"You've gotten pretty good at the Sword Hand," he said.

"Indeed, lord," his Guard commander replied. He pulled off his helmet, shaking his thatch of sun-faded tow.

"It seemed like magic to me, that first time I saw it-you remember, I'd just lost a wrestling match to Hlokorax Winnahtaur's son? For that girl, what was her name… and you took him on and beat him in twenty seconds. And gave the girl back to me, and Hlokorax's knife. It was then I knew you were the wehaxpothis I must follow."

Walker laughed and nodded, slapping the other man on the back. He did remember that, quite vividly; it had been on the Eagle's first visit to Alba, before he knew the language, but he'd still sensed something significant about the happening.

That's when I stopped daydreaming and began planning, he thought. The moment when the Event became really real to him. That moment when Ohotolarix knelt and put his hands between mine.

The two combatants walked out of the practice circle and headed down the corridor to the officers' bathhouse. It was as well equipped as the palace, if slightly less sumptuous, tile and brass rather than marble and gold.

Work 'em hard in the field, treat 'em like fighting cocks the rest of the time, Walker thought. That was the formula.

He made sure a lot of the officers were men who owed everything to him, too; younger sons of Achaean nobles without prospects, a lot of them, and promotions from the ranks-luckily, service in a king's guard was high-status work here. Some Albans he' d brought with him as well, and a few more who'd come along in the intervening years, ones who couldn't stomach the peace the Islanders had imposed in Alba. The odd foreign mercenary too; he made a mental note to check if there were any Ringapi in the ranks.

Slave girls took their sweat-sodden clothing, lathered them up, and turned on the hot water. After they scrubbed and soaked in the tub, they lay on massage tables while the attendants pummeled and thumped as they sipped fruit juice. It was hot and steamy here, the scent of steam and clean stone broken by the sharp medicinal odor of the massage oil.

Ohotolarix laughed. "I've even gotten used to being washed by women," he said.

Walked nodded; the Iraiina were a pretty prudish bunch, in some respects. After a silence broken only by the slap of the girls' hands on hard, taut muscle, he spoke: "Have you ever regretted following me here?"

The Iraiian shrugged, muscle rippling in his thick shoulders. To his way of thinking, that hadn't been a choice. He had put his hands between Walker's, and an honorable warrior followed his chief wherever he led, even into the Cold Lands beyond the grave.

By now he was used to the conditional-hypothetical way of thinking, though.

"Not often, lord. I confess, sometimes the summers here are too hot, and the people always too sly and tricksy, and they use too much garlic, and sometimes I long to see beech trees and snow and heather again, and smell a north wind whistling off the fens. But back in the northlands I'd never have been more than a wirtowonax"-an ordinary freeman of the tribe. "Here I'm great chief held in high honor, many men know my name, bards sing my deeds, and I have women and land, cattle and horses and gold of my own, with the best of lords to follow. And strong sons to sacrifice at my grave; four, not counting by-blows, and all of them alive!"

"Thanks to Hong," Walker noted.

How many kids myself? he thought. Twelve that I've acknowledged. And Iphigenia is preggers, as Alice puts it. Most of the Achaeans assumed that child would be his heir, but in fact he intended to pick whoever turned out best. A good way to keep the kids very, very attentive and eager to please the old man, too.

Ohotolarix made a slight grimace at Hong's name; he didn't like the Lady of Pain.

Well, thought Walker tolerantly, not many people do like Alice, except the ones she's brainwashed. Her Little Shop of Experimental Horrors out in the country had produced some strange results, I do like her, but then, not many are as broadminded as I am.

"What did you think of the Ringapi?" he said.

"Much like my folk, lord-richer, though. They'll fight well, in the old fashion. Their horses were good, of their kind, and they knew how to handle a chariot."

"I agree." He was silent for a while. "I'm thinking of sending a mission to their country, to establish a stronghold. I might want you to command that."

"Lord!" Ohotolarix was alarmed. "I'd miss the fighting!"

Walker shook his head. "No, just fight in a different area. And I need a man I can trust absolutely there."

That mollified the Iraiina; he thought the Achaeans were treacherous faithless dogs to a man, and by his standards he was right. "What's their land like?" he said.

"Great plains of grass, surrounded by mountains with thick forest. Timber and mines in the mountains, with the towns and villages on the flats, and great rivers running through it. Marshes with reeds and a lot of game, wildfowl, boar, aurochs. Colder winters than here, too cold for olives, but vines will grow there."

"It sounds a goodly land, lord." A laugh. "Why didn't we go there?"

"I considered it," Walker said. "But there are so many advantages to being by the sea." A pause. "Disadvantages too, of course."

The Iraiina's brows knotted; he wasn't a stupid man by any means, and he'd learned a good deal since his days as a simple warrior-herdsman.

"You don't think we'll have the victory in this war, lord?"

"I think we will have the victory, but I'm not certain. The Ringapi could be useful either way."

They talked until the next few contestants came into the baths- one was carried through limp, off to the medic-and the conversation became more general. There were a few halfhearted attempts to pump him for the inside skinny on the coming war, but he frowned those into silence-the need-to-know principle was something he worked hard at getting into their heads.

He did hint at promotions, which was true enough; he used the guard as a training ground for his officer cadre. When the men adjourned to their mess for a little further partying, Walker headed instead for the stables. He caroused with the guard officers fairly often; they were a pretty good set of guys, the hero worship didn't hurt and there was no loss of face-in this country even gods were supposed to come down and kick up their heels now and then. But today he felt thoughtful.

It was a bright winter's afternoon outside, just brisk enough to make him glad of the cloak as he walked across the parade ground and through the sere gardens at the base of the hill that held his palace. A hound waiting for him at the door sprang up and gamboled about as he came out, jumping up and licking at his hands until he cuffed it affectionately aside.

"Down, Rover, goddammit! Is there anything I miss about the twentieth?" he mused aloud-in English, which made it private. "Let's see-movies, deep-dish pizza, good barbecue sauce, air conditioning, CDs… and that's about it. Don't think you'd have liked it there. Rover. Down! Good dog!"

Thank God for Ohotolarix, who's a good dog too, he thought. The lunatic warrior code of his folk was deep in the Iraiina's bones; Walker understood the motivations thoroughly, without sharing them in the least. So long as Walker fulfilled the obligations of a chief, the Iraiina would be loyal unto death. It was good to have a few completely honest men around.

Particularly if you're… flexible and realistic yourself, Walker thought with a chuckle, swinging his arms. Important to remember that people are different; you can't always judge other people's motivations by your own.

He felt loose and relaxed, alert and strong all at once from the hard exercise and the hot water and massage.

On impulse he walked through to the stable complex. He kept some dried apricots on him and now fed them to a few of his favorite mounts. They came eagerly at the sound of his step, snorting, ears cocked forward.