He was pleased to note his off-duty Knights of the Lake scattered among the tables, all dressed in their finery.

  He reached the dais, where he was grateful to realize that he was not the last to arrive. Herewyn was not here yet, which he considered right and proper. These were her lands, after all, and this her party. She should get to make the grand entrance.

  Several others were already on the dais, though.

  Aefric’s eyes went first to Sighild who wore a turquoise blue gown, with sleeves and skirts slashed with crimson. She wore bracelets of woven gold, and her low neckline was highlighted by a pendant that mixed rubies and pale sapphires in an interesting design.

  She wore her shimmering red hair in a long twist, kept in place by some kind of woven gold.

  Chatting with Sighild — and apparently having trouble keeping his gaze above her neckline — was Count Ferrin, who wore a tunic of cloth-of-gold over silver hose.

  The man’s tunic was so shiny that Aefric couldn’t actually tell at first if he was wearing any additional jewelry.

  He probably was. He seemed to favor excess that way.

  Also involved in the conversation were Ler Gwalter, dressed in bright reds and blues, Ser Pemith, who favored dark greens and browns, and a woman Aefric didn’t know.

  That woman had pale brown skin, and long, dark curly hair. She wore a gown of bright orange in a shade that suited her skin tones, slashed here and there with canary yellow. She wore gold rings on two fingers — one anchored by a ruby, the other a garnet — and a necklace of thick gold.

  “Your grace,” Ferrin said, inviting Aefric and Beornric to join the conversation while Leppina and Temat did their best to fade into the background, like the other guards Aefric noted here and there around the perimeter. “I don’t believe you’ve met Ler Onoalla Ol’Errekre.”

  “I am most pleased to meet your grace,” the newcomer said with a bow, “about whom I have, of course, heard a great deal.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Ler Onoalla,” Aefric said, offering a slight bow in return. “And this is Ser Beornric Ol’Sandallas, one of my most important advisers.”

  “Ler Onoalla,” Ser Beornric said with a bow, while she saluted him by making a fist and grasping the wrist behind it.

  “Was just telling his excellency and the others,” Onoalla continued, “that I hated to miss so much of the Feast, but I was delayed in the south.”

  “Nothing too serious, I hope,” Aefric said.

  “More of an irritation than a real problem,” she said with a small smile. “And surely nothing that would require your grace’s attention.”

  Before Aefric could ask — because that answer had made him only more curious — the baroness was announced.

  The attention of the room shifted to the entryway, and Aefric realized that no one had resumed sitting yet.

  Did they stay standing while waiting for the baroness? Would they not be allowed to sit until she did? Or perhaps not until Aefric did?

  These were the smaller details of life as an Armyrian noble that Aefric had yet to master.

  In any event, Herewyn made quite an entrance.

  She was dressed in a gown of vivid purple silk, slashed at the sleeves and skirts with burnt orange lace. She wore a pair of gold bracelets on each wrist, and a delicate gold chain around her neck that ended in a piece of jewelry that combined amethysts and citrines.

  She wore her long, shimmering red hair down, draped around her shoulders.

  All eyes stayed on Herewyn as she moved through the room, acknowledging bows and salutes with a smile here and a word there.

  As she ascended the steps to the dais, she gave Aefric a broad smile and said, “As all of Norra is yours, your grace, I offer my liege his choice of seats. If your grace wishes the head of the table for the celebration on the Day of Battle, I am more than happy to cede it to him.”

  “Some would say that the seat properly belongs to Dereth Sehk,” Gwalter said softly, “who might be most appropriately represented by your grace.”

  Aefric shook his head with a smile that matched the baroness’. Though her words had been conversational, he let his voice project as he replied.

  “It is your lordship who has brought us all together. Your lordship who has made all the arrangements for not only the great battle, but what I am sure will be an excellent celebration to follow. If any of us could be said to hold the role of Dereth Sehk today, I would say it is your lordship.”

  Herewyn looked astonished, and more than a little moved by Aefric’s words, while cries of agreement sounded around the hall.

  “Well, then,” she said, bowing to Aefric, “it shall be as your grace suggests. And I trust he will consent to sit at my right hand?”

  “It would be my honor,” Aefric said.

  They took their seats then. Sighild to Aefric’s right, and Ferrin straight across from him. Across from Sighild sat Onoalla, then Beornric and Pemith, with Gwalter sitting at the foot of the table.

  Musicians in one corner of the room struck up a jaunty tune, and the feast was ready to begin.

  The feast itself, Aefric was told, was based on what historians believed the people actually ate in celebration, following the great battle. So instead of several courses full of delicate flavors that showcased the skills of the local chefs, the meal was simple.

  Boar steaks, roasted together with spices and root vegetables. Served with oat bread that was heavy on the honey, because historians insisted that the refugees had no cattle, and thus, no butter.

  And to drink, lots of mead. Not a sweet mead, though, but one brewed with a spicy tang reminiscent of cinnamon.

  For dessert, apple pie, which was likely far flakier and crispier than anyone had been up to baking in the hours following the actual battle.

  But Aefric wasn’t one to quibble.

