The work along the Palmaris docks was nothing short of furious. A line of wagons stretched the length of the city's long wharf as one Ursal warship after another slid into line. The Kingsmen drilled along the docks, learning techniques for getting ashore quickly and efficiently and establishing defensive positions. Several ships were brought into dry dock for repair, recaulking hulls, and even replacing severely weathered planks. Second and third anchors were added to the larger ships, to hold them steady against potential winter gales.

Not the Palmaris gales, though. Anyone observing the preparations who understood the region and seamanship would quickly come to the conclusion that many of these warships were soon to be departing, and to the north, into the open Gulf of Corona.

And they would be taking extra crew - soldiers - along for the journey.

In a small stone house not far from the docks - which was actually the house that served as St. Precious Abbey's liaison house to the region, used by Marlboro Viscenti when he had sneaked out of the city just prior to Aydrian's arrival - seven monks had gathered to watch an extraordinary presentation by an extraordinary man.

King Aydrian sat between the brothers, a hematite in one hand and a graphite in the other.

"This stone," he explained, holding forth the hematite, "can serve you as a conduit to the other. Using the state of meditation offered through the soul stone, you will have easier access to the powers of the second stone." To finish his point, the young king lifted both stones before him, closed his eyes, and sent a jolt of electricity emanating out from him, stunning and surprising the brothers and knocking a couple right to the floor.

A few minor protests began, but Aydrian's laughter, which quickly became contagious, cut them short.

Aydrian started to explain, but then just jolted them all again, and then again, laughing all the while, as were most of the brothers. With De'Unnero's help, he had chosen only the most loyal and ambitious group of Abellican converts, and the promises of power he was now displaying for them simply overwhelmed any protests before they could gain strength.

"It is so very easy," the young king explained. It wasn't quite true, he knew, and certainly would not be as easy for these brothers to perform as it was for him, who had learned the deepest secrets of the gemstones from his shadow mentor at Oracle. If he had thought for a moment that these brothers would ever even approach his power and ease of use with the gem- stones, this was one secret the young king would have certainly kept to himself! Aydrian led the seven out the back door of the house, and into a narrow alleyway that he had ordered his soldiers to seal off to the public. And then he put the monks to work with the gemstones, one at a time, shooting bolts of lightning down the alleyway.

Most of the shots were truly pitiful, Aydrian had to admit, but he kept them at it, over and over, and what heartened him was that the seven showed little signs of tiring from the extended magic use, which proved, at least, that they were having a somewhat easier time of accessing the graphite using his soul stone technique.

At several points during the training, Aydrian fell into his own soul stone and stepped free of his mortal coil, moving to the training monk.

He didn't go in to possess the chosen man, but affected a sort of spiritual joining, that he could guide the monk along his journey from soul stone to graphite.

A short while later, with the training on in full, the young king was drawn from his work by the sounds of an argument not too far away.

Aydrian recognized the voices and was hardly surprised.

He left the young monks to their work and moved out of the alley and back into the stone house, where he found Marcalo De'Unnero and Earl De Paunch in heated discussion.

"It is folly!" De'Unnero declared. "The gulf is not to be challenged so late in the season when we have so much to lose and so little to gain."

"Perhaps you should ask our king about that before making such a statement," replied Earl De Paunch, a thin and severe-looking young man, whose tight little beard and thick black eyebrows only added to the intensity of his dark and too-eager eyes. De Paunch, an Allheart Knight, had been appointed by Aydrian to replace Duke Bretherford as acting duke of the Mirianic on the suggestion of Duke Kalas; and in listening to him now, his every word dripping in an almost obsessive intensity, it wasn't hard for Aydrian to understand the reasoning behind that recommendation.

As he finished, DePaunch drew De'Unnero's gaze over to the house's back door, where stood a rather amused-looking King Aydrian.

"All goes well, my friend," Aydrian said to De'Unnero. "Why are you so concerned?"

"The Gulf of Corona is an enemy we do not need," De'Unnero replied, and he glanced from Aydrian to DePaunch in a manner clearly asking the young king to dismiss the upstart young earl. "If the ships exit the Masur Delaval and find a gale blowing down from the Timberlands, we may lose a thousand men to an indifferent enemy."

