As they started off across the fields, Gaelin walking beside Erin, she leaned down and said quietly, “Count Dhalsiel didn’t send any troops to the Mhor’s muster. Do you trust him?”

“Before I started my training in the Knights Guardian, Cuille Dhalsiel was one of my best friends. We got into all kinds of trouble together when we were fourteen or fifteen.”

Gaelin smiled for a moment, recalling some of their escapades.

“He’s a rake and a rogue, but I don’t believe he would hand me over to Ghoere.”

“I hope you’re right,” Erin said.

They crossed the fields worked by the villagers, and then took to winding cart tracks that led to outlying farms and shepherds’ pastures. About an hour after noon, they reached the town of Beldwyn, the site of Castle Dhalsiel. The castle was modest compared to Shieldhaven, consisting of a keep, hall, and chapel surrounded by a low stone wall, pierced by several small gatehouses. It was familiar to Gaelin; he had visited frequently when he was younger. Now, studying the battlements, he found he was hesitant to enter.

“Do you expect another ambush?” Erin asked.

“No, but still…” Gaelin forced a smile onto his face. “Let’s go on inside. We have nothing to fear here.” Piere and his fellows turned back for home as Gaelin, Erin, and their two guardsmen rode up to one of the castle’s side gates.

A pair of guards manned the portcullis. They watched with studied disinterest as Gaelin led his small party into the courtyard. He noted as they entered that the interior wall dividing the upper bailey from the lower bailey had been torn down to increase the size of the castle’s hall, and new construction had also masked the fields of fire of several towers.

Gaelin caught a scowl of contempt on Boeric’s face, and realized the soldier had reached the same conclusions: Dhalsiel had neglected the fortifications in his care.

Still unchallenged and unannounced, they stabled their horses and entered the castle’s hall, guarded by two more lackadaisical halberdiers. A chamberlain finally stopped them as they stood in the doorway. “You’re just in time for the noontime meal, Sir Knight,” he said. “May I announce you to the count? Your retainers can find something to eat in the servant’s quarters.”

“Tell the count I bear a message from Shieldhaven for his ears alone,” Gaelin said to the chamberlain. “Can you show me a private room in which to wait?”

The chamberlain gave him a skeptical look but did as he was asked. “Gather what supplies you can,” Gaelin whispered to Boeric. “Make sure we’re ready to remount and leave within minutes, if necessary.” The soldier nodded and trotted back into the courtyard, Niesa in tow. Then Gaelin and Erin followed the chamberlain to a small, disused shrine in the castle’s old hall.

After a quarter-hour Gaelin caught the footfalls of several people in the hall outside, with the tones of Cuille’s voice. A moment later the young lord appeared, dressed in his usual finery. As hort knight in blue-lacquered armor and a middle-aged woman in a brocade dress followed him. Cuille took one step into the room, and his jaw dropped in astonishment as he met Gaelin’s eyes. “Gaelin! What on earth are you doing here? ”

“It’s good to see you, too, Cuille. Is this a safe place to talk?”

“Of course.” The count quickly recovered. He waved a hand to indicate his two advisors. “I have the utmost faith in Trebelaen and Viersha, here.” He moved forward and took Gaelin’s hand in a firm grip, vigorously shaking his hand. “I can’t believe you’re alive, Gaelin. This is great news!”

“You expected to hear of his death, instead?” Erin asked.

“Why would you have thought Gaelin dead, Count Dhalsiel?”

Cuille pulled away and examined Erin. “I do not believe I have the honor of your acquaintance, my lady.”

“This is Erin Graysong, of the White Hall,” Gaelin said.

“You may recall that I traveled to Endier to escort her to Mhoried.”

“Ah! Of course!”

“She raises an interesting question, Cuille,” Gaelin continued.

“Why should you expect me dead?”

“Well, I heard of the fall of Shieldhaven and the Mhor’s death. I thought you might have been taken as well.”

“You knew I was in Endier,” Gaelin pointed out. “I told you I was going, the last time I saw you in Shieldhaven.”

“Gaelin, I don’t know what to say, where to begin. So much has happened, in the space of a single week.” Cuille clasped his hands behind his back and paced away. “What are you going to do? I mean, where are you going to go?”

“My father and brother are dead. I am the Mhor.”

Cuille glanced at Gaelin. “You don’t want to be the Mhor.

You were never interested in statesmanship. Besides, if you go about saying that you’re the Mhor, Tuorel’s going to run you to ground. You’d be wise to leave Mhoried while you can. Seek shelter in Diemed – you’ve family there – or maybe the city of Anuire. Better yet, head east and lay low in Brechtur somewhere. Get out of Tuorel’s reach.”

“ A life in exile, always waiting for Tuorel’s assassins to strike again?” Erin observed. “That’s not particularly courageous.”

“Courage is a mask for stupidity,” Cuille retorted. “Tuorel’s got all of the southlands, from Tenarien to Balteruine, and he’ll hold Cwlldon and Byrnnor before the month’s out. The war’s done with already.”

“Would you back me if I decided to fight?” Gaelin asked.

“Gaelin, that’s – ”

“Answer the question, Cuille! If I declare myself the Mhor and fight Tuorel, would you stand behind me?”

“I don’t know, Gaelin,” the lord replied uneasily.

“Which means no, except you don’t have the stomach to say it to my face.”

“Gaelin, be realistic. Your entire army consists of two soldiers down in the stables, and your court is one bard. How can I set myself against Ghoere now? I would be crushed.”

“Then you should have thought of that before you elected to keep your soldiers at home instead of sending them to Cwlldon!” snapped Gaelin. “Cuille, you wouldn’t have to be afraid of Tuorel if you had helped my father stand against him. Some of his blood is on your hands.”

“Wait! Gaelin, I had nothing to do with his death!”

“It seems you had nothing to do with anything,” Gaelin replied.

“How could I know Tuorel meant to kill him?” Cuille said, throwing his hands in the air and turning away.

There was a moment of silence in the room. In a small, cold voice, Erin said, “What did you say, my lord count?”

“I said, ‘How could I know – ’ ”

“You knew Tuorel was going to attack Shieldhaven,”

Gaelin said. “You knew, and you didn’t say anything.” He turned away, his chest aching as if he’d been physically struck. “Let me guess. Ghoeran emissaries promised you something if you would just stand aside. Was it money? Lands? Or something else?”

“Gaelin, you have to understand the position I was in. You don’t know everything that was going on!”

“Cuille, I don’t want to know what your price was. I hope that whatever Tuorel gave you was worth it.” Gaelin looked at Erin and said, “Come on, let’s go. There’s nothing here for us.”

He pivoted and marched to the door, turning his back on the count. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder, but suddenly Cuille muttered a vicious oath under his breath and spoke.

“It was Ilwyn,” Cuille said. “I asked Tuorel to spare her. I knew he was going to attack, and I told him I’d refuse the Mhor’s summons if he didn’t harm her.”

Gaelin stopped and turned to face Cuille. The count shifted his weight nervously. Quite deliberately, Gaelin drew his sword, the steel hissing as it slid out of the sheath. “You bought my sister by betraying my father?”

Erin stepped forward quickly and grabbed Gaelin’s sword arm. “Gaelin, don’t! If you kill him, you’ll be dead in minutes.”

She spared the count a single contemptuous glance.