From the back cover:
Under Ares' command, Lystra has successfully defended her capital from invasion by a Qarqarian usurper who wants the legitimate heir, whom Ares is sheltering, dead. But this defense has come at the heartbreaking cost of many casualties among Ares' youngest soldiers.

In apparent gratitude, the ruler of neighboring Calle Valley invites Ares to inspect the ships confiscated from the enemy, now harbored at Prie Mer. So Ares accepts, bringing his young wife Nicole, a native of Prie Mer.

Once there, they discover that their host intends to keep them prisoners, for if he can do away with Ares, then that will end the line of Roman. But Ares and Nicole are harboring their own secret hope, based on a promise thousands of years old.


CHAPTER ONE

Nicole, trembling, stood in the center of the room, facing her husband Ares. They were in a place familiar to her--the library of the palace at Westford--and the many books and parchments lining the walls attended her trial today like a gallery of supporters. There was an arched window in the room which presently stood open, allowing the cool, fresh breath of fall to rustle pages in an open book. But Nicole knew better than to let her gaze linger outside the window on the golden trees in the distance, for that was an indication of weakness, of inattention.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she returned her eyes to her husband's face, and he regarded her without expression. Appropriately, she was wearing a relatively simple, modest dress of peach color, one discarded by the Chataine Renée months ago. (The surcoat was necessary to control her shivering, as the lone fire in the large room burned in the far wall.) Nicole's husband, who did not notice dresses except when they cluttered his chambers, nevertheless favored that one, which is why she wore it today.

Ares had been the Commander of Lystra's army when he had married seventeen-year-old Nicole five months ago. Having come to the palace as companion to the Chataine, she had almost brought him to his knees--literally--at their first meeting. Upon entering the palace foyer, he had immediately caught sight of her lithe form and shimmering chestnut hair as she stood regarding the banner of his ancestor Roman. Wary of his heart, and determined not to be ensnared by another vicious beauty, he had deliberately turned his eyes away from her the instant before she stepped backwards into his path, and so they had collided. It was inevitable.

He had seen the horror in her eyes the moment he lifted her and she saw the terrible, gaping purple scar that ran the length of the right side of his face. But somehow she had also recognized his stature, addressing him as "lord" in her murmured apology. At that quiet word his ramparts crumbled, and as soon as he was out of her hearing, he had turned to demand that his Second, Thom, discover all there was to know about her. The next day his scouts brought back confirmation that she was daughter of a harmless tailor in Prie Mer, and that evening Ares had married her.

He was Surchatain now. Two events--Ares' successful defense of Westford against a Qarqarian invasion by sea and the discovery of pages from the Law of Roman that a usurper had excised but not destroyed--came one hard upon the other, and the force of both propelled him onto the throne of Lystra. With the apprehension of such power came the conviction that he must use it justly. Hence the hearing today.

Ares sat, straightening his severe, black brocaded jacket, and rested a hand on the fluttering pages of the ancient book of the Law of Roman that lay open on the table before him. At his right sat his close friend and Counselor, Carmine, who was married to the blond and beautiful Chataine Renée. (She was so amused when visitors to Westford, knowing nothing of recent history, mistook her for Ares' daughter that she had taken to calling him "Papa." Even though neither she nor her half-brother Henry would ever reign, Ares had decreed that their titles were irrevocable.) At Ares' left sat the palace Steward Giles, who now beamed at Nicole in a manner more supercilious than reassuring.

Ares glanced at the amanuensis, seated at his own small table, who dipped his quill in the inkwell and made himself ready to transcribe the hearing. Then Ares looked at his wife and said, "Lady Nicole, your courage is to be commended. I do not know of any other woman in Lystra since Surchataine Deirdre who has even attempted to attain certification in the Law. But I know how hard you have studied"--he did not pause perceptibly and she did not flinch, although they both knew how she had buried herself in the Law to escape the pain of disappointment. Despite Sister Agnes' prophetic word, Nicole was not pregnant. The line of Roman remained paused in the person of Ares alone.

"--So even if you do not attain certification today, you have already outstripped all women in your efforts," Ares said gently, and dismay passed across her transparent face. "So let us begin.