"I have faith that our friend DePaunch here will properly sail the ships to Pireth Dancard and quickly secure the island," Aydrian answered.

"We will overwhelm them, my King," DePaunch snapped, coming to painfully straight attention. "I will have Pireth Dancard in my grasp within two weeks, and set the flag of King Aydrian waving from its high tower throughout the winter!"

"There, you see?" Aydrian calmly asked, drawing a sour look from the dangerous monk.

"You are sending but a third of our available ships," said De'Unnero, as if that alone showed that Aydrian was not as unconcerned as he appeared.

"Why not send the entire fleet, after all, and truly overwhelm the small fortress?"

"The others will be needed to continue to patrol the river and to ferry our soldiers to the eastern banks."

"Prince Midalis has ships," De'Unnero reminded.

"Which is why I wish to take Pireth Dancard before we begin the next maneuvers to secure the southland," Aydrian explained. "With the island in our grasp, Midalis' ships, or any potential informant vessels he might have scouting about our coasts, will have no place to resupply. Taking Pireth Dancard will help to blind him to our movements." Aydrian paused and gave a wry little grin, then tossed a carrot out to the concerned monk. "And will seal off passage from St.-Mere-Abelle, for the brothers there have no ships capable of crossing the Gulf of Corona without stopping to resupply. We wouldn't want Fio Bou-raiy and his cronies to rush to Midalis' side, would we?"

"Midalis may be sailing south already," De'Unnero reasoned. "If he reaches Pireth Dancard before Earl DePaunch, the force you now send will not be sufficient to dislodge him."

"He is not," Aydrian said with great conviction, with absolute certainty, and he flashed his soul stone for De'Unnero to see, knowing that the monk was well aware of spirit-walking and Aydrian's power with the stones.

"I have not been idle here," Aydrian explained. "I do not send a third of my fleet into dangers without proper scouting. Prince Midalis' ships are moored in Vanguard harbor, just as we would expect for this season."

"Prince Midalis has many experienced sailors in his fleet, who know well the cold waters of the gulf," the monk retorted. "At anchor is a well- considered position for ships in this season."

Aydrian smiled at the unrelenting sarcasm. He was not growing tired of Marcalo De'Unnero questioning his every move. He understood the many frustrations, everything from Sadye to St.-Mere-Abelle, that were playing on the man's emotions, and he was glad of the questioning in any case.

The ever-doubting De'Unnero was keeping Aydrian from getting careless, was forcing Aydrian to find a solution to every possible danger before committing so much of his resources. That was a good thing.

"It is not so far a journey," Earl DePaunch interjected, turning to face Aydrian, though he was answering De'Unnero. "I will get there. I will secure the island and put the fleet into tight mooring about its sheltered bays whenever a gale threatens. You will lose no ships, my King, and few men -  and fewer when the brothers you so magnificently train perfect the methods you show them!"

Aydrian nodded his appreciation of the confidence, but he was watching De'Unnero more than DePaunch, and was quite amused by the monk's mocking expression aimed at the upstart and eager young earl. De Paunch caught the look, too, obviously, and he bristled with the pride so prevalent in the Allheart Knights.

"Brother De'Unnero fears any diversion from the goal he views as penultimate," Aydrian explained to the earl. "To his thinking, there remains one prize above all others. Is that not true, brother?"

De'Unnero returned the young king's stare, but did not otherwise respond.

"St.-Mere-Abelle looms as the crowning prize for our friend," Aydrian went on. "And indeed, when Marcalo De'Unnero is in control of the Abellican Church, our desire to return the kingdom to its former glory, and even to expand that glory, will be much closer to realization.

"Patience, my friend," Aydrian went on, turning to De'Unnero with a slightly condescending tone. "Let us secure the gulf and isolate Midalis, and then we might turn our attention to St.-Mere-Abelle. The foolish brothers will have no support from without, and likely will face great dissent from within. You will have your deserved prize. You will sit as Father Abbot of the Abellican Church of Honce-the-Bear while your friend Abbot Olin sits as Father Abbot of the Abellican Church of Behren. And be assured that I am well aware of the value you two bring to my rule."

