That’s wise, for he—”

“Nay!” Thum said. “Let me tell you. Lord Odfrey had his stone face on—you know how he looks at times.”

“Aye,” Dain said ruefully. “I know very well.”

“He stood before us with Sir Polquin and Sir Roye flanking him, and he conferred the offer of squire on Mierre according to the rules of the contest.” Thum paused and gripped Dain’s arm hard. “Mierre turned him down.” Dain gasped. “What?”

“Aye. Turned him down with cool hauteur, like Lord Odfrey was dirt to him. It’s plain he’s learned that manner from the prince, but it did him no credit. Sir Bosquecel was furious, and Sir Polquin more so. Everyone witnessed the grave insult to Lord Odfrey, but we could not believe it. Had Mierre refused such an offer from a sentry-rank knight, I might understand. But no one turns down the chance to be a chevard’s squire, especially a warrior of such valor and repute as our Lord Odfrey.”

Dain frowned, angry on Lord Odfrey’s behalf, though relieved as well. Still, it made no sense. “But why would Mierre refuse? Does he think another knight will offer him a better position? Where? Can his father provide—” “Rumor has it. . .” Thum paused dramatically, his hazel eyes dancing. “Promise you will not spread it, Dain.”

“I am the last person in this hold to know about the matter,” Dain said tartly.

“Where would I spread such news? Speak!”

“Well, the rumor in the guardhouse is that Mierre is hoping to be named Prince Gavril’s squire.”

“That surprises me not,” Dain said. “No one toadies to Gavril more than he does.”

“But it’s an awful risk.”

“Why? Gavril favors him.”

“But the prince is not yet knighted. He can take no squire until he has his spurs.”

“In a month he’ll have them,” Dain said. “I see no risk if the prince has

promised him—”

“But has he?” Thum asked.

Dain frowned. “Has he not?”

“Nothing has been said officially.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“Dain, don’t you understand court politics at all?”

“No,” Dain said defensively. “How could I?”

“Oh. When Gavril’s knighted, he is going to be named Heir to the Realm. That means the nobles acknowledge him as the official successor to the throne.” “I thought he already was,” Dain said.

“Nay.”

“He gives himself enough airs.”

“Wait until he’s knighted,” Thum said darkly. “There’ll be no holding him back then. But it’s certain that his squire has already been chosen and will be the son of a duc or cardinal, someone of the first rank. Gavril is far too important to be squired by an uplander of minor lineage.”

Dain thought of Mierre, a young oaf who clearly burned with ambition to better himself. “There’s been a promise made between them,” he guessed. “And no matter what the custom may be, Gavril does what he wants.” “Not in affairs of state. He can’t,” Thum argued. “Just as his marriage has been planned for him from birth to his cousin Pheresa. There is no official engagement as yet, for the Heir to the Realm must do his own choosing of a bride. But by custom it must—or at least should—be this lady. Everyone at court, especially the king, expects Gavril to ask her.”

“I hope she is a hag and her face sours his breakfast every morning,” Dain said.  Thum laughed. “Mierre is gambling heavily, but I think he will be the loser by aiming too high.”

“So who is going to be Lord Odfrey’s squire?” Dain asked.  The merriment dimmed from Thum’s eyes and he shook his head. “I know not. It’s something no one dares ask him, for the chevard’s mood has been dark indeed this week. Why did you leave the contest grounds, Dain? You were right to be angry. I would have been too, but you should have stayed out of courtesy.” Dain stared at his friend, and saw disappointment lurking in Thum’s bruised face. He understood then that Thum had wanted him to stay and cheer for him.  Contrition filled Dain. He put out his hand. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. “You think me a poor friend.”

Thum gripped his hand. “Nay,” he said loyally. “Not poor, but sometimes hard to understand.”

Dain sighed. “You must teach me how to do better. My ways are not yours. I do not mean to offend you.”

“It’s Lord Odfrey you must not offend,” Thum said.

Dain’s eyes flew wide open. “Oh, gods! The chevard! I should have reported to him long ago. If he was angry with me before, I have little chance of appeasing him now.”

“Damne, you will have no appeal,” Thum agreed worriedly. “I beg your pardon for chattering so long.”

Dain headed for the door, and Thum went with him.

“Dain, you look mortal pale in the face. Are you feeling faint?” “Nay,” Dain answered, his courage sinking like a lead weight. “Though I wish I could faint and put off this meeting.”

“You dare not.”

“Better to get it over with.” Swallowing hard, Dain wished he’d never left the hold now. Even the two gold pieces in his pocket were not worth all this. His own angry defiance had faded. He understood plainly why Lord Odfrey must be infuriated with him. And the chevard’s temper was never easy to face. Dain sent Thum a look of appeal. “Stay with me?”

“Aye,” Thum said like the stalwart friend he was. Of course, since he was not in disgrace he had little to fear, Dain reminded himself.

Together they headed for Lord Odfrey’s wardroom.

Sentry knights stood on duty outside Lord Odfrey’s door. Servants were walking down the length of the passageway, lighting torches that drove back the shadows.  The servants cast Dain sharp, speculative looks and whispered among themselves.

