As important as his daughter’s wedding was, King Godwin III was almost relieved to be able to fit in some of the normal business of the kingdom, receiving petitioners among the feasting in the great hall to hear their concerns. They lined up through the hall, the courtiers and the commoners, each having to wait their turn, while the music of the feast continued in the background.

“Your majesty,” a farmer said, bowing so low his forehead almost scraped his knee, “our harvest looks to be a poor one this year, yet our local lord is still insisting on his full share.”

“When the harvest comes, I will send men to assess it,” Godwin promised. “Your lord will have his tenth as usual, but no more than that, and if there is not enough for your village after that, there will be recompense made to you.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

The next was a man from the House of Merchants, who strode forward dressed in velvet to match any noble. He bowed, although it wasn’t as low as the farmer’s bow had been.

“Your majesty,” he said. “If we are talking of recompense, may we talk of the ships I and my fellow investors have lost out on the far routes wide of the Slate River? In recent weeks, several ships have been lost, never to return.”

King Godwin looked at the man. “The risks in far sailing are well known. Go beyond sight of land and you rely on the stars and on charts.”

“Indeed,” the merchant said. “But if a farmer shall be paid for the loss of his harvest, should we not be paid for the loss of ships with so many aboard?”

Godwin suppressed a flash of irritation. “Are you asking the crown to underwrite your profits? You take risks with others’ lives in the hope of making a fortune, while a farmer grows what he can to see his family and those around him fed. So no, I will not recompense you for your losses, but my men will be visiting the House of Merchants to make sure that you are compensating the families of the sailors who have been lost in your ventures.”

It was not the politic move, of course, and Godwin could see the irritation on the merchant’s face, but sometimes such men had to be put in their place. The trick was knowing when to do it and when not to. Godwin had chosen this merchant because the loss of his ships already made him weak. He could afford the man’s hatred.

They came then, one after another. There were common folk with grievances about the ways they were being treated by the guard or their lords. Godwin tried to listen seriously to these. There were more merchants, and men from the various Houses, and these always seemed to think too much of their importance. There were, inevitably, more things to prepare for the wedding.

“If we do not have enough wine for so many guests,” he declared to one surprised-looking servant, “then go out and find more. This is not a matter that requires the king’s authority.”

He tried to be a good ruler, to be patient and just with the people who came to him. A part of it was that it was what he had always promised himself he would be, the memory of his own father’s reign far too fresh. Godwin II had not been a kind king, and Godwin III found himself determined to make up for it.

Another part of it was that Rodry and his friends were in the hall, “helping” with the feast, but seeming to spend as much time cavorting as doing anything useful. One day, his son would be the king, and that meant that Godwin needed to set an example for him. He needed to show his son that not everything was about charging around the countryside, playing the knight, fighting and hunting.

The problem was that right then, Godwin would rather have been doing any of those things.

Briefly, he thought of the beast that he, his son, and the others had been summoned to look at. There had been no further news of dragons, because why would there be when none had been seen in years? Even so, Godwin couldn’t shake the image of the creature’s bones and scaled hide. So far, his son and his friends had done as commanded and kept quiet about it, but Godwin knew that such things had a way of finding their way into the light. He needed to know more.

“Grey will find something,” he murmured, thinking of the way the sorcerer had warned him that the boy would be rushing into the hall, warning him to speak with him alone, and suggesting what to do with him.

“Your majesty?” The man standing before him was short and dressed in faded noble clothes. He also looked terrified. “I’m sure that the royal magus has better things to do than help with my paltry problems.”

Godwin realized too late that he’d spoken loud enough to be heard, and worse, he couldn’t even remember what this man’s request had been. Something to do with lost ancestral lands? The truth was that he’d been too caught up in his thoughts to listen.

“Would you shun my sorcerer’s help?” he asked.

The man paled visibly.

“Oh, very well,” Godwin said. “Return tomorrow, and we will find a better solution. For now though, I am tired. This audience session is at an end. Let the feast recommence.”