"Counselor Carmine, Steward Giles and I will each ask you five questions in turn--more, if we consider it necessary. We will confer privately afterward to determine whether your answers indicate a sufficient grasp of the Law as to pass certification. Your first question, Lady: What are the ten fundamental precepts of the Law of Roman and the rationale for each?"

Nicole inhaled, relaxing slightly at the standard opening question. "Surchatain, they are wisdom, humility, prudence; justice, mercy, reason; goodwill, cleanness, moderation, and faith." She answered as she had learned them, in groups of three, three, and four, according to the rationales of inward thinking, outward behavior, and lasting effects.

After giving sufficient exposition of the precepts, Nicole turned to Carmine for his question. Elegant, sophisticated Carmine, handsome in a rather effeminate way, said: "Excellent answer, Lady. My hearty commendation. The question I put to you is of two parts. First, specify the legitimate line of ascendancy to the throne of Lystra, and second, account for the usurpation."

Nicole smiled in gratitude. History was a fair topic for the certification hearing, but this was a question that she, of all people, would know thoroughly. "My lord Counselor, the legitimate line of Lystra is traced from Roman to Ariel to Bobadil to Erlend to Ares. Surchatain Bobadil's Commander Talus usurped the throne by contriving to murder his master and his younger brothers Hume and Toal while they were all out falconing.

"Following, Talus set out in pursuit of Bobadil's son Erlend, who, having been warned of the attack, was fleeing Westford with his son Ares, then about four years old. Talus overtook them at the inn of Dansington, and struck down Erlend with the sword. The child crawled under a table to escape, but the soldiers pulled him out and Talus struck at him, but as he wrenched away, the blade slashed his face instead, and cut the hand of the man holding him. Talus' brother Reynard then came upon them, and prevented his brother's slaying the precious child," she said warmly, and the shadow of a smile crossed Ares' face.

Nicole resumed, "To placate his brother, Talus kept the boy Ares alive, and contrived the tale that assassins had set upon his master's party. Bobadil's fat and complacent counselors accepted his word and appointed him guardian of the child, but one by one they mysteriously died off until Talus declared a state of emergency and himself Surchatain." Nicole grew heated in recounting the treachery.

"He blotted out Erlend's name from the line of Roman in the Book of Families, then he removed the pages from Roman's Law that prescribed death for his crime, and hid them until such time as they might benefit his heir, Cedric, who was father of Chataine Renée and Chatain Henry. And then--"

"That will suffice, Lady Nicole. We are all quite aware of recent events," Carmine said.

Somewhat flustered but triumphant, she looked at Giles for his question. He was dressed with an elegance that rivaled Carmine's, though the ring of unruly brown hair surrounding his bald pate tended to detract from the suavity of his costume--hence his preference for gaudy hats that only drew attention to his head. His question was: "Lady Nicole, what is the current per annum tax rate for a hamlet in Lystra of no more than fifty persons, provided that no more than one-quarter of the population engage in business apart from farming?"

Nicole's mouth dropped open in dismay, then she set herself to earnestly recollecting the section on tax rates, but it was all a jumble of percentages and conditions. As the panel sat waiting, she murmured, "That would be--"

"Speak up, Lady Nicole," Giles admonished, leaning forward.

"That would be . . . thirty royals per annum, Steward," she hazarded.

He harumphed, raising his brows at the inaccurate answer, and Nicole, with a sharp pain in the pit of her stomach, looked to Ares for his next question.

The certification hearing proceeded predictably: Ares asked questions that probed for a general knowledge of the most important points of the Law, to which she readily replied; Carmine asked questions that, while not easy, she was certain to know how to answer; and Giles asked questions that she could not have answered without memorizing columns of numbers.

When, after a sixth question from each, the hearing was concluded, Nicole was dismissed in exhaustion from the room so that the panel might deliberate. Carmine turned to Giles and said, "Steward, I should have you flogged for your abuse of the lady. Whenever did anyone have to produce tax rates from the top of his head for certification?"

"It is an important area that has been shamefully overlooked, Lord Counselor," Giles protested. "The palace runs on taxes. We cannot function without them."

"But the rates change so rapidly it is useless to memorize them, especially when one can merely open a ledger to see the current rate for any area of the country. Merely knowing numbers does not enhance one's ability to govern," Carmine pointed out.

