Zoleen frowned, with a slight pout that Aefric suspected was deliberate.

  “I have?” she asked.

  “Think back to what I told you before I sent you away. Assuming you didn’t tune me out as you do Ashling.” He moved toward the door. “Thank you for the ride.”

  Zoleen still hadn’t spoken again when he stepped out of the carriage.

  Aefric wondered what it said about her that she’d missed the most important point.

  Right now, Aefric couldn’t trust her.

  2

  Zoleen’s carriage rolled off along the cobbled street into the midday heat. Slowly, so that her guards could keep pace on foot.

  On foot. That was odd. Why not just bring horses for her…

  Oh. Of course. They were pikemen. Fighting with a pike from horseback would take training most soldiers wouldn’t have.

  And the carriage could have only gone so fast anyway. The street was certainly busy enough, with traffic both on foot and ahorse, including hand-drawn carts and horse-drawn carriages.

  No other magical conveyances nearby.

  Aefric was drawing a lot of attention, though. Not that this was a surprise. He was the only person in the area surrounded by nine knights and more than sixty soldiers.

  Wait.

  Nine knights? The Knights of the Lake were seven, including Ser Beornric. Ser Yrsa made eight, and the ninth—

  “Your grace.” Ser Deirdre Ol’Miri dropped to one knee — as she always seemed to insist on doing, even though it wasn’t appropriate. She gave Aefric a rakish smile. “Welcome to Kivash.”

  Ser Deirdre wasn’t just any knight. She was a dweomerblade, one who trained in a way that interwove both magic and martial skills.

  Where the other knights around her wore full plate (excepting Sers Yrsa and Beornric today), she wore leathers of deep maroon red.

  Where the others favored broadswords or longswords (maces in Ser Yrsa’s case), Ser Deirdre wore a rapier and dueling dagger.

  And she’d more than earned the confidence in her bearing. Aefric wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her match with a blade.

  Ser Deirdre was also startlingly pretty, with her burgundy hair bound in a braid most of the way down her back. And her jade green eyes always seemed to sparkle with a joke she hadn’t let the world in on.

  “Rise, Ser Deirdre,” Aefric said, one eyebrow high. “I wasn’t aware you’d be meeting me here.”

  “I am here at the request of your grace’s general,” she said, clearly enjoying herself. “She wished me to check the lay of the land here in Kivash, before your grace set boot upon cobble.”

  “Anything I should know?”

  “Many things, I suspect. But about Kivash, they believe your grace could stop the sun in the sky, if he had a mind to.”

  Damn it. That statement should have irritated Aefric. After all, it implied that they were even more afraid of him than he thought.

  But Ser Deirdre, she had this way of making him laugh. Even when she said things that shouldn’t be funny.

  He held back from laughing this time, but he could tell she saw the laughter in his eyes, and the sight widened her smile.

  “But all appears to be secure around your grace’s new castle.” She stepped back and gave a wave of her arm, as though presenting the castle to Aefric herself.

  Aefric knew from the drawing he’d been given that the castle had two walls. One around its perimeter, and the other in closer to the castle itself.

  At the moment he could only see the one.

  Down here at street level, the outer wall stood roughly three times Aefric’s height, and likely of a decent enough thickness. The outside was impressively smooth. And also looked to have been recently washed, because it wasn’t notably dirty. A tricky thing, with white stone.

  No guards visibly patrolled the wall at the moment, which he found interesting.

  Had Ashling’s soldiers already been removed?

  As for the castle itself, what little Aefric could see from his current angle, it also looked to have been built from that white stone.

  He found himself wondering where they quarried it. In case he needed more…

  He could sense a touch of magic from the iron gate in front of him. Nothing too impressive. A strengthening charm, and a little something to keep away rust and decay.

  It was a solid, rectangular gate, with a small sliding window at about head height.

  “Not very convenient for deliveries,” Aefric said.

  “There’s likely a secondary gate for such things,” Ser Yrsa said. “Small, so that no more than one could come through at a time.”