  Conversation over dinner was simple, and focused largely on Dereth Sehk. Especially — and this was a lively discussion that took most of the meal — the question of whether or not any kindaren had taken part in the battle.

  According to Herewyn, sources conflicted, so every three years they were given representation — proportional to the number of scholars who insisted that the kindaren had, indeed taken part in the battle.

  Ferrin and Gwalter, however, both argued strenuously that kindaren had played a key role. And that a kindaren named Elsinet had been a key adviser to Dereth Sehk, and that her exclusion from the festivities was just this side of criminal.

  Sighild supported her cousin, and the argument grew heated. Both sides flung the names of scholars back and forth like weapons.

  Aefric, surrounded entirely by the argument — and he was pretty sure he heard it carry on to other tables down below the dais — simply lacked the frame of reference to keep up, let alone participate.

  At least, until old memories surfaced…

  Back on Earth, in another lifetime, he had known the world of Qorunn only through the roleplaying game sourcebooks of The Torn Kingdoms, supposedly created by Del Baker.

  He had remembered from those books that Dereth Sehk played a role in the history of this part of the continent. But since that era had been thousands of years before what Keifer McShane had thought of as “the playable era,” he’d only ever skimmed it.

  But something about this argument made him remember more.

  The story of Dereth Sehk had been around since the first edition of The Torn Kingdoms Campaign Setting. But it had changed in the third edition. The story as presented in the third and fourth editions of the setting included kindaren among the armies gathered by Dereth Sehk.

  But when fifth edition came out, some continuity editor noticed a timeline problem between the first appearances of kindaren in the setting and the Great Victory of Dereth Sehk.

  Kindaren were excluded again.

  Sixth edition was due to come out, back on Earth. If it hadn’t come out already. Aefric didn’t know if there was a time differential between Earth and Qorunn.

  Were all of these people around him debating a historical point because of inconsistencies in previous editions of the game? Or was the question arising because kindaren were being added back to the armies of Dereth Sehk in the sixth edition, and so new information would soon come to light, confirming the kindaren role in the battle?

  Or was it the other way around? Did the editions of the game vary because of the work of conflicting scholars on Qorunn?

  Aefric found himself wondering once more just what the relationship was between Qorunn, the actual world he now lived in, and Qorunn, the setting of a roleplaying game on Earth.

  And just what role did Del Baker, “creator” of The Torn Kingdoms, play in all this?

  Aefric was pondering all of this through dessert — while the argument had been flowing steadily the whole time — but suddenly realized that everyone at the table was looking at him, expectantly.

  “Your grace?” Herewyn said.

  “Forgive me,” Aefric said. “I’ve done my best to follow all of the arguments and citations and quotations from various sources. But if you are expecting me to settle the issue, I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “Your grace has no opinion then,” Ferrin said, “on the presence of kindaren among the armies of Dereth Sehk?”

  “Dereth Sehk was, I fear, only a vague name to me just a season ago.” He smiled at the surprised looks on several faces. “You must all remember that I’m from Sartis originally. And though I’ve traveled far and wide, I spent little time around Armyr until late in the Godswalk Wars.”

  “They speak little of Dereth Sehk down in Sartis, then?” Onoalla asked.

  “Not at all,” Aefric said, shaking his head. “They give their attention to their own heroes down there.”

  “As they should,” Herewyn said, smiling. She raised her glass of mead. “To all the heroes from every corner of Qorunn. Historians may dispute their details, but we all owe them great thanks for their deeds.”

  “To the heroes!” Aefric echoed, raising his goblet in confirmation.

  The call was echoed around the hall, and everyone drank.

  “And perhaps by the next feast,” Herewyn said with a teasing tone, “your grace will be expert enough to enter into the kindaren debate?”

  “Perhaps,” he said, smiling. “But I wonder if it is wise to resolve the question. After all, you would no longer have your lively debate. An annual event, I presume?”

  “A tradition unto itself,” Sighild said, but Ferrin laughed approvingly.

  “Your excellency?” Herewyn asked.

  “Your grace is too subtle,” Ferrin said, smiling. He turned to Herewyn. “His grace just implied that if he turns his attention to the study of Dereth Sehk, by the next Feast he would not only develop his own opinion, but resolve the very question of kindaren involvement itself.”

  “Here, here,” Gwalter said, toasting Aefric, while Beornric and Pemith both exchanged glances and hid behind reserved smiles. Onoalla and Sighild both raised their eyebrows at Aefric. And Herewyn chuckled as she turned to him.

  “I will admit that, as a wizard, your grace has likely spent more time at study than everyone else at this table combined,” Herewyn said. “But I trust even a brief exposure to this debate makes clear to your grace that the nobility of Norra” — she nodded to Ferrin — “and Motte” — she turned back to Aefric — “have devoted considerable attention to the matter through the years.”

  “I do not wish to impugn the efforts of any, let alone my hostess and her esteemed guests,” Aefric said. “I do not know that I would be able to resolve this question, even if I should have as much time to research the matter as I would like.”

  “Which you won’t, your grace,” Beornric said. “I can almost promise that.”