"Ah! There I beg to differ, Lord Counselor!" Giles' unruly fringe of brown hair flared out in his passion. "The specific rates convey so much knowledge about a territory--the health, the wealth, the growth or decline of a population; the living made by heads of households and the young men available for military service--"

"All of which comes by years of experience in learning to interpret the numbers, not by merely knowing numbers," Carmine countered.

"But the Surchatain himself, who has had no experience setting taxes, knows the numbers. What say you, Surchatain Ares?" Giles implored.

Ares looked up to the wall over their heads and uttered, "She passes."

Dinner that evening was made into a celebration of the Lady Nicole's accomplishment in attaining certification. Counselor Carmine presented her with a large, fussily ornate proclamation stating the fact, and Georges, the dinner master, had arranged the menu around a few of her favorite foods--clams, toad in the hole (sausage and onions cooked in a pastry), fresh greens, and apple crisp. The long row of tables seating upwards of sixty guests was noisy and effusive, especially as Ares had permitted the opening of a second cask of Valley wine for the evening.

Ares had been reluctant to abandon his customary place at the right hand around the corner of the head of the table, but as it was unthinkable for anyone to be seated higher than the Surchatain, his friends prevailed upon him to make the move. It came with the obligations of the office, they argued. And Nicole would sit beside him. So they two occupied the head; Carmine was seated in Ares' old place, and Renée sat across from her husband at Nicole's left. Renée's eight-year-old half brother, the Chatain Henry, was seated next to his sister, and his guest, Chataine Melva of Qarqar, next to him.

Lady Vivian, Renée's mother and Cedric's first wife, unhappily occupied the seat beside Melva. Vivian had strenuously argued for the place next to Renée, but as her daughter did not want her there and Henry would not suffer being separated from twelve-year-old Melva, Vivian had little choice but to accept what was offered from sheer kindness on Ares' part. Wigzell, the palace physician, sat next to her.

On the other side of the table, next to Carmine, sat Commander Thom, his wife Deirdre, and then the big, awkward Oswald, who was Thom's Second in Command. He gave Giles fits, since the Steward was not only seated below him but had to endure repeated dousings when Oswald's large hands inadvertently brushed against goblets and other dinnerware. Ares listened sympathetically to Giles' frequent, bitter complaints, but Oswald was never moved from his seat. On Giles' right hand was his wife Genevieve.

The rest of the places were occupied by Thom's captains and their wives, noblemen of Westford who sat on councils, wealthy merchants, and lesser palace officials. The occupants of the lower end of the table were shifted continually, usually according to who was in favor or out of favor with the Chataine Renée that particular week. Changes at the upper end of the table were much rarer, as they had to be approved by Ares, who frowned on musical chairs at dinner.

Counselor Carmine called for the attention of the table and raised his cup (which was pewter. Ares had confiscated the gold cups previously used by the royal family and placed them in the treasury under the approving eye of Giles.) "Surchatain, I propose to offer congratulations to the Lady Nicole on her singular accomplishment. Well done, Lady," Carmine said, and the remainder of the table lifted their cups in unison.

Ares picked up his goblet and turned to Nicole. "Many women have done excellently, but you have surpassed them all," he said softly, and drained his cup. As the rest of the table followed suit, Nicole lowered her eyes and blushed fiercely, twining her hands on her lap in nervous excitement.

Giles offered, "The lady should be placed on a council where she can put her knowledge to use. There is a vacancy on the apportionment council." Nicole's eyes darted up in something like alarm.

"Heavens, Steward, you will kill her with numbers," Carmine groaned. "I would let her sit on juries, first. At least they are interesting." The dark circles around Nicole's eyes deepened. Royal juries were appointed by the Surchatain himself to hear evidence of serious crimes by nobles, and were empowered to pass the sentence of death upon conviction of the accused.

"Let her weigh in on promotions, Surchatain," Commander Thom offered as a lighter alternative. "She's insightful. Her perspective on the merits of a man would be greatly appreciated." Looking at Thom's sincere, smiling face, Nicole thought about how fiercely the best men competed for rank in the army, and how the lives of the population hung on the competence of the men chosen.