They were simple words, of course, and ones that Aydrian had uttered to De'Unnero many times previous. But issuing the timely reminder now in front of Earl DePaunch, who was surely a man well on the rise within Aydrian's military hierarchy, created a calming effect on Marcalo De'Unnero. The monk looked at Aydrian long and hard, then merely nodded, his arguments defeated, and bowed and walked away.

Earl DePaunch flashed Aydrian a look that seemed to mock the departing monk, a grin that conveyed his amusement at how easily Aydrian had deflected the argument.

But Aydrian would have none of that. De'Unnero's reputation among the Allhearts and with Aydrian's court in general had been on the decline of late, as the monk's reputation had elicited nothing but scorn from the populace of the towns falling under their control, particularly here in Palmaris.

"That man is the greatest warrior in all the world," Aydrian said, and De-Paunch's smile evaporated. "Besides myself, of course. He could defeat you or any of your Allheart brothers in single combat, one after another until the lot of you were dead."

DePaunch bristled again, his shoulders straightening, his expression tightening.

"Take that as no insult, my good Earl," Aydrian went on. "Even your Duke Kalas knows the truth of this. A man as proficient in the arts martial as Marcalo De'Unnero is a rare treasure indeed, the epitome of a generation of warriors. He is a man of honor and great fortitude against trials you cannot begin to understand or appreciate. Look upon him as a great ally, I beseech you, and know that when he sits in power of the Abellican Church, it will become again an institution allied with the throne in a manner beneficial to the nobility of Honce-the-Bear."

"Yes, my King," DePaunch said obediently.

"And do keep always in your mind, my good Earl, the certainty that if you mock Marcalo De'Unnero too greatly, he might just kill you."

So much for DePaunch's proud posturing.

"Enough of that," Aydrian was quick to add, not wanting to deflate his naval leader too greatly. "Turn your attention from the detractors of this all-important mission. That is an issue with which I must deal. Your duty now is clear before you. Prepare this fleet to sail, and these men to execute their tasks to perfection. I send you in all confidence - I listen not at all to those who doubt the wisdom of this expedition to Pireth Dancard because I hold absolute faith that you will secure the fortress in the name of King Aydrian. Once we have that island, the key to the Gulf of Corona is in our hands, and our enemies from the north will have far fewer options open to them concerning their route of attack.

"But beware and be vigilant, my good Earl, for it is possible that Prince Midalis will come against you before we are able to reinforce you. If the Vanguard warships come against Pireth Dancard, you must hold them off.

You must make Midalis pay dearly."

"My King," Earl DePaunch said quietly, as if he could hardly get the words past the lump of pride swelling in his chest and in his throat, "I will not fail you. When you sail north after the winter, you will find Pireth Dancard flying the bear and tiger of King Aydrian, and you will find the men you now entrust with this most important mission standing ready to sail beside you in the conquest of Pireth Vanguard!"

Aydrian smiled, mentally patting himself on the back once again for the wisdom of his decision to take the main fleet from the aging and too- cautious Duke Bretherford.

"He is afraid, that's all," Sadye said to Aydrian later that day, the two of them alone in Chasewind Manor's luxurious rooms. "He holds confidence that we cannot be stopped, of course, but prefers a more methodical march across the world."

Aydrian gave her an amused look. "Since when has Sadye ever preferred a course of caution?"

That set the smallish woman back on her heels.

"Is this not the same Sadye who traveled the Wilderlands with a band of ruffians?" Aydrian asked. "The same Sadye who befriended Marcalo De'Unnero, indeed, who fell into his arms, because of the thrill of danger that he presented?"

Sadye's posture became one of petulance. "It was more than that."

"Was it?" Aydrian asked. "Oh yes, there was the promise of power, as well, perhaps the greatest aphrodisiac Sadye the bard has ever known."

She tried to hold her look, but Aydrian could see that his simple and honest reasoning was wearing at her edges. He moved very close to her - too close! - and she seemed to shrink back, just a bit.

