But though Caradoc has won a victory, I think the war goes not well. The Westmen ride where they will, and we hold only castles and walled towns. There will be no crops throughout much of the high plains. The Roman scribes will tell you what now is required to feed the army and its horses. I cannot think those numbers will please you, nor will they please the peers of Drantos. The taxes of this war, added to what you require to keep your fields of madweed, would have ruined us if we had not the new plows. They may ruin us yet, though the first harvest in the Cumac has yielded more than we previously took in two. And the new forges and foundries produce wagons to carry the grain, so that we are able to send it to the high plains for the army. Yet I fear there will come a time when we have not wagons, horses, and grain in the same place at the same time.

The Westmen are the death of the earth. Arekor, the priest of Vothan who lived among them, has told Caradoc-Lord Caradoc!-that they do this from policy. They burn and destroy, and pull down not only buildings and walls, but the very terraces, and stop up wells; for they live on so little that they can live in devastated lands when none of their enemies can. Thus do they keep the lands above the Westscarp in desert, and thus will they make desert of our lands above the Littlescarp if we cannot expel them or kill them.

She set the pen down and got up from the table. The next part would be very hard to write. A flagon of wine stood on a side table near her bed, and she filled a goblet.

I seldom drink wine, she thought. She looked at the empty bed. Except at night, before I go to my husband. Even now, even now, though he is gentle and kind and loves me. And though I love him with all my heart, I know I pleasure him little that way, though he says this is not so.

My husband, as you desired, we held a Council of Cheim to consider defenses against the Westmen. Hilon the blacksmith of Clayton, who sits in my council-

She frowned and crossed through the last two words.

– in our Council of Chelm, proposed that instead of supporting the army in the high plains, his town will buy the knowledge of how to make Guns, and pay to have the burghers taught in their use, and will buy firepowder.

He spoke thus: "If we put Guns on the town wall, let the Westmen come to us. We will break their teeth. Much of that and they will cease to chew on us." You may imagine this was not greeted with joy by bheroman Traskon son of Trakon in whose lands Clayton lies.

For it cannot be long before the towns find ways to buy these Guns, and then they will be as safe as Dravan, and how will their lords rule then? And now I think, nor town, nor Dravan is safe! For I had believed that with the Guns Dravan would be safe from siege towers, yet how are we safe from Guns which can batter down our very walls?

My husband, great and momentous changes are upon us, and I no longer know what I must do to protect our children. I have often thought you know not enough of Drantos and Tamaerthon and this world of Tran to rule it. Yet if you do not, no one does, for only you know what has been unleashed upon us and what I will live to see.

She tapped the table with impatience, searching for the words to tell him of her fear without sounding afraid. Finally she wrote again.

For now you are my life as never before. Always I have loved you. Now I must needs obey you, for I know not what else I can do to preserve what is ours. And though I have not always understood, yet I have tried to make your work my work, and your cause my cause; and now that must be so no matter how little I understand.

My fear is that I shall be asked to do that I cannot do. But I am comforted, for you will never ask of me more than I can bear.

My lord, my life, my love, I am,

Tylara.

Rick cursed as he drank the bitter caffeine drink that for want of a better word he called tea.

His orderly watched the footman carry out the soiled breakfast dishes, then turned back as Rick cursed again. "My lord?" Jamiy asked.

"Nothing," Rick growled. "Leave me."

"Aye, lord." The orderly hesitated. "You are to see Chancellor Yanulf this morning."

"And then Sergeant Major Elliot, and after that I have letters to dictate," Rick said. "Yeah, I know. Give me this much time." He held his fingers half an inch apart, indicating about ten minutes: the time it would take for a standard beeswax candle to burn down that far. Time measurement was not very accurate on Tran…

What the hell does Yanulf want, coming here from Edron without notice? I'll find out soon enough. Another goddam day of work and another night alone. Why didn't I figure a reason for Gwen to stay- Because, you damned fool, your wife would kill you. More likely kill Gwen, and it isn't just a figure of speech. Besides, it isn't Gwen you want, it's Tylara. Remember?

Yeah, and it really is. Only Only nothing, buster. Forget it! What's next? Your wife doesn't understand you? Tell that one often enough, and it'll be true. Or maybe that's what you want? You could do it. You have the guns. Leave Tylara, go to the University and shack up with Gwen. You could change the whole history of the planet that way. Of course, all this stuff you've worked for goes down the tubes, but what the hell, a good lay is worth a lot, right?

Sure, with Isobel and Makail growing up to hate me. There'd also be the Caradoc problem.

"Hell," he said aloud. "It's not even tempting." He drained the cup of lukewarm bitter tea.

Yanulf was attended by Apelles and two acolytes. The acolytes were dismissed at Rick's study door, but Apelles came in with the Chancellor. Yanulf looked older, as if he'd aged a year in the past few months, but his voice was as hearty as ever. He greeted Rick warmly, and Rick stood to clasp the priest's forearm before they sat at the conference table.

"And what brings you from the capital?" Rick asked.

"Not good news, I fear," Yanulf said.

"I didn't think it would be."

"This could be a matter for the Eqeta's Court," Yanulf said. "It would have been, had not Apelles sent the matter to me."

Rick frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Technically, he has interfered with your justice," Yanulf said. "Yet I see not what else he could have done."

Rick warily eyed the two priests. "Why not tell me?" he demanded.

Apelles looked to Yanulf, then back at Rick. "It is a matter that I cannot resolve, lord." He looked down at the table, then across at the maps, finally back to Rick. "A petition of right, on behalf of Nictoros, Priest of Yatar, was brought to me three ten-days ago. As is my duty, I sent forth writs inquiring into the matter, intending to lay it before you in open court." He paused again.

"And instead you wrote the Chancellor."

"No, lord."

"You just said you wrote to Yanulf!"

"Aye, lord, but I did not write to the chancellor. I referred the matter to Yanulf, Archpriest of Yatar, for it is a matter which touches the very honor of our god!"

O Lord, Rick thought. What are we in for? The classic confrontation between Church and State? Becket and Henry II, played out here? "Suppose you tell me about it."

Again Apelles looked to Yanulf, who nodded slightly. "Nictoros was born villein," Apelles said. "Within the lands of Bheroman Enipses. During the rebellion against Wanax Loron, Nictoros fled the land and took refuge with Galdaf, Priest of Yatar."

"Many fled in those times," Rick said. "And I think I see the problem. Enipses is a loyalist. Supported Ganton during the civil wars, supports Tylara and me now. The baron wants his villein back, and the church won't turn loose their priest. That's an easy one "He was found to have both intelligence and a desire to serve Yatar," Apelles said, "and was made an acolyte, and in due time consecrated as Priest of Yatar. He later found favor with Bheroman Enipses, who appointed him to be priest in his own household."