  “I mean only that the years have taught me that I approach scholarship differently than most. While I have no doubt that all of you have done a great deal of focused research on Dereth Sehk, his battle, and the times and events around it, I myself would approach the question differently.”

  “How?” Hereyn asked, cocking her head curiously.

  “Oh, don’t answer, please, your grace,” Ferrin said with a sly smile. “Let us all be amazed by your grace’s discoveries at the Feast next year.”

  This was a trap. Aefric had been an adventurer too long not to recognize one when he saw it.

  But some traps were worth springing, so he smiled as he answered.

  “Very well, then. I shall do such research as I can over the coming year, and present on my findings at next year’s Feast.”

  “I look forward to hearing the results,” Herewyn said, her voice somewhere between cautious and curious.

  Aefric looked forward to that himself.

  One year of research, to answer a question that had clearly been debated for decades. Perhaps longer.

  And an even deeper question than that.

  Would Aefric’s research here in Qorunn affect the answer published in the sixth edition of The Torn Kingdoms Campaign Setting on Earth? Or would Del Baker’s choices in publishing the campaign setting affect the outcome of Aefric’s research?

  That was the question he truly wanted answered. If only he could think of a way to get that answer.

  But Herewyn distracted Aefric from such thoughts by standing. No need for special hand signs here in the great hall of her own keep. When the baroness stood, all eyes turned to her and conversations around the hall died out.

  “Last night,” she said, “this hall was transformed by our dancing into a place of tribute. And while it would be easy enough for the servants to clear away the tables and chairs for a grand ball, this year I have something better in mind.”

  She paused, while the crowd murmured speculations about what the baroness might be planning.

  “Now,” she said, getting the hall’s attention again. “In the past, we have sometimes used three smaller halls for our dancing following the Day of Battle.” She tossed her hair slightly. “And I believe some of you made interesting use of the alcoves.”

  There were murmurs of amusement all around.

  “But this year, in honor of the first attendance of our new duke, I thought we would do something different.”

  She clapped her hands, and a series of pages came in, one approaching each table, while the eldest — a dark young man who had to be close to his majority — approached the baronial table.

  “If you would all please follow your pages,” Herewyn said. “They know the order in which to lead you.”

  There was the sound of over a hundred chairs scraping their legs back over the granite floor as people began to stand and file out — accompanied by a good deal of lively speculation — to see what their baroness had planned.

  “Noble guests,” the senior page said, addressing Aefric and the others at the baronial table, “as we have a moment before it is our turn to leave, may I call for anything? More food or drink, perhaps?”

  “Ishka,” Herewyn said, smiling. “I think we should all drink a toast, before we adjourn to the dancing.”

  The senior page gestured to the servants, and a bottle of ishka was brought forth, along with several small silver cups. A measure of brown liquor was poured into each of the cups, which were handed out to Herewyn and her guests.

  She stood, not yet raising her cup.

  “As this is the Feast of Dereth Sehk,” she said, “I know it is expected that we drink to him.” She gave a conspiratorial smile then. “But technically we are between events, and I wish to take advantage of that for a different toast. Do we have any objections?”

  No one at the table spoke up against her plan.

  “Excellent,” she said, and raised her cup. “To all the heroes of the Godswalk Wars. To those living” — she nodded to Aefric — “and those who gave their lives for others. May their efforts and their sacrifices buy us a thousand years of peace and prosperity.”

  “Here, here,” Gwalter said, standing and raising his cup in confirmation.

  All around the table, then, everyone stood and raised their cups in confirmation of the toast.

  As one, they drank.

  The ishka was strong enough to burn on its way down, but its taste was full and rich, with a hint of almonds.

  “Mountain Home ishka?” Aefric asked.

  “The best in all Armyr,” Herewyn said with a smile.

  The room was almost completely clear by then, and the senior page stepped up and said, “Your grace, your lordship, your excellency, and all true knights and lers, the way is prepared.”

  “Excellent,” Herewyn said. “By all means. Lead us to the dance!”

  The senior page led Aefric and the others up to the roof, where servants had done a great deal since the night of Aefric’s arrival in Asarchai.

  The raised platform in the middle was now a small banquet, where drinks and more food were available, in case anyone didn’t get enough at dinner.

  The edges of the roof were lined with tall, thick bushes, laden with dark red berries, that sweetened the air with a fresh, somewhat familiar scent.

  Then Aefric recognized those berries from his travels. He’d never learned the official name for them, but he knew that they were juicy and had a sweet, tangy taste that swept the mouth clean after only … a few swallows...

  He chuckled. Breath fresheners.

  The bushes that lined the perimeter — and there were more that created private nooks and alcoves here and there, as well as what looked like a small maze — all that same type. So wherever people went on the roof, breath fresheners would be within easy arm’s reach.

  Kind of went with the mood lighting.

  The skies were clear, with only a sliver of moon. So most of the light came from soft, twinkling yellow lights that flitted about, brightening the night to a comfortable dimness that suggested intimacy.

  Illusions, of course, those flitting lights. Burrew’s work, which suggested that during her apprenticeship she had, indeed, studied at least a few spells outside of the magic of clay and stone.