"Aspar!" Leshya snapped, but he ignored her.

He bounded down a series of old terraces and broke into a clearing, and there was the thing, gleaming black and green, its wings folding down as its claws came to earth. But in that terrible moment, that was not what held his attention. It was Winna, coming shakily to her feet next to a fallen horse, her eyes wide, a knife in her outstretched hand.

She was in profile, and so he could see the round bulge of her belly.

THE HANSAN KNIGHT stepped nearer, and Neil tried to keep his hand off Battlehound's hilt. A hush settled over the room, more profound by far than the earlier pause in the revelry that had greeted his lady.

"Sir Alareik," Neil acknowledged. "We've met before, it's true. I can't recall any unfinished business between us."

"Don't you? The Moonfish Inn at the docks in Eslen?"

"I remember," Neil said. "I was Sir Fail's squire, and he sent me to ask you to dine with us. You refused."

"You insulted me. Since you were a squire, honor forbade me taking the field against you. That is no longer the case."

It didn't stop you sending three of your squires to ambush me in the stables, Neil remembered, but he didn't think it best to bring that up.

In fact, before he could reply at all, Aradal broke in.

"Sir Alareik, this man is a member of an embassy and therefore a guest of our king. You will treat him with all the respect that comes with that position. Whatever grievance you have with him can be settled later."

"I'll not attack him out of hand," the Wishilm knight replied. "But there's nothing in the old code that says he can't agree to meet me with honor. There's no law in the world that forces a man to hide behind skirts and pretty words rather than step out and take arms like a knight. Well, maybe in Crotheny that's how they do things, but I'd rather think that even there knights are knights."

A general mutter went up at that, and a few shouts of agreement. Neil sighed.

"Sir Neil," Muriele whispered in Lierish.

"It's too late," he replied in the same tongue. "I can't refuse this."

"You certainly can," she said. "Your injuries-"

"Don't matter, Majesty. Don't you see? It's not the insult to me that's the problem; it's the insult to you and to Crotheny. If we're weak here, we'll be weak before Marcomir. There's no helping it."

"Nonsense. We just show we won't be distracted from our purpose. You're not that wise in politics yet, Sir Neil."

"Maybe not, but I know men of war, Majesty. I know knights, and I know Hansans."

"What's your mother say there, sir knight?" Sir Alareik shouted to general laughter.

Muriele lifted a glare at the man. "You've no manners, sir," she replied. "You're no better than a beast. You've interrupted a perfectly fine evening in the most boorish manner possible."

"I've approached your knight in an honorable way, Your Majesty," he replied. "Which is more than I can say about how he dealt with my poor squires, whom he set upon from hiding. What sort of satisfaction can I have if I can't fight him?"

To Neil, Muriele seemed to pause for an instant.

"Oh, you can fight him," she replied. "I was only pleading with him to spare your life when the moment comes."

The Wishilm knight's brow arched in surprise, and then he smiled. But Neil saw something in the man's eyes. It looked like worry.

He thought I would refuse, Neil realized. He doesn't want to fight me.

"Shall we wait for the sun?" Neil asked. "Or would you rather have it now?"

"The morning is fine," Alareik replied. "On the green. Mounted or not?"

"Your choice," Neil replied. "I don't care."

Alareik stood there for a moment.

"Was there something else?" Muriele asked.

"No, Majesty," the Wishilm knight replied. He bowed awkwardly and vanished into the crowd. The music struck up again, and the rest of the evening was all beer, food, and song.

Neil lifted himself from bed after the midnight bell tolled. He put on his gambeson, took up Battlehound, and made his way back down to the great hall and through its doors to the dark street. He took the sword and made a few passes, trying not to wince at how weak the arm felt. An arrow had struck him from above, piercing bone and muscle, and even after the head finally had been withdrawn, fever had nested there for more than a nineday.

Experimentally, he shifted to a left-favoring hold, but that was worse, because the muscles in his upper arm seized into a ball of pain. He'd taken a spear there, and the blade had cut one of the tendons that attached muscle to bone. Apparently those didn't grow back.

He saw something move from the corner of his eye and found a silhouette watching him. Not surprisingly, the shadow had a familiar hulking shape.

"Good evening, Everwulf af Gastenmarka," Neil said. "Come to do your master's dirty work again?"

He couldn't see the face, but the head moved from side to side.

"I'm much ashamed of that," the man growled. "You taught me a proper lesson that night. You could have killed me, but you didn't."

"You were never in danger of that," Neil said.

"Ney, nor was I ever in danger of beating you," the fellow said, "not even with my friends to help me."

"I was lucky."

"Oh, no. I was there. And who hasn't heard of the battle on Thornrath? You butchered our men there, and one of them was Slautwulf Thvairheison. You've made a large reputation in a small time."

"It's the past, Everwulf. No need for you to worry over it."

"Oh, but there is. My lord sent us after you, do you understand? To punish you and affront Sir Fail de Liery. And when you beat us, two of us quit him and went in search of more honorable masters. That's the humiliation that stings him now, that forces this fight, even with you injured."

"What makes him think I'm injured?"

"The battle for the waerd is famous, Sir Neil. And the tale says that you were bleeding from six wounds and lay three months abed. That's not long enough, Sir Neil. You can't be fully mended."

"It is if I didn't really bleed from six wounds," he replied.

"His squires watched you approach. Do you really think he would fight you if he didn't think you were infirm?"

"I think he thought I would back down, and now he isn't sure I'm injured at all."

"Yah. I'm sure you're right there. He's trembling. But he's challenged you in public. He'll fight you."

"There's no talking him out of it?"

"No."

"Well, I'll fight him, then."

Everwulf's voice dropped a bit lower. "Rumor is your legs are good, that your worst injuries were to shoulder and arm. If that were me, I would choose to fight on foot. Quick feet can make up for a slow arm, and I know you have quick feet."

"Thank you," Neil said.

"May the Ansus favor you," Everwulf replied, taking a step back. He paused, then turned and walked quickly off.

"Well, that was interesting," another voice murmured from the darkness, this one feminine. Heat flashed through Neil's veins, and he lifted his blade before recognizing the voice.

"Lady Berrye," he acknowledged.

"You might as well call me Alis," she replied softly.

"You were here for all of that?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Shouldn't you be guarding the queen?"

"I am," she replied.

"By watching after me?"

"I never thought she ought to be on this fool's errand in the first place," Berrye said, "and I think it was a mistake to bring you. The embassy is hardly under way, and already you've endangered it just by being who you are. Every knight between here and Kaithbaurg is going to want to fight you."