The red in Gavril’s face paled. “A mere game of hunt and—”

“Game, was it? I saw a defenseless lad hounded and cornered like a water rat for your sport. I saw him thrashed till he fell and heard you screaming like a fiend instead of a prince of the realm. How far did you mean to go with this game?” The contempt in the man’s voice amazed Dain. He realized he was being championed, for reasons he could not understand. His gaze flicked from one angry face to the other, and he wondered if he dared try to break away.  “Chevard, do you criticize me?” Gavril said angrily. “I warned him of my identity and yet he meant to strike me. That’s treason, and he must answer for it.”

The chevard gestured impatiently, but Gavril stood up in his stirrups.

“It is!” he said shrilly. “Treason most clear! The law is firm.” “Do you expect an uneducated wretch like this to understand the law?” Odfrey countered.

“Ignorance is no excuse for transgression. Furthermore, he is a pagan and would not kneel to the Circle—” The chevard held up his hand in a gesture that silenced Gavril in mid-sentence.  Amazed at his power, Dain stared up at the man sitting so straight in his saddle. Lord Odfrey was in his middle years, with no gray showing yet in his straight brown hair, but plenty of it in his thick mustache. The rest of his face was cleanshaven, with a hint of bristle to be seen on his lean jaws this late in the afternoon. His nose was long and straight, except for a slight bump where it seemed to have once been broken. His mouth was uncompromising. He wore no mail, and his long doublet and leggings were dark green wool, the cloth woven tight and hard. His boots reached to his knees, and were made of good leather, much scuffed and worn. His mud-splattered spurs were plain brass. Only the crest embroidered on the left breast of his striped fur cloak proclaimed his rank.  Even his rings were not fancy; just a plain signet and a dull cabochon set in gold that was his marriage ring. His horse, heavy-boned and strong, stood in the cold water patiently, unlike Gavril’s flashy mount, which shied and pawed and pranced constantly.

Lord Odfrey turned his frowning gaze on Dain and studied him for a long moment.  Beneath the fierce, unsmiling facade of this man, Dain sensed kindness and a true heart. Some flicker of mercy or compassion lit in the depths of the man’s eyes. It surprised Dain, but he immediately tried to take advantage of it.  “I have offended the prince,” he said, although no one had given him leave to speak. “But not enough to be killed for it.”

“Silence!” Gavril shouted before he glanced back at Lord Odfrey. “Take care, my lord chevard,” he warned nervously. “Do not let his gaze enspell you.” Lord Odfrey frowned.

“He is clearly pagan,” Gavril said. “Look at his eyes, how colorless and strange they are. Look at his pale blood. He is a monster. He deserves no fairness—” “The lad is eldin,” Odfrey said impatiently. “Or partly so, perhaps, if his black hair is anything to go by. That hardly makes him a monster. As for fairness, honor is not a quality to be shed or worn depending on the circumstances. If this wretch stole from you and you had your servants catch him and beat him for it, that would be justice.”

“He did steal!” Gavril said hotly. “My horse, he would have taken—” “Your horse?” Lord Odfrey echoed in quiet amazement. “It’s war-trained, or so you have boasted.”

Again Gavril’s cheeks turned pink. “It is,” he said, clearly taking offense.