"I understand you," Aydrian said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You and I both recognize the allure of power and of danger. You and I both understand that to live on the precipice of disaster is truly to be alive."

Sadye blinked repeatedly and her breathing became more urgent and intense. Aydrian could feel that breath on his face, full of the heat that was growing within her. He could see the sparkle in her dark eyes, an intensity wrought of simmering desire that threatened to explode into unbridled passion.

He leaned in a little closer, wanting her to be full of his scent and his breath, wanting her to feel the pull of his body.

Her chest rose and fell more quickly; she was drawn toward him beyond the warning of her common sense.

"I am expected at council," Aydrian said suddenly, and he stepped back, breaking the moment. He wanted Sadye badly. He had never known the love of a woman, but he understood the sweetness of it anyway, could see it in the sheer intensity of the woman's eyes, could feel it in the heat emanating from her body.

But not now. Not while they were still so far from the treasure De'Unnero coveted most greatly. He would trade De'Unnero the Abellican Church for Sadye, and the man would go along. Besides, Aydrian knew that he was making Sadye insane with lust for him, and he wanted to play that out, wanted to let the heat grow within her until she begged him to take her.

With a look that promised passion beyond anything the woman had ever known, Aydrian turned about and left the room, glancing back only one time.

Sadye was trembling.

Thoughts of her followed Aydrian out of Chasewind Manor and all the way across Palmaris to the meeting house near to the city's north gate. He found De'Unnero, Kalas, and all the other commanders who were not busy with DePaunch and the preparations at the docks assembled about a table on which was spread a map of Honce-the-Bear.

Aydrian moved to the table, stepping between De'Unnero and Kalas. He studied the map, noting the areas shaded red to indicate that they were considered well secured under his control. That included all of the kingdom south of Caer Tinella on the western side of the Masur Delaval, and all of the southland, across Yorkey County to Entel. Aydrian particularly noted the newest placement of the pointers they used to show the intended progress of a coming march. One moved out of the Masur Delaval to Pireth Dancard, indicating the course of DePaunch, while a second moved across the river from Palmaris and diagonally southeast, generally aiming for Entel or the coastal region just to the north.

"Proceed," Aydrian bade them, for he knew that all of the commanders had paused to allow him to digest the map in full.

Kalas looked to De'Unnero, motioning for him to continue his reasoning, and the monk promptly bent over the table and adjusted that southeastern- leaning arrow to a position more directly east, its tip climbing north from Entel in a direct line to St. Gwendolyn, the largest abbey along the Mantis Arm region of the kingdom.

After a moment's pause, Duke Kalas said, "You risk leaving pockets of resistance behind our lines. We have not secured every town south of this line and out to the Mirianic. Prince Midalis has loyalists there, I assure you."

"The longer we tarry, the more likely those pockets will fester into open rebellion," De'Unnero countered. "If we sweep north of them, those unsecured towns will be cut off and the people will understand the folly of resistance."

"Tarry?" came a question from a lord across the table. "Are you not the same man who cautioned patience and argued against launching Earl De- Paunch to Pireth Dancard?"

"Brother De'Unnero wished to ensure that all precautions were properly explored," Aydrian interjected before the volatile monk could snap back.

"And wisely so. There is a significant difference between a fast march and a late-season seaborne assault. The weather will not slow To-gai ponies, but a gale in the gulf could cost us dearly."

That brought more than a few confused looks from those around the table, from men who had supported Aydrian's determined decision to send DePaunch north.

"Brother De'Unnero wanted to make sure that all risks had been weighed - as Duke Kalas is apparently thinking now in aiming our march more conservatively toward Entel." Aydrian paused a moment and looked at Kalas, and then, with a supportive smile, to De'Unnero. "In this case, the dangers are even less considerable," he decided, and he placed his hand on the pointer, holding it firmly in line toward St. Gwendolyn. "If any rise behind us, we will quickly proceed south and destroy them. For our army that reaches St. Gwendolyn and the sea will likely be far less in number than the force that initially departs Palmaris. We will stretch our line across the kingdom, from the Masur Delaval to the Mirianic, and then turn up the coast and move inland from the river simultaneously." As he spoke, he put his hands at those two strategic points and slowly began to move them toward each other, timing them so that they would converge upon that single most coveted prize, St.-Mere-Abelle.