  “Well,” Aefric said, “let’s see if anyone’s home.”

  Ser Yrsa drew one of her maces, and used the butt end to hammer on the gate.

  Two crossbowmen aimed down from atop the walls.

  “Who knocks?” one asked.

  “His grace, Ser Aefric Brightstaff, Duke of Deepwater, Baron of Netar, and Hero of the Battles of Deepwater and Frozen Ridge.”

  Aefric wasn’t sure how politic it was to mention the Battle of Frozen Ridge, but wasn’t going to correct her.

  The crossbowmen looked hard at Aefric, and took note of the Brightstaff in his hand.

  It was a distinctive weapon. Carved from a single branch of white thunderwood, with a brown leather wrapping for a grip. Embedded in its top, a yellow diamond as big as the last joint of Aefric’s thumb.

  “I hope your grace will forgive the challenge,” the crossbowman said, “but I and mine were told to ask to see some lightning. Not that we want your grace blowing down his own gate. Just to avoid the risk of impostors. Kivash … remains unsettled at this time.”

  Aefric tapped the butt of the Brightstaff on the cobbles and caused white lightning to play along its length.

  “Sufficient?” Aefric asked.

  “Welcome to Castle Hrafnvigi, your grace.”

  The iron gate swung open with impressive silence. Clearly someone had oiled it in anticipation of Aefric’s arrival.

  Thirty-six soldiers stood in formation in the center of the road, which sloped up the hill to another white stone wall. The other four soldiers appeared to be coming down from their posts on the battlements.

  All around the road grew grass, yellowed from the heat of summer.

  “Don’t fret the yellow grass, your grace,” the one crossbowman continued, as he approached. “First rain’ll green it right up again. Good, strong roots.”

  “Thank you…”

  “Pakes, your grace,” he said. “Sergeant Pakes. And I stand ready to turn over the keys, if your grace stands ready to receive them.”

  Aefric’s instinct was to step forward and take the keys himself, but he and Ser Beornric had already discussed this.

  Aefric nodded.

  Ser Beornric stepped forward.

  “Squad!” Sergeant Pakes snapped.

  All forty of the duchess’ soldiers saluted, their right fists high in the air.

  Aefric acknowledged their salute with a nod, the way he’d been told.

  Sergeant Pakes handed Ser Beornric a ring of keys.

  Ser Yrsa stepped forward then, and began discussing the way the keep had been guarded and the sergeant’s observations and suggestions, while Aefric and his Knights of the Lake — along with Ser Deirdre — started up the hill to the keep.

  The hill inside the outer wall had a decent slope, and no cover. Anyone getting past the outer wall would be an easy target for archers on the interior wall.

  The interior wall stood about the same height as the one down at street level. Its gate wasn’t iron, though, but thick oak. Unscarred, as Aefric ran his fingers across it, and old enough that likely no one had assaulted this castle in the last … fifty years or so.

  “The gate’s likely unbarred,” Ser Beornric said. “Shall I see it opened?”

  “Not yet,” Aefric said. He turned to look back down at the street.

  Inside the wall, he could see his own soldiers talking with Ashling’s. And the soldiers of his personal guard had spread out, and were moving in small groups around the interior of the outer wall, and checking out the hill itself.

  Out beyond the wall, Aefric could see the river, the harbor, and a great deal of the local neighborhood. As well as more than a few of his new neighbors.

  A few of the locals were watching him from across the street, and from windows, but most of life in Kivash was moving on.

  Aefric took a slow walk around the inner wall, with the others following. The inner wall was just as smooth as the outer. If anything, it might have been smoother under his fingers.

  The wind felt good up here. Not quite so warm, under the midday, late summer sun.

  “Your grace,” Ser Beornric said softly. “You haven’t eaten since dawn. If you aren’t ready to go inside, we should probably find a restaurant.”

  “I’ve gone longer than this without eating,” Aefric said absently. It was true, though, that he could barely taste the lingering remains of the spicy sweet nava fruit he’d finished his breakfast with back aboard the Duke’s Hand.