Renée tossed her luxuriant blond ponytail as a precursor to speaking, and everyone looked at her. Bathed in milk and rose petals nightly, adorned with the most ornate, costly gowns Lord Preus could create, blessed with youth, inherited beauty, and as much assurance of a trouble-free life as the mighty Ares could offer, the Chataine was the picture of privileged indulgence. So she spoke: "I saw samples from a most wonderful artisan who does glass windows, Papa, and I do so want them in my quarters. Carmine has them in his."

Ares looked confused. "I was given to understand that your chambers has only one small window which is not suitable for glass, Chataine."

"Oh! Didn't I tell you? I've moved to Father's old chambers," Renée said casually. The Surchatain's chambers were, of course, the most spacious, opulent rooms in the palace, next to the Surchataine's suite. One of Cedric's last acts before his murder was to inexplicably switch rooms, giving up the tower room with the northern windows for his ex-wife's rooms (which Renée referred to now). This caused a great deal of confusion at first, but Ares realized that Cedric's action had something to do with the secret passage that ran past both apartments: the more modest suite sat at the terminus of the passage. Cedric must have had some presentiment of evil to value control of the passage more than square footage.

Renée chose that suite not because of the secret passage, but because her father had outfitted it with a new garderobe sporting gold fixtures, whereas the northern tower suite was equipped with nothing but chamber pots. Ares--and Nicole, for that matter—continued to reside in his modest first-floor quarters, as his garderobe was still the only one in the palace with running water. But--

"Then where is Lady Vivian?" Ares asked, and she looked up with a wounded expression.

Renée forestalled her: "Mother is in the Surchataine's chambers." Because Nicole was not. She had not only refused to allow Ares to name her Surchataine, but she would not be parted from him at night. They slept in the same bed like any burgher and his wife.

Ares, blinking, was unaware of the wine steward's leaning over his shoulder to refill his goblet. Carmine had privately instructed the wine steward that the Surchatain was never to have to lift his goblet for refills again. "Then where is Chataine Melva?" Ares asked.

"She is in my old chambers," Renée responded, then sighed over the toad in the hole, "What a middle-caste dish."

"I see," Ares said, then looked at his wife before picking up his fork. Since the attention of the table had shifted to Renée, Nicole relaxed enough to begin eating small, hesitant bites. Ares studied the pallor of her face and the thinness of her arms, visible through the translucent silk sleeves. He watched her swallow with difficulty and cast anxious, nervous glances around the table before looking to him, her beautiful hazel eyes seeking reassurance.

"Well, Papa?" Renée demanded.

Ares looked up. "Chataine?"

"The glass for windows in my chambers?" Renée reminded him.

He shrugged, "Whatever you can pry out of Giles for the purpose is acceptable to me." Giles smiled in triumphant glory and Renée groaned. Ares had allowed the palace Steward to become a virtual bulldog in defending the burgeoning treasury from those who would make claims on it.

Ares glanced down the table at Wigzell, the doctor, seated on Vivian's left. Wigzell had advised him months ago that Nicole's failure to conceive was most likely due to the stress of life in the palace--something that Ares had not only failed to ameliorate, but allowed to compound. The problem was, he did not know what to do about it.

Lord Faguy, next to Wigzell, saw Ares looking his way and requested, "Surchatain, may I speak?"

Ares' eyes darted to him in interest. Lord Faguy, a wealthy merchant who made a considerable portion of his income importing goods from across the Sea, had assisted Ares with crucial information about the marauding ships that had threatened both Calle Valley and Lystra. "Certainly," Ares said.

"Surchatain Verschoyle sends word that he has finished outfitting the ships you so generously granted for the protection of Prie Mer, and extends an invitation for you to inspect the fleet yourself," Lord Faguy said, inclining his head in respect. "The Surchatain will be in Prie Mer for the next several weeks, at least."

Ares looked off, thinking. After the combined armies of Lystra and Calle Valley had defeated Qarqarian invaders on the plains south of Westford, Ares had impounded the enemy fleet of 86 ships. Half of those he had sent to Calle Valley--specifically, Prie Mer--for the protection of their coast, and half he had retained for the protection of Lystra's interests. Digging was progressing so nicely on the waterway from the Village Branch to the coast that they hoped to have it operational by the spring. The latest report from the old shipbuilder Larmoyeux in Hycliff had described the successful refitting of the captured ships plus those originally built by Ares' grandfather Bobadil, so that Lystra now boasted a fleet of 61 warships ready to launch upon the completion of the waterway. These Ares had already seen.