Aydrian was not surprised by the satisfied expression he found stamped upon the face of Marcalo De'Unnero. He turned his head about to regard Kalas, and found him nodding his agreement.

"It will be the most glorious march of the Allhearts and Kingsmen in centuries!" said the same enthusiastic commander who had berated De'Unnero.

"Ten thousand soldiers marching under the bear and tiger of King Aydrian," another agreed. "The very ground will tremble at our passing!"

"The army will be prepared for the challenge," Duke Kalas assured the king, and several seconded his sentiment.

"Duke Kalas can begin his march out of Palmaris at the earliest opportunity," Aydrian explained. "The season will be milder across the heartland than in Palmaris. For those Allhearts who will not go with Duke Kalas, but will remain in command of Palmaris, I bid you to gather exploratory forces and strengthen the flow of information all about us, from Caer Tinella in the north to Ursal in the south, and across all the stretches of the kingdom west of the river. Also, ready a fast-moving force to react to any open revolt anywhere south of Duke Kalas' proposed march. If a local lord begins resistance, you have my orders to crush him and at once replace him with someone loyal to me."

That brought enthusiastic nods from the warriors, to be sure, but also more than a few confused looks.

"You will be traveling back to Ursal then, my King?" Duke Kalas asked.

"For you speak of my march as if you will not be involved."

"No, and yes," Aydrian replied, and when those answers sank in, a few more commanders affected confused expressions.

"Surely you are not considering sailing with Earl DePaunch to Pireth Dancard!" one man said with alarm, voicing the doubts shown on every face about the table - except of course, for Aydrian and one other notable exception: Marcalo De'Unnero.

Aydrian looked at the monk and could see on De'Unnero's face a complete understanding of his own intentions.

"Duke Kalas has secured the regions west of Palmaris," De'Unnero remarked, the perfect lead-in for Aydrian.

"The plans you lords have put in place to deal with the enemies of the crown that you recognize are laudable," Aydrian explained. "Yet there remains one more enemy, hidden in the west. This enemy will prove formidable only if we allow her to use her tactics of subterfuge and quiet destruction. If we face her on the field of honor, the threat will be fast extinguished."

He paused and considered the posture of those about the table, the looks of confusion and even suspicion. Aydrian understood those expressions, certainly. His ascension had thrust the kingdom into civil war, had forced these earls and dukes and Allheart Knights into standing against the man they always believed would become their king. And now Aydrian was introducing something completely new to them, yet another threat and yet another war.

"This will be my task throughout the winter," Aydrian explained, sliding up out of his chair to tower over the seated men. "While Earl DePaunch secures the gulf and Duke Kalas and you other fine lords strengthen our hold on the southland, and while Brother De'Unnero continues the erosion of the present-day Abellican Church and facilitates the revitalization of that wayward institution, I will march to the west, with four hundred warriors behind me."

"The Allhearts are ready to march, my King," said Duke Kalas. "I will personally pick the most able Kingsmen to supplement our ranks."

"Did you not hear me just explain that your duties to the crown will be in the southland?" Aydrian asked.

"But my King..."

Aydrian leaned over the table, hovering over Kalas, and - amazingly to the other lords and Allhearts, who had always viewed Duke Kalas as the strongest of their order - -the man seemed to shrink and diminish beneath the mighty king.

"Do not ever presume to treat me as a delicate ornament," Aydrian reminded, his tone level. "I am the same man who defeated the uprising at the north wall, the same man who facilitated our conquest of this formidable city, the same man who won the tournament celebrating the fiftieth birthday of King Danube."

Aydrian wished that he could take back that last remark as soon as the words had left his mouth, for Duke Kalas winced - he had been the man Aydrian had defeated that day - and all the other lords bristled. Behind him, the young king heard Marcalo De'Unnero suck in his breath hard.

"If I am enough of a man even to ride in the same field as Duke Kalas,"

Aydrian improvised, "then surely I am warrior enough to defeat the dangerous enemy to our west."