“Wait, your majesty!” a voice from the far end of the hall called. “For King Ravin wishes to give his congratulations on the wedding of your daughter.”

The man who came forward was dressed in a style that Godwin assumed was popular in the Southern Kingdom, with slashed sleeves revealing white silk beneath, and pantaloons that billowed as he walked. He had an oiled black beard and a mustache that had been shaped into two hook-like curls. His hat was broad brimmed and feathered, while his boots laced with white ribbons most of the way up his shins. All in all, Godwin thought he looked ridiculous as he pushed past the long line of audience seekers.

“People usually receive their audiences in the order that they arrive,” Godwin said.

“Ah,” the man replied with a bow, “but it is not usual to receive an ambassador from King Ravin himself. I am Ambassador D’Entre. I have crossed the bridges and ridden hard to be here. Surely you will hear me, your majesty?”

King Godwin sighed. He knew that making the man wait might be seen as an insult to their neighbor, and even though the river prevented any threat of war, he wanted good relations for the little trade that there was across the bridges.

“Very well,” he said. “I take it that your king sends his congratulations on my daughter’s forthcoming nuptials?”

“Indeed he does,” Ambassador D’Entre said. “And he offers you a gift for your daughter in honor of the occasion.”

“What gift?” Godwin asked.

“The continued freedom of your kingdom,” the ambassador said.

A gasp went around the room at that, but the king held up a hand. “And no doubt King Ravin wishes something in return for this… ‘gift.’”

“It is customary for gifts to be met with gifts,” the ambassador agreed.

Godwin’s attention was fully focused now. “And what gift does my fellow king desire?”

“Merely that the Northern Kingdom recognize the truth: that it is, and has always been, a part of the greater kingdom ruled by the kings of the south.”

Godwin heard the renewed gasp that went around the room. Presumably the people there understood what such a thing meant: subservience to the south. Maybe a few had even read enough history to understand the demand; after all, the Northern Kingdom and the Southern had once been one thing, ruled by the ones who joined with the dragons. That had been before the gouge that the Slate ran through had been carved, though, and lay lifetimes in the past.

“And what exactly would that mean?” he asked.

“King Ravin would not interfere in your day-to-day affairs, as he has not to date, in spite of being the ruler of all lands. He would permit you to continue ruling on his behalf. You would, however, pay suitable tribute, in the form of half of all revenues that your royal person receives.”

“I see,” King Godwin said. In the far corner of the room, he could see Rodry and his friends growing angry. His son was red in the face, as if he wanted to charge forward and cut the man down. King Godwin smiled. “Regretfully, I must decline.”

“Then King Ravin has instructed me to inform you of the consequences of such an answer,” Ambassador D’Entre said, making it sound as if he genuinely did regret it. “Should you refuse, King Ravin will be forced to march his armies north to retake the lands that rightfully belong to him.”

King Godwin stood then, walking down to stand over the man. “There is little room for them across the bridges; bridges that we will destroy the moment we see enemies. Unless your armies are remarkably strong swimmers, I think we have little to fear.”

“There is more to fear than you think, King Godwin.”

Godwin saw Rodry start forward, but he held up a hand to stop him. This was his court, and this was not a moment for anger.

“I am king in this place,” he said, to both his son and the ambassador. “The only king. Go and tell Ravin that. Tell him that his father made threats, and his father before him. They came to nothing, and neither will his.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rodry stood there while Ambassador D’Entre walked from his father’s hall unharmed. He stood there because he couldn’t believe it was happening. He was already angry that the boy he recognized from the House of Weapons had just been dragged away. Now, this so-called emissary had come into their kingdom, into their castle, into their home, and made threats, yet he was walking away.

“Father,” Rodry began, approaching his father’s throne as King Godwin resumed his place there.

To his shock, his father held up a restraining hand. “Not now, Rodry. Do you think there’s anything you can say about this situation that I haven’t already considered?”

“But you’ve let him go alive and unharmed!” Rodry said. “The terms he offered were an insult!”