But as for Surchatain Verschoyle's fleet in Prie Mer. . . . Ares looked at Nicole again, and she smiled at him tentatively. She had grown up in Prie Mer while it was still nothing but a sleepy little fishing town. The trading ships from across the Sea had begun landing there only months before she came to Westford. Her father still lived there, and she had not seen him since the day after their marriage--

"Nicole," he said.

"My lord?" she murmured, apprehension returning to her eyes, as if she feared what he might ask of her.

"How would you like to accompany me to Prie Mer? We can see the ships and visit your father," he said.

Hope sprang across her face and her mouth dropped open slightly. Before she could answer, Henry bounded up from his chair. "Me, Ares! Take me to Prie Mer, too!" Scampering around the table, he clambered into Ares' lap while he sat in the great, high-backed chair of authority, one of the pair in which Cedric and Elise, Henry's father and mother, used to sit. But to Henry the changes in position were irrelevant; Ares was still his guardian and playmate.

The Surchatain gravely considered it while Nicole looked on, smiling. "That is a plan, Chatain. But--" Ares lowered his voice, "if I take you to Prie Mer, who shall watch over the Chataine Melva? You know she is still in danger from the usurper who murdered her father." Henry looked dubiously toward his inamorata. "But since you should know about ships, I will take you with me next time I go see Larmoyeux," Ares promised, and Henry was satisfied.

"You and I," Ares said, turning his eyes to Nicole, "will leave tomorrow morning." She smiled, some warmth and color returning to her face.

"I shall send a fast messenger ahead to prepare lodging for you," Faguy said.

"Nonsense. We will stay with Nicole's father," Ares replied.

Nicole's smile took on a rather skeptical cast. "There are--rather poor accommodations, my lord," she warned him.

"Then we shall provide for ourselves," he said, taking the bowl of apple crisp from the hand of the servant and placing it before her.

Renée, who had finished her dinner, called for dancing. The guests, half of whom were ready to dance and half of whom were still eating, looked at Ares to give the word whether the tables should be moved aside or not. He graciously nodded assent, but at the same time stretched out in his chair so there would be no pushing aside his table. The upshot was, the guests who wished to dance left the table with Renée and Carmine to form lines on the other side of the great hall where the musicians stood ready with their instruments, while those who wanted to linger over dessert were waved up to the empty seats nearer the Surchatain. He listened to light, inconsequential conversation while he kept a gratified eye on Nicole as she finished off her entire dessert.

Following, she stood and demanded his hand. Kissing her palm, he led her out onto the marble floor. Chandeliers holding hundreds of candles hung suspended six feet over their heads, and the warm lights played off the sheen of the ladies' dresses. As usual, Nicole wore no adornments but the filigree cross necklace and wedding band Ares had given her. The small silk cap, held in place with combs, served to primly contain the masses of chestnut hair. Ares pressed his lips to this cap as he took her right hand in his left, sliding his right hand around her waist to wait for the music.

When it came, she was ready. He wasted not a moment before embarking on a dizzying series of turns covering the expanse of the hall. She followed as if she were a part of him, eyes partly closed, trusting explicitly in his leading. It was almost unnecessary for him to watch their path as he did, for other couples promptly gave way to them.

Lady Ilene, Lord Preus' wife, murmured to the Chataine, "They dance beautifully together, don't they?"

Renée looked over her shoulder to watch them critically a moment, then smiled. "Of course they do. I taught them both."

Early the following morning, Ares lay flat on his back inspecting the undersides of a market cart. As an experiment, his engineers had adapted the new-fangled suspension normally found on royal carriages and put it on the cart. Coyle hung perilously upside down over the side of the cart, his shock of blond hair standing on end, while he made the cart bounce. "We simplified the design a bit, Surchatain. It's not as springy, but it's also less noticeable. You can hardly tell there's anything different about the axle unless you know where to look," he noted.

