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continue to take them south. Moreover, as Phelan himself went south every year with the Company, you should be permitted to do so as well. The Council will want to know, as they did with him, who is in charge in your absence every year.” The prince shifted in his seat. “What I would like is this: to change as little as possible now, when great change is happening in the East. Dorrin Verrakai as Duke Verrakai is shock enough; the trials of the other Verrakai will occupy the lords in Council for the rest of the year, at least. If you can protect the borders and maintain the same routine as Phelan, that seems best to me. I can call a Council meeting for to-morrow; can you be ready to present such a plan?”
    Arcolin had not felt ready for any of the things that happened since Paksenarrion returned to them, but life did not wait on readiness. “Yes,” he said. “I can be ready.” He felt every moment of the day’s ride, but one thing he’d learned from Kieri was that tired was just a word. “I will need more paper than I brought—”
    “Of course,” the prince said. “In fact, we’ve assigned you my late uncle’s suite, as I haven’t yet appointed a new Knight-Commander of the Bells. And I’ve assigned you a clerk, in case you need anything from the library, any research.”
    “My lord prince,” Arcolin said, very carefully, “you are more concerned than you’ve said, are you not?”
    “I have a—a strange feeling. It’s not over, with Verrakai’s death. I don’t know what … but … I feel a menace.” The prince swallowed.“Not just danger to me, but to the whole realm. And yet—it’s only a feeling, and when there
was
danger, before Verrakai’s attack, I felt nothing.”
    “Nothing? After what you told me of the attack on Kieri—on the king?”
    “Not that night. Beclan—my uncle—had told me they thought they’d found all the Liartian priests. At dinner with my friends, it felt normal—I missed it somehow—and now I don’t know if my feelings are trustworthy—”
    “If you are asking me whether to be concerned, my lord, the answer must be yes. Of course you must be. Gird may be giving you warning, as well as your own senses. From my experience I would say that such actions as Duke Verrakai took are not taken lightly, or without deep planning; I doubt that his death and that of his brother end it. Your Order of Attainder is certainly necessary.”
    “He held me motionless, Captain,” the prince said. “I cannot get over that. I thought Gird’s power was stronger than evil; I thought my faith was enough. This was not wizardry—this was the old magery that Gird once defeated, back again in today’s world.”
    The prince looked angry; Arcolin knew that look. All the young squires looked that way the first time they were truly frightened.
    “My lord prince,” he said, “I believe the gods are stronger than evil, but faith must marry with deeds. Gird had his cudgel, after all. Yeomen of the granges do not merely pray for faith, but train for deeds as well.”
    The prince looked at him, almost indignant at first and then, his expression easing, rueful. “You are right, Captain. This was my first experience of violent death. I saw my uncle, whom I loved, killed before my face and could do nothing. And the Marshal-Judicar, as well.”
    “Yet you lived, and killed the killer, did you not?”
    “That was mostly Roly,” the prince said. “If he hadn’t come in and bashed Verrakai with a map rod and then stabbed him with a stone knife, I’d be dead. Neither my sword not Juris’s would bite, for Verrakai’s magery, until Roly’s old stone saveblade got him. Then the magery failed.”
    Arcolin could imagine the three noble youths, trained in weaponry but inexperienced, against a man like Verrakai, whose own swordskill was well-known at court. And with magery as well—even if it proved wizard-work at the last—
    “You did well,” he said, as he would have to a squire. “And I