His face felt hot. Stiffly, he walked past them, pretending he did not notice.  One of the knights, Sir Blait, held up his hand to stop Dain’s approach. “I’ll relieve you of your dagger, Dain,” he said gruffly.

Dain’s throat closed up with embarrassment and anger. Beside him, Thum began to murmur about offense and insult, but Dain elbowed him to be quiet.  In silence, his face stiff and hot, he drew his dagger and handed it over hilt-first.

“Will you take mine as well, Sir Blait?” Thum asked hotly.  Sir Blait was gray-haired and stooped. Since his knees had begun to stiffen and ache he’d been demoted to sentry duty. Sour-tempered and gruff, he looked annoyed by Thum’s remark. He said, “Nay, I have my orders. You know better than to spout your mouth where it’s not wanted.”

Thum’s face turned red, but Dain did not want his friend to join him in disgrace.

“Thum,” he said, his voice low and firm, “thank you, but perhaps you’d better go to your supper.”

“I said I’d stay with you and I will.”

Dain shook his head. “This trouble is mine now. Go and eat supper for us both.” Thum scowled and opened his mouth to protest, then understanding dawned in his eyes. It was likely that Dain would get no supper tonight, and Thum could gather enough food to slip to him later. “I will,” Thum said. He touched Dain’s shoulder briefly as though to give him encouragement, then left.  Sir Blait scowled at Dain and tapped on the door. “He’s here, m’lord,” he called out.

Lord Odfrey’s voice responded, and Sir Blait pushed open the door. Without going in, Dain could see the chevard at his desk, which was piled high with dispatch scrolls, scraps of vellum and parchment, and a heavy book secured with a lock.  One of Lord Odfrey’s dogs lay snoring softly against the base of the massive wooden desk. The chevard’s boots stood by the empty hearth. The chevard himself sat in a pool of golden candlelight that cast shadows across the angle of his cheekbones and the firm jut of his chin. He wore an old-fashioned tunic of dark gray cloth, and from his shoulders down he blended into the shadows. When he lifted his gaze to meet Dain’s, his dark eyes looked fathomless.  “Enter,” he said harshly. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Dain gave Lord Odfrey a quick, nervous glance. Squaring his shoulders, he winced slightly and stepped over the threshold. Sir Blait shut the door behind him, and Dain felt suddenly short of breath and hemmed in by this small, cluttered room.  It was very warm. No evening breeze blew through the small window, although Dain smelled rain on the air. He also caught the faintest whiff of Nonkind on the chevard’s boots. It unsettled him.

Lord Odfrey went back to his writing. In the silence Dain could hear the faint scratching of the chevard’s pen across the parchment. Knowing he was being tested, knowing he must not interrupt, Dain swallowed a sigh of impatience and wished he dared sit, for his knees were feeling weak and his arm throbbed. His famished stomach growled while he listened to faraway sounds of lute music and the clatter in the Hall that accompanied supper.

A tall-backed chair, handsomely carved, faced Lord Odfrey’s desk. It looked ornate enough for a lord to sit on. Dain dared not touch it. A map lay thrown across its back. A beautiful thing, the map was colorfully illustrated with vivid inks of scarlet and indigo and green. Tilting his head, Dain studied the geography of Mandria, illustrated with splendid meadows, streams where rainbow-hued fish leaped, and an ornate palace topped by a crown that must represent Savroix, seat of Mandrian kings. Nold was drawn much smaller, and bordered by drawings of crossed axes. Many trees were sketched close together to represent the Dark Forest. Nold’s ore-rich mountains were not drawn on the map at all, and the four largest dwarf settlements were marked in the wrong places.  Klad was placed north of Nold and was a land Dain knew little about. He recognized it by the drawings of tents and herds of horned cattle. A small portrait of a bearded barbarian with small squinty eyes and long braids of blond hair showed Dain the type of folk who must live there. Jorb had told Dain about selling a sword to a Kladite many years ago, but the Kladites seldom ventured beyond their own borders. They were said to eat hardened milk flavored with blood and to count their wealth by how many cows and wives they owned.  Curious to see Nether, Dain leaned forward to look at the rest of the map.  “Where have you been?” Lord Odfrey demanded. His voice was stern and harsh, his tone unforgiving.

Startled, Dain jumped and met Lord Odfrey’s dark eyes. They looked almost black with anger. Dain’s answer tangled in his throat. It all seemed suddenly too long and difficult to explain. He could not decide where to start or how to say it.  “Dain, I’ll not ask you again.”

Thus warned, Dain took refuge in defiance. He shrugged. “I was seeing the world.”

Lord Odfrey’s fist slammed atop his desk, making a candle jump. “Damne, boy!  I’ll brook none of your flippancy. You’ve been in this hold since chapel let out, perhaps longer. Why didn’t you report to me at once?” “Did you think me unaware of your arrival? Sir Terent sent word from the gates immediately. He should have escorted you straight here himself. No doubt he thought he could trust you to follow orders. Clearly he was wrong.”