Ares nodded, then hoisted himself out from under the cart. "I like it. We'll take it to Prie Mer as a test." He instructed a servant standing nearby: "Have it packed." While that man hurried off, Ares turned to Thom beside him. "I want messengers coming to me daily, dressed as mercenaries. Carmine knows what to do, but I want to hear if there's any word from Chiacos." This man, a Polonti, was the guide who had brought Melva and her maid safely through treacherous territory from Hornbound, the capital of Qarqar, to Westford. Ares had sent him back to Qarqar to spy out the activities of the usurper. "And--" Ares appended a sudden thought: "Lt. Paramore, who assisted the shipbuilder Larmoyeux--have him meet us at Prie Mer as soon as he can get out there. He knows ships; I'll want his opinion on Verschoyle's."

"Yes, Surchatain," Thom acknowledged, then paused at his superior's deerskin breeches and undyed cotton shirt. He had not even the protection of a coat.

Ares squinted in a bare smile. "But--?"

"Would it kill you to take a bodyguard?" Thom blurted.

When Ares smiled, the scar gaped open. "Why would a peasant couple need a bodyguard?"

"You're recognizable anywhere on the coast," Thom argued.

"Ah," Ares replied, reaching into the cart. He took out an old, wide-brimmed hat and set it on his head, drawing it low over his face. (The stubble of his beard, once grown a week, would obscure the lower half of his scar.) Then he looked up at Thom from under the brim, and the Commander turned away muttering in exasperation.

For the occasion, Nicole chose the brown linen travel suit her father Robert had made for her to wear to Westford. He would be gratified to see it on her. She had to borrow back several of the other dresses he had made for her, but they did not take much room to pack. Otherwise, the cart was filled with two pallets, blankets, and a downy comforter for Nicole; a great deal of food and wine, candles, dishes, kindling and firewood--everything they could need for their trip but a roof. Ares had not sent word ahead to Robert of their coming, as he did not particularly want word of it getting out.

So while the sun was still breaking free of the eastern horizon, he brought the one-horse cart around to the great cobbled courtyard of the palace, and Nicole climbed up beside him in excitement. The palace administrators wished them Godspeed as Ares, propping a foot above the brakeboard, took up the reins and clucked to the horse. The twenty-foot-tall, iron-banded gates were opened, and the cart clattered out against the stream of traffic coming in to begin another day of commerce with the palace. To placate Thom, Ares had Derrick and Alphonso accompany them on their own horses. They followed the cart at a discreet distance.

Ares took the paved market road south, then crossed the Passage toward the Village Branch. They passed many fields of summer wheat being harvested, and Ares looked over them in satisfaction. After the wheat-smut scare, they had not known how much grain they would harvest until it was fully ripe. But now, it looked to be more than they had expected. Along this stretch of road, the paving gave way to dirt. Once the waterway was completed, Ares would turn his attention to paving the rest of this road to the coastal highway. As they passed the trenching in progress, Ares reined up to look, but Nicole would not allow him to stop and talk with the foreman.

Once they were beyond the environs of Westford, the traffic of carts and wagons thinned out. Ares, keeping his face down, was rather pleased to see that he was not recognized. The closer they got to the coast, the brighter Nicole's eyes shone. She flung her head back to listen for the murmur of waves in the distance and smell for the salt air.

Farther south, they broke over a rather steep ridge to turn west on the highway along the coastline, and Nicole stood exuberantly in the cart to greet the Sea. Ares took the reins in one hand and encircled her hips with his free arm, lest she fall. The waves beat themselves into foam on the rocks below in hypnotic rhythm, drawing her eyes over the familiar, vast reaches of gray-green glory. She sat again abruptly to murmur into his shoulder, "Thank you, thank you, my lord." Seeing the way she jumped around, he was pleased at how well the suspension worked.

"Oh, I have so much to show you there! Our house is so small it will amaze you--Father has every corner crammed with beautiful fabrics. And only two rooms. There will be hardly a place for our pallets--your men shall be forced to sleep in the chicken coop, I fear! . . . I will show you the monk's hut where I learned to read. I wonder if he took away his books when he left? Surely he did. But wouldn't it be wonderful to find them hidden there still? . . .

"Oh, my lord, the marshes. . . . the laughing gulls, and the green herons. . . . I found so many nests! I would hide in the reeds and watch for hours, until the tide came in and forced me out. I could never bear to steal the eggs of such beautiful birds for dinner. There was no need; we always had plenty of fish and crabs and eels," she said defensively, as if justifying her empty hands after so many hours at play. Smiling slightly, Ares glanced at her from under his wide brim, then returned his attention to the uneven road.