“Keep your voice down, boy,” his father snapped back, even though Rodry wasn’t a boy but a man, a knight. “I have done the best thing for this kingdom. Now, someone fetch me Master Grey. He’s walked out, and we have important matters to discuss.”

Important? As if the Southern Kingdom threatening war wasn’t important? As if they were simply supposed to let an insult like that go?

Rodry kept from saying that, but only because he knew it wouldn’t do any good. His father wasn’t going to listen, wasn’t going to act. That meant that Rodry had to do it. Rodry had to be the kind of man who would act to defend his kingdom and his sister from these insults.

He stalked from the hall, and a couple of his companions followed, falling into step with him. The ambassador was ahead, with a couple of men who must have been there to guard him on his journey. The southern fighters had curved swords and kite-shaped shields, with deep purple surcoats over chain armor. The ambassador was smiling, and one of them must have made a joke in the southern tongue, because the three of them laughed as they left the castle.

If Rodry’s blood hadn’t been up enough by then, it was now. He and his companions followed the men out of the castle and down to the stables, where three large, fine southern horses were waiting, ready and saddled as if the ambassador had known he wouldn’t be staying. Back in the courtyard, there might have been celebrating people, but here in the stables, there were a few stable hands, but no guards, and no courtiers who might run back to his father.

“You’ll apologize before you mount those beasts,” Rodry said. His friends took up positions to the side, a little way from the guards.

“Apologize for obeying my instructions from our king?” the ambassador replied.

“Ravin is not king of these lands,” Rodry snapped back, “and every word you said in there was an insult to my father, to my sister, to all of us.”

“If I were you,” Ambassador D’Entre said, “I would concentrate on getting your father to change his mind. King Ravin will not be pleased that his generous offer has been rejected. He will not be happy with the message.”

“Do not try to command me,” Rodry said. His hand went to his sword.

“If you draw that—” the ambassador began.

Rodry’s sword sang from its sheath. This was what these men deserved for the threats they had helped to make.

The two bodyguards moved to intercept him, of course, drawing their curved blades and readying their shields. Rodry waved his companions back as they moved to intercede, because they couldn’t be a part of this in the way he could. Besides, he didn’t need their help for this. He was a Knight of the Spur, and they were not.

He stepped forward toward the bodyguards, then slammed into the first of them, their swords clashing together. Rodry kicked out, knocking the man back, then turned to hack a blow through the chest of the second even as he raised his blade to strike.

The first came back at him then, attacking with one blow after another. Unarmored as he was, Rodry could only give ground, parrying as he went until the moment came when one of the man’s slashes was slightly too extended. He caught the blade on his, binding it in a circle and pushing at the man’s elbow with his free hand. He thrust his sword home in the guard’s throat, hearing the gurgle of his final cry as he fell at Rodry’s feet, still in death.

Rodry turned his attention to the ambassador then, bloody blade still in his hand.

“Pick up a sword,” he demanded.

The ambassador shook his head. “If you wish to strike me down, you will do it in cold blood, as a barbarous northerner.”

That was almost enough to get Rodry to do it. Instead, he turned to his companions, who were still standing there, obviously unsure what they should be doing.

“Grab him,” Rodry ordered. “Hold him still.”

Two of them did it, one holding each of the ambassador’s arms as they forced him down to his knees.

Very slowly, Rodry cleaned his sword on the ambassador’s fancy shirt, leaving a smear of blood behind. He sheathed it and drew a dagger.

“I’ll not kill a man in cold blood,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by while he threatens me and my family. So I’m going to take something from you that I suspect a popinjay like you values more than anything.”

He set his blade to the man’s face and cut sharply, drawing a shriek that was initially terror, then outrage as he realized that Rodry hadn’t cut through his flesh, but through his mustache, the end of it dropping to the ground like a fallen feather.

“Hold still, or I will end up cutting you,” Rodry said, and kept going, hacking at the ambassador’s beard and hair, scraping it away from him. His dagger was sharp, and several times the man cried out as Rodry nicked him, but he kept going. He deserved this, and more than this.