  As he made his way around, he glanced down the hill, and out across the city. Getting used to the feel of the place. Something was…

  Magic.

  Aefric could sense magic from within his new keep. Possibly wards. Possibly something else.

  And not just within the keep. He could sense magic from a tower nearby. Or at least within about catapult range.

  He looked around and spotted it, off to the east. Looked to be freestanding, rather than part of a castle. Four stories tall. Crenellated top, and the crenellations were triangular, rather than rectangular.

  Triangular windows too. From this angle, the windows seemed to spiral up, instead of being regularly spaced on each floor.

  The design looked … familiar.

  Aefric had seen a freestanding tower like this before, with crenellations and windows like those. Some time ago.

  And there must’ve been a good amount of magic to that tower, if Aefric could sense it so clearly from here.

  There was something more, within that sense of magic from the tower.

  Almost as though someone inside it felt Aefric’s regard…

  “Problem, your grace?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “Not … at the moment,” Aefric said, shaking his head, and bringing his attention back to his surroundings.

  “Ah, the tower,” Ser Deirdre said. “Knew your grace would notice that. Stands out, doesn’t she?”

  “She?” Aefric asked.

  “I always assume buildings are female,” Ser Deirdre said with a shrug. “After all, people are always trying to get inside them.”

  Aefric hung his head for a moment. He would not reward her by laughing at that. Not so much as a snort. Even though it was the kind of humor he’d heard often in his adventuring days.

  He would not.

  “Deirdre,” Ser Beornric said in an exasperated voice, “this is why the nobles don’t like that you’re part of his grace’s court.”

  “Anyway,” Ser Deirdre said, unabashed, “I checked it out. There’s magic to the tower itself. And it’s owned by a local wizard. Goes by Relimmorea. Lived here close to a hundred years.”

  “Think she’ll be trouble?”

  “Keeps to herself mostly,” Ser Deirdre said with a shrug. “May be nonpartisan. Kind who doesn’t care who runs the show, long as she isn’t interfered with.”

  “Thank you,” Aefric said, then continued on his circuit of the wall.

  He spotted the other gate in the exterior wall. The one Ser Yrsa said would be there. It was iron, reinforced by three iron bars, and only wide enough for one to enter at a time.

  No second gate in the interior wall, though. Anyone who came through the secondary gate in the outer wall would have to take the small path up to the interior wall, and follow it around to the main gate.

  By the time Aefric completed his circuit and stood once more before the heavy, oaken gate, he was confident that none of the other buildings in the area were close enough or tall enough to help anyone who wanted to assault Castle Hrafnvigi.

  Defensible enough a position, even in what was functionally an enemy city. The hill beneath his new castle wasn’t very decorous, though. Especially as badly yellowed as the summer heat had left the grass.

  Aefric turned his attention back to the heavy, oaken gate.

  “All right,” Aefric said. “See it open.”

  He could have opened it himself with a small spell. Possibly a gesture, if it was unbarred. But he knew that would lead to a lecture from Ser Beornric about safety and protocols and likely a few other things.

  Ser Beornric nodded to tall, dark-skinned, shaven-headed Ser Temat, who stepped forward, longsword in hand.

  Ser Temat had a scar almost as distinctive as Ser Yrsa’s. His cut a wicked, jagged line across his neck.

  Sword at the ready, he pushed on the gate.

  It swung open soundlessly.

  Inside was a decent-sized courtyard. Not big enough to host a tourney or anything, but big enough to give his soldiers room to train.

  And that training would be on level footing. The hill looked to have been downright decapitated, leaving the surface flat and even.

  Two other buildings inside that interior wall. A stable to Aefric’s left. To his right, a barracks tall enough to function as an expansion to the battlements.

  From the smell, and the soft whickering, there had to be horses in those stables.

  Ser Temat moved in cautiously, accompanied by Ser Micham, who also had his longsword drawn and ready.

  Ser Micham had earned his weathered skin by spending a good deal of time at sea, while growing up in Ajenmoor. He kept his brown hair and beard fashionably trim, making no effort to cover the half-ear he’d lost to a borog’s spear during the Godswalk Wars.

  “Is this necessary?” Aefric asked, referring to what he considered an excess of caution. “Odds are good that Ashling’s soldiers slept in those barracks, so they should have found any traps the previous occupants might’ve left in the courtyard.

  “Safety first, your grace,” Ser Beornric said, without taking his eyes off the two lead knights.

  Ser Beornric nodded. Sers Vria and Wardius drew their swords and moved in.

  Ser Vria looked too small and pale to be a knight. Adding to that the eldrani beauty of her features, her golden eyes, and the hints of orange in her hair, it was no wonder that many underestimated her.

  At least, until they faced her and learned the error of their ways.

  Ser Wardius was rarely underestimated on the basis of appearance. He was a wiry kind of tough, and the most heavily scarred knight Aefric had ever met.

  Ser Wardius not only had jagged scars on both cheeks, but had lost the tip of his nose, as well, and the small finger of his left hand.

  The two of them went south around the main castle keep, while Sers Temat and Micham moved around the north side.

  “Check the stables and barracks,” Ser Beornric said then, and soldiers of Aefric’s personal guard — two groups of four, with spears in hand — moved to obey.

  Aefric had been too focused on the castle. He hadn’t realized that any of his soldiers had approached. But now he saw the rest of his personal guard there and ready, in case of trouble.

  “Think anyone will give us a fight?” Ser Deirdre asked.

  One of the soldiers called back from the stables.

  “Found someone!”

  Ser Deirdre rubbed her hands together. “Good. I haven’t had a fight in days.”

  With the announcement that someone had been found in the stables at Castle Hrafnvigi, a lot of things happened at once.

  Sers Arras, Leppina and Beornric all stepped in front of Aefric. Ser Deirdre dove, rolling forward and to one side in the dry dirt of the courtyard. Likely so she’d have more room to maneuver.

  Eight of the soldiers of Aefric’s personal guard ran in to help at the stables. Another eight formed up behind Aefric, guarding his back.

  The other four soldiers, along with the other four Knights of the Lake, continued their part of the search of the courtyard.

  Aefric’s soldiers emerged from the stables…

  …with a lad no older than a page walking at spearpoint.

  Poor kid looked terrified. His arms couldn’t hold his hands any higher than they were. His eyes were so wide Aefric half-expected his eyeballs to just fall right out and bounce away.

  The boy was in brown roughspun: tunic, breeches, and shoes. His clothes were dirty. His skin was dirty. His mousy brown hair was unkempt.

  Aefric gave Ser Beornric a droll look.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Ser Beornric said softly, though even he sounded embarrassed at the amount of effort that had gone into capturing what appeared to be nothing more than a stable hand.

  “What’s your name, boy?” Ser Beornric said sharply, once the boy in question was no more than a half-dozen strides away.

  “Gosser, ser,” the boy said, twitching as though he wanted to bow, but was afraid to lower his hands.

  “You can put your hands down, Gosser,” Aefric said.

  “But I wouldn’t make any sudden moves,” Ser Beornric said, then glanced at Aefric. “The best assassins don’t look dangerous, your grace.”

  Gosser nodded, and slowly lowered his hands, though he didn’t stop trembling.

  “What are you doing here?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “Begging your pardon, ser,” Gosser said, bowing now, then straightening up quickly, in case bowing was wrong. “I was just tendin’ the horses like I always done.”

  Ser Beornric looked at one of Aefric’s guards. Nodded. The soldier turned and ran back down the hill.

  Aefric hoped sarcastically that the soldier had been sent to check Gosser’s story with Ashling’s soldiers, and not to summon reinforcements.

  “You worked for the previous lord of this castle?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “Most o’ my life, ser,” Gosser said. “I was born in the kitchens, but have no hand for it. But the horses love me. And I love them, ser.”

  “Is that why you didn’t leave with your lord?” Aefric asked.