She suddenly laughed, "Purdy's goats were forever getting stuck in the pluff mud, and oh, how they would bleat! Many nights when they got out of their pen Father would roust me--'Go tell Purdy to get his confounded kid out of the mud so I can sleep!'--because our house was closer to the marshes. But it took so long to go get Purdy and then go free the kid that I would just go get the kid out myself. Purdy lost a few that stayed stuck until the tide came in. Those were the ones we did not hear," she said, growing thoughtful.

The traffic they encountered on this stretch consisted mostly of heavily attended merchant wagons to which Ares was forced to yield the road. But no wagon overtook his cart from behind, as the suspension allowed for relatively fast travel. When the clopping of running hoofbeats was heard behind them, Ares twisted in his seat to look, unconsciously placing his foot against the hilt of the short, lethal dirk on the floorboard to tilt it up should he need it quickly. But Derrick and Alphonso, behind him, signaled peace at the moment Ares recognized the three riders' clothes as Lystran. When they reined up to speak a word to the bodyguard, Ares recognized the riders as Lt. Rhode, Moeck, and Buford.

Gaining the cart, the lieutenant saluted, heedless of Ares' supposed disguise. "Surchatain, there is nothing pressing to report, but the Counselor suggests that I ride ahead of you to advise Surchatain Verschoyle of your coming."

Ares paused. "Yes, but . . . it will be late afternoon before we arrive, so inform the Surchatain that I will meet him at the docks tomorrow morning."

"Surchatain." Lt. Rhode touched his hat in a salute, then they galloped on ahead until they were out of sight.

Nicole's eyes were glazed as she watched them go, then she demanded, "Won't this cart go any faster?" Ares dutifully clucked to the horse to step up its pace.

The closer they got to their destination, the faster she urged him on, and the more impatiently she peered ahead for familiar landmarks. She could not be persuaded to stop the cart to eat, so Ares let her hold the reins while he pulled out a small loaf of onion bread and bottle of wine. He glanced back at Derrick's riding alone while Alphonso was evidently making a rest stop in the roadside brush.

An hour later, Nicole stood so abruptly that the cart bounced deeply. Pointing ahead, she cried, "Oh, Ares! The tumble-downs! Purdy used to hide there when his father beat him, and I would bring him food!" Ares looked with mild interest toward a collection of large rocks that indeed looked as if they had fallen from some height into a jumbled heap together. "The rough path beyond them there--take that one!" she said excitedly, pointing again.

Murmuring reassurance that he would take that path as soon as he could find it in the long shadows of the rocks, Ares guided the cart around the tumble-downs. Nicole showed him the path almost hidden in the tall grass, at which point he appreciated not only the cart's suspension, but the fact that it had not recently rained. Both conditions enabled him to safely navigate the narrow dirt path.

Nicole reseated herself to keep her balance. "It seems like--years since I was here," she murmured. "Follow the path left ahead," she said, gripping his arm. He nodded, patting her tight fingers.

Presently, a small house with a broken-down fence behind it came into view. "Oh, Ares!" She clapped a hand over her mouth while the tears poured from her eyes. "This is it. This is my home, Ares," she whispered. He studied it with the interest of an amateur engineer. Being on the outskirts of the marsh, the wattle-and-daub house was built on piers that rose about two feet off the ground. Glancing back over the distance to the shore, Ares doubted the ground underneath flooded at every tide, but Robert evidently wanted to protect his livelihood from the occasional tidal wave.

Ares then canvassed the area around the house, and a vague concern rose in him. There were no animals around the house, and the garden in back was clearly overgrown and untended. There were no sounds of life from within or without. He subtly gestured to his bodyguard, who drew up to the cart.

As soon as Ares had reined the carthorse to a stop, Nicole bounded down to rush up the steps to the door, which stood slightly ajar. "Father! Father, I'm--"

Ares, Derrick and Alphonso came up the steps behind her as she stopped, frozen, in the doorway. Ares pushed the door fully open to look into the main room. It was totally barren. Not a thread of fabric nor a stick of wood was inside.


TRRC Review
See In the Library review.

Buy Prisoners of Hope.



© 2005 Robin Hardy

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