Kalas's expression softened just a bit, but enough so for Aydrian to hope that he had salved the wound.

"Would you not all agree?" the young king asked, turning and standing straight, his waving arm throwing the question to all the assembly.

As the lords fumbled about their appropriate affirmative responses, Aydrian glanced down to his left, to see a tight-jawed De'Unnero resting back in his chair, his strong arms crossed defensively over his chest.

"Pray tell us the identity of this enemy, my King," Duke Kalas bade. "Do you fear the huntsmen of the Wilderlands?"

"I fear no one," Aydrian replied. "Not Prince Midalis, not St.-Mere- Abelle, and not the Touel'alfar."

Looks of astonishment came back at him; some of them had never even believed in the Touel'alfar, after all, and had known them only in the fireside tales told to them as children and in the wild rumors circulating through the streets of Ursal that Aydrian had been raised and trained by these mysterious elves.

"Oh yes, my lords, they are real, these elusive creatures of the Wilderlands," Aydrian assured them. "You have all heard the rumors of my origins, beyond my parental heritage, and those rumors are true. I know this enemy. I know where she lives. And I know how to destroy her, quickly and efficiently. I will go with four hundred - select the soldiers, Duke Kalas, and they need not be the finest of your warriors. Just give to me men able to withstand the elements of winter, men who possess the skills necessary to survive the harshness of winter in the Wilderlands, even in the lower mountains. Huntsmen and those raised on the northwesternmost borders of Westerhonce, perhaps."

"This is foolishness," came an unexpected reply from across the table, even as Duke Kalas was nodding his agreement. Aydrian and all the others looked over to regard the speaker, Duke Treschent of Falidean, the southernmost province of the Mantis Arm.

"You dare to question the king?" Kalas snapped, but Aydrian held up his hand, bidding Treschent to continue.

"I... I only..." Treschent glanced about nervously.

Aydrian began a slow walk about the table, his eyes never leaving the man, his stare, though it seemed neutral outwardly, melting the duke beneath it.

"You do not doubt my ability to destroy our enemy," Aydrian prompted.

"No, my King, of course not!" the squirming duke replied.

"No, you fear our hold over the kingdoms while I am away," Aydrian reasoned, and the other swallowed hard. "You question the depth of the acceptance of King Aydrian, and fear that the people will step into open revolt when I am away."

The duke swallowed hard again as Aydrian moved to stand right beside him, and several others about the table dared to whisper in private conversation.

"Is that not why I have men such as Brother De'Unnero and Duke Kalas supporting me?" Aydrian asked. He stayed there a moment, thoroughly diminishing the duke, then walked to the side, addressing the whole of the gathering.

"You are all afraid," he said bluntly. "And why should you not be? We have struck out boldly from Ursal, and thus far our road has been an easy one to walk. Only Palmaris has offered any real resistance, and even that..." He paused and chuckled easily.

"And now we face a dangerous sail to the north, and potential battle in the south," he went on. "And Midalis is always there, in waiting." He looked at De'Unnero. "And St.MereAbelle is there, waiting. The greatest fortress in all the world, manned by more than seven hundred brothers trained in battle and mighty in gemstone magic. You are all wary, as well you should be.

"And now I tell you of a new foe, one which most of you never even knew existed. Your doubts are justified, except..."

He paused and looked around, to make sure that every set of eyes was looking his way, that every ear was tuned to his every word.

"Except that I am your king," Aydrian went on. "And I know this enemy, intimately so. And I know how to eradicate this enemy. And so I shall."

There were no whispers, and no responses, not even from Duke Kalas or Marcalo De'Unnero.

"You are dismissed," Aydrian said to them. "Go to your duties. Winter is fast approaching and we have much to accomplish before the turn of spring and the greater battles that season will bring."

With many glances to each other, and much nervous shuffling, the gathered nobles began to filter out.

All except one.

Marcalo De'Unnero remained in his seat with his back-leaning, almost amused posture, his arms still crossed over his muscular chest. Slowly, his eyes never blinking and never leaving Aydrian, he unfolded those arms and began to slowly clap his hands.

