca, thank you for agreeing to be part of my vanguard in this. It’s important to me that we find all those displaced by the wars, and I know that you will do the job well.”

  “I am grateful for the opportunity, your grace,” she said with a bow. “I will find all those who have been lost.”

  “I’ll want you to coordinate with my historian, as well,” Aefric said. “She has all the records, as well as copies of all the patents of nobility. After all, there might be those who try to fake their way to an elevated status. I won’t have that either.”

  “I will be careful, your grace.”

  “I know you will.” Aefric turned to the town wizard. “Sufidia, it was a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps next time we can discuss arcane matters.”

  “Nothing would please me more, your grace,” she answered with a creaky bow.

  “And now,” Aefric said, turning to Sers Beornric and Yrsa. “Can you get us to the ship?”

  “I’ll see to it at once, your grace,” Ser Beornric said.

  Good. Because the morning grew later, and Aefric still had much to do.

  At long last, Aefric stood stood aboard the Calming Influence, right at the bow of the ship. So close that he could touch the figurehead, if he had any interest in touching a representation of a water nymph. Which he did not.

  The great, three-masted warship weighed anchor, turned its sails to the wind, and began cutting water on its way out of the harbor.