But it was his fault they were going in the first place, now he would have to let Mihn and Morghien do it their own way.

'You're both as stubborn as each other,' he groused. 'Fine, if that's how you want it, so be it. You leave tomorrow.'

The return of the hawkers led to lunch, followed by an afternoon of summer games. Isak found himself as delighted with the small jokes made at his expense by normally reserved matrons as with the children who enlisted the huge white-eye in their own entertainments.

Summer was a time for relaxation for the Farlan nobility, and as the season was short, and too often occupied by campaigning, any opportunity for socialising was met with added gusto, a spirit of liv¬ing Isak hadn't experienced before. He'd never even imagined people could live like this when he had been working every daylight hour with the rest of the wagon-train. From the duty of the lord of the manor to present, on bended knee, a bowl of wild strawberries to any female child amongst his tenants on her birthday, to the highly juvenile Feast of Apples that made most soldiers' drinking games look sensible in comparison: the Farlan nobility took summertime amuse¬ments seriously. To his surprise, Isak loved it all.

That afternoon, he found himself kneeling on the grass with three whooping children, young relatives of the countess, balanced on his broad back. Vesna and Tila were standing close together, fingers inter¬locked, watching.

'Of such things are the most perfect childhood memories made,' said Vesna, grinning.

'Absolutely,' agreed Tila with a laugh. 'Within four summers they'll be horrified when they remember clambering over Lord Isak, let alone how they bit the duke on his white-hand!' She giggled as Isak stretched out an arm so the boys could swing from it, as if it were the branch of a tree. With a roar, a little girl lunged for the arm as well, struggling to dislodge the boys. Isak could almost imagine that he was playing with Tila's children while she and the count watched on in parental approval. As he tickled the girl, provoking squeals of laughter, Isak grinned as he realised that for the next few weeks he could have a childhood of sorts, one denied to him in the past. The impositions of adulthood would return all too soon; for now, it was summer, he was surrounded by friends and the sun was shining.

Groaning, Isak swung himself into his saddle. Though the morning was a little cooler, Isak still found his new dragon-emblazoned green tunic uncomfortably warm, but he would look the part of a duke as he saw Morghien and Mihn off. As it was customary for the Saroc house¬hold to accompany those leaving for the first hour of their journey, the suzerain had decided to turn this into a visit to the nearest town.

Red oak-leaves embroidered all the way up Isak's left sleeve drew attention to the exposed skin of his hand, but he couldn't deny the overall effect. With Eolis hanging from a bright red swordbelt and scarlet leather boots, Isak looked more like a Farlan noble than he ever had before. Only the white cloak around his shoulders ruined the image a little, but they had officially proclaimed Bahl's death now, so every person in the party wore similar cloaks, embroidered with ancient symbols of mourning. The women wore white scarves, and would keep their hair covered for the fortnight of mourning.

'I must say, Countess, your seamstress has surpassed herself,' com¬mented Tila as Isak wheeled Megenn around.

'The very image of a gentleman,' agreed the countess with a smile. Isak glowered at the two of them, but goodnaturedly. He had to admit it was nice to be dressed in new clothes; the months of travelling had taken a toll on their wardrobes.

'Everyone will be talking about times changing,' Tila continued. 'Lord Bahl's image was rather that of a hermit, and a threadbare one at that. I'm afraid it didn't serve him well.'

'I hardly think people's opinion on his dress worth worrying about,' Isak said. He spoke without rancour, but Tila stopped. Isak had be¬come extremely protective of Lord Bahl since his death.

'This is your first public appearance as Lord of the Farlan,' Tila said firmly. 'You may not like it, but word of how you appear today will spread to the other suzerainties very quickly. They have heard only that Lord Bahl is dead. They will be reassured that you look the part, that you look like the Duke of Tirah.'

'I suspect they've heard too much about me already.'

'Then we have a new image to present,' Tila said, still composed. 'The refined, sophisticated Lord Isak, Duke of Tirah is a quite differ¬ent beast to the uncivilised Suzerain Anvee!'

'The things a woman will do for a state wedding,' Isak retorted, remembering Lord Bahl's parting words. He grinned at her blush. State wedding indeed, he thought. Better be sooner rather than later, or there might be a little embarrassment – I'd be surprised if a virgin smiled like that!

Before either could say more, Count Vesna ushered them all through the gates. Morghien and Mihn were already there, waiting impatiently, and as soon as they spotted Isak they swung their horses around and broke into a gentle canter. The procession took a while to catch up, but soon everyone settled in to an easy stride.

The early morning mist didn't linger for long and the air was filled with birdsong. Isak noticed the difference in the Land here, far from the mountains and dark forests a wagon-brat had considered home. The undulating ground of Saroc was mostly scrub, where the forest had given way, populated by goats and long-horned sheep, inter¬spersed with cultivated fields neatly enclosed by drystone walls or high bramble hedges.

The hour went quickly as the warmth increased. Brief goodbyes were exchanged on the highway, under the watchful gaze of a solitary, ageing roadman whom Suzerain Saroc had greeted by name. When the time came, Isak found he didn't know what to say to Mihn, the man who had been his shadow for six months now. The words caught in his throat as he realised how much he would miss the silent presence, almost fatherly, though Mihn was only just thirty summers.

As they clasped arms, Morghien stepped away, to allow them some privacy. Isak opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. He released Mihn and withdrew his hand, feeling foolish and awkward.

'Don't go and get yourself killed, you hear?' he said, sounding almost angry. 'I'll have things for you to do when you bring her back.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Mihn replied, as inscrutable as ever.

Isak shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 'Well then, I suppose you should be off,' he said gruffly.

'Yes, my Lord.' Mihn gave a bow and turned to leave.

Ah, damn, I'm being a fool, aren't I? Isak thought suddenly. Never had much need for goodbyes before, not to a friend. 'Mihn, wait,' he said on impulse. Right, what do I say now? 'Thank you for agreeing to go; Xeliath is really my responsibility after all. You've been as loyal a bondsman as I could have ever hoped for, as well as