"You handled them as if they were children," he congratulated. "Yet most of them have been in positions of authority longer than you have been alive. So tell me, my onetime student, where have you come to know such politic?"

Aydrian gave a little shrug. "It is an extension of confidence, my friend."

"You are so certain that you are above them?"

"Beyond anything they could ever dream," Aydrian replied. "And you know that I am. If I treat them as children, it is because - beside me - that is all that they are."

De'Unnero's expression became somewhat incredulous. "You are simply amazing."

"More than you can imagine."

De'Unnero paused and looked away for a moment, then chuckled and turned back. "And you truly mean to march against Lady Dasslerond and her band?"

"It is a prize I covet as dearly as you covet St.-Mere-Abelle, and one far more easily attained."

De'Unnero's expression became very serious. "Do not underestimate the diminutive folk," he warned. "It was they who orchestrated the rise of your father. It was they who facilitated the downfall of Father Abbot Markwart and the previous Abellican Church. Those were no minor feats."

"If Lady Dasslerond is able to work from the shadows, she is formidable,"

Aydrian agreed. "But I intend to light those shadows with flames. She will not stand against me - this will not be our first encounter. Even then, when I was so much younger and inexperienced, Dasslerond was not the one who walked away victorious."

"I should go with you," De'Unnero said, and Aydrian was shaking his head before the predictable words ever came forth.

"Our hold on St. Precious is not so strong, and converting the brothers will prove far more valuable than merely eliminating them."

"Then wait until the spring, or until the next season, when the kingdom is secured."

"You believe that Dasslerond will not involve herself in our conquest? You do not understand her hatred of me, and her fear. She knows that I will come for her, as the monks of St.-Mere-Abelle know that the wrongs they perpetrated upon Marcalo De'Unnero will lead you back to them, at the head of an army mighty enough to topple them. If we wait for Dasslerond, she will become many times more dangerous to us."

"The winter in the Wilderlands will be difficult for so large a force."

"That is why I choose not to take twenty thousand," said Aydrian. "I have a full measure of Andur'Blough Inninness and Lady Dasslerond. Four hundred will suffice.

"I will return to you within three months' time," Aydrian went on when it seemed as if De'Unnero had run out of doubts to express. "And the threat to the west will be no more. If Duke Kalas is successful in his march across the southland, we will be well on our way. Then we might focus more fully on the march of Midalis, and when that inconvenience is eliminated, we will turn our attention to the greatest prize of all."

"While Abbot Olin continues his conquest of Behren," De'Unnero replied.

"While our new commanders in Vanguard - the eager DePaunch, perhaps - draw up battle plans for the conquest of Alpinador. What then, my former student? Do we sail to the Weathered Isles and conquer the powries, as well?"

It was meant sarcastically, but Aydrian gave a look to show that the possibility did intrigue him.

"But let us not forget about Brynn Dharielle, this 'Dragon of To-gai' who sent Behren into such turmoil," De'Unnero went on undaunted.

"What is your point?" Aydrian asked, all signs of his previous amusement flown.

"Take care that we do not stretch too far, else more than you believe will slip through your widespread fingers," De'Unnero warned. "You have made many enemies out there, more formidable than you apparently believe."

"Or perhaps you merely underestimate Aydrian," the young king said.

"It always comes back to that."

Aydrian smiled.

"And if you are killed in the Wilderlands?" the monk asked. "What then for all of us?"

"There is no return for the noblemen and the Allhearts," Aydrian was quick to answer. "They have taken an open stand against Midalis, and so if they are to hold their coveted power, the prince cannot rise as king.

There is no stepping back from this war. I will not be killed, but if that were to come to pass, then the gain to Marcalo De'Unnero would be even greater. You would win the war without me, of course, and then how much stronger would your Church become when the kingdom is truly leaderless? Duke Kalas will be appointed as Steward of the State, no doubt, but a steward is not a king."

De'Unnero was tapping his fingers before his face by then, his every movement showing that he was not about to disagree.

"So take heart, my friend, and hold faith in your" - he paused to flash a smile - "former student."