When he was done, the ambassador was all but bald, with cuts and scratches on his skull from Rodry’s work.

“You,” he called out to one of the stable hands. “A man like this doesn’t deserve a fine horse. Find him a donkey.”

“Yes, your highness,” the young man said, obviously not daring to argue with the prince in this mood. Rodry didn’t care if he was frightening at this point. He was a prince protecting his kingdom.

He pointed to one of his companions. “This fool tried to bring a prisoner’s bracelets for my sister, so let’s see how he likes it. Find some shackles.”

“Where would I—”

“In the dungeon, of course,” Rodry said.

The ambassador stared up at him. “You will pay for this. Your actions here will have consequences.”

Rodry shook his head. “These are the consequences of your actions. My father was right. What are you going to do? March an army half a dozen at a time across one of the bridges? You came here to do nothing but insult, and I’m going to show you up for the fool you are.”

The young man he’d sent for the donkey came back with one soon enough, and the companion he’d sent for shackles arrived shortly after. They were rusted old things, but that was fine by Rodry.

“Stand up,” he commanded the ambassador. He fitted the shackles to the man’s hands himself, then threw him across the saddle of the donkey, as ungainly as a sack.

“Set the dead men across their horses,” Rodry said. “At least they were willing to fight.”

“Manhandle a dead body?” one of his friends, Kay, said. He made a face. “We’re noblemen, Rodry.”

“And you keep saying you want to be knights,” Rodry reminded the young man. “You shouldn’t be squeamish about a couple of bodies when you’re supposed to be ready for battle.”

“You’ll get all the battles you want and more,” the ambassador promised them. Rodry cuffed him around the ear.

“You’ve talked too much already,” he said. “Speak again, and I’ll stuff your mouth with straw for the ride back. Kay, these three will need someone to see them to the border.”

“And it’s to be me?” he said. “But then I’ll miss the wedding, and the dancing. One of Princess Lenore’s maids has been—”

“If she loves you that much, she’ll still be here when you get back,” Rodry said. “Think of it as a knightly task, a quest.”

“That would impress her…” Kay mused aloud. “May I take the ambassador’s horse?”

Rodry shrugged. “It’s probably best if you do. I doubt my father will be happy about this.”

Happy or not though, it had needed doing. It had taken everything Rodry had to keep from simply killing the ambassador. He had heard the stories of the past, of the conflicts that had shaped the two kingdoms, of knights and dragons and more. Those stories were clear about one thing: when there was a threat to the kingdom, a strong man always rose to fight against those enemies and drive them back. Well, today, Rodry had been that man.

“This is what happens when you threaten those I care about,” Rodry said, slapping the rump of the ambassador’s donkey to set it in motion. It hurried off with Kay and the two other horses hurrying to keep up.

Insults couldn’t go unpunished, whatever his father thought. And the ambassador’s threats meant nothing. Let the south play at war. Rodry was strong enough to keep them all safe.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Inside,” a guard said, and pushed Devin through a set of double doors.

Devin braced himself, afraid he was being thrown into a dungeon.

Yet to his surprise he found himself stepping into a living chamber, or perhaps a reception chamber backing onto other rooms. He froze in place, his heart stopping: there was the king.

There he was, seated and crowned. Prince Rodry stood to one side. On a table before the king sat a spear Devin recognized as one the prince had taken with him from the House of Weapons, and the sword Nem had given him. The guards had taken it from him as they’d kept him waiting. Apparently, they’d been waiting for the king.

Devin came forward, remembered himself in time, and bowed.

“This is the same boy?” King Godwin demanded.

“This is Devin of the House of Weapons,” Prince Rodry replied. “He made the spear.”

Devin frowned as he straightened up, confused as to what was happening.

“And that sword?” King Godwin asked him, gesturing to the messer on the table. “Did you make that, boy?”

Devin shook his head. “No, your majesty. That was my friend Nem.”

King Godwin took it and took the spear, staring at them, comparing them.

“I can see the difference,” he said, hefting the spear. “Fine work indeed. Are you sure you made this, Devin of the House of Weapons? If I find that you’ve lied to me after this, I’ll see you in more trouble than you can imagine, even for entering my hall.”

“I’m sorry,” Devin said. “I needed to speak to Master Grey, and I thought that—”

The king stopped him with a raised hand. “My magus has explained things, as much as he ever explains things. The spear; did you make everything?”

“I made everything,” Devin assured him. “From forge welding the metal billet to winding the haft to the head.”

“Impressive,” the king said. “Then it seems that I have a task for you.”

“Your majesty?” Devin said.

“Have you heard of star metal?”

“Y-yes, your majesty,” Devin said, even though the question caught him by surprise. Star metal was so rare that almost no smith worked with it today. They said it was stronger and sharper than any steel around.

“I know where you can find the ore for it,” the king said. “And I want you to make a sword for me.”

“For you, your majesty?”

“On my behalf,” the king corrected himself. “To give as a gift to my future son-in-law. There is a place on the slopes of the volcano where a lump of star metal ore fell many years ago. You will travel there, with the protection of my son Rodry and his companions.”

“We’re to go with him?” Rodry said, looking surprised and a little put out by that. “So that Finnal can have a sword? Have you heard the rumors spreading about him?”

“I have heard,” King Godwin said. “And I choose not to believe mere fishwives’ tales. The alliance with the duke and his family is too important. Besides, Devin will need protection. Grey says that the metal is in Clearwater Deep.”

“But that’s… they say it’s a place of magic,” Rodry said. “I mentioned it once to Master Grey and he refused to speak of it. The stories…”

“Nevertheless, it is where you will go,” King Godwin said. “Devin, you will gather the metal and forge it for me.” He placed a pouch on the table. “You will be well compensated for your efforts.”

Even if there had been no money, Devin might have said yes. The chance to work with star metal was too great an opportunity to pass up. Besides, he had the feeling that his fight with the king’s son was only being forgotten because he could be useful.

“But…” Devin began. “I’m not a smith anymore. They threw me out of the House of Weapons.”

“After what happened with my brother?” Rodry asked.

Devin nodded.

“It doesn’t matter,” the king said. “We will find you a forge. Will you do it?”

“Yes, your majesty,” he said. Devin wasn’t sure he had much of a choice.

The king passed him back his sword.

“Go with him, Rodry. I want you to set off at once.”

“Yes, Father,” the prince said, but Devin could see that he wasn’t happy. The two of them left the room almost in step with one another. Prince Rodry was silent until they were well clear of the room and the guards.

“I’m sorry for getting you into this,” he said. “I thought that by telling my father you were a fine smith I might save you after you ran in like that. Had I known that it was Clearwater Deep, I would not have mentioned you.”

“I am glad to serve, your highness,” Devin said. For the chance to work with star metal, he would have given far more.

“Then are you willing to serve me?” Prince Rodry said, turning to him with an earnest look. “After all, I’m the one who saved your life with my brother. And I spoke for you with my father.”

“What is it you need?” Devin asked. He hadn’t forgotten all that he owed the prince.

“We’ll go there, and you’ll forge the blade, but you’ll give it to me rather than my father. I will give it to my sister myself.”

“To your sister?” Devin said.

“If it’s given to her directly, it doesn’t form part of her bride price, and it comes back to her should the marriage be annulled,” Rodry said. “Finnal might seem perfect to Lenore now, but she’ll see what he is soon enough. Then I don’t have to suffer the indignity of watching him wander around with such a weapon on his hip. Will you do it, Devin? Will you do what I ask?”

Devin thought about it. He didn’t like the idea of getting between the king and his son in whatever conflict this was, didn’t like the danger of it, but the truth was that he did owe Rodry, and as far as he could see, the results were the same.

He nodded. “Aye, I’ll do it.”

“Then we go,” Rodry said. “And we just have to hope that whatever’s in Clearwater Deep isn’t as dangerous as a sorcerer’s silence suggests.”