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lodgings that the weather-mage spoke of the rumours of Uabhar’s alliance with the Marauders, the unsolved mysteries of Silverton and, above all, the undoubted betrayal and imprisonment of the weather-masters. She had had no wish to dampen the spirits of the troops by shouting such disturbing tidings over their heads from the balloon’s gondola.
    Propped against piles of brocade cushions strewn about the carpeted floor, her audience remained in silence while she made her report. Lamps, hanging on long chains from the ridgepole, glowed like faceted gems, their light casting a muted sheen on the wall-hangings and the satin festoons billowing from the ceiling. The youngest prince, Gunnlaug, sat cross-legged with a dish of garlic sausage on his knee, chewing while he listened.
    ‘I am grieved that Sir Isleif and the Shield Champions were unable to protect the weathermasters from Uabhar’s treachery,’ Thorgild said heavily, when Asr ă thiel had finished speaking. ‘My knights never returned from that mission. Uabhar sent word that they had been slain by Marauders on the road as they journeyed, not two leagues from Cathair Rua, but I did not believe a word of it. No barbarian cave dwellers could overcome such fine warriors. I am now convinced they met with foul play from Ó Maoldúin, but there is no way to prove it.’
    ‘I grieve also, at this loss,’ said Asr ă thiel. ‘The fame of the Shield Champions was widespread. Sir Isleif was greatly esteemed.’
    ‘He was a man most honourable,’ agreed Prince Halvdan, ‘a defender of his people, oath-bound to uphold truth and justice.’
    ‘And in all things wise, level-headed and determined,’ his elder brother Hrosskel appended.
    ‘But it seems,’ Gunnlaug put in through a mouthful of food, ‘he was bested in the end. Ó Maoldúin is indeed a formidable foe.’
    Hearing these words King Thorgild wrinkled his brow in exasperation, and Hrosskel turned a disapproving look upon his youngest brother.
    ‘Formidable and ruthless,’ Asr ă thiel agreed, to break the uncomfortable silence.
    ‘Methinks you have been consorting again with the druids, Gunnlaug,’ the monarch said sharply. ‘Stay away from them! They meddle overmuch in affairs of state, and poison men’s minds with insidious advocacy of causes that enhance their own veiled interests—which, I’ll warrant, do not lie with us. Slievmordhu is not as redoubtable as they would have you believe.’
    Putting aside his dish, Gunnlaug counted on his fingers: ‘Ó Maoldúin owns an eldritch weapon, and a covenant with our pretty friends of the caves. He has stifled his most powerful adversaries, convinced the desert king to aid him, and jumped first, while the rest of us were asleep.’
    ‘He also has his weaknesses,’ said Halvdan.
    ‘They are hard to see, from where I am sitting,’ said Gunnlaug, ‘but I long to find them out with my axe.’
    ‘It will take more than your axe to finish Ó Maoldúin,’ observed Hrosskel. Clearly he intended it as a jest, but Gunnlaug gave him a filthy look.
    ‘Think you?’ the youngest prince thrust out his chin. ‘Perchance you think you could do it all by yourself, eh? Or you and Hrosskel shoulder to shoulder, champions of Grïmnørsland!’
    ‘Save your hero’s boasts,’ Thorgild said, directing his gaze at all three of his sons, but his words to only one. Gunnlaug subsided, and Asr ă thiel seized the opportunity to lead the discussion to a topic close to her heart. For a while the youngest prince listened without making a contribution, obviously bored. Presently he got up and wandered away.
    During the previous exchange Asr ă thiel had been bracing herself to broach a certain subject with the king. Of all political causes, that of the rights of nonhumans was dearest to her, but it was also the only subject that won her disfavour amongst many of her friends. They were all good people, she knew, but cultural mores had made them blind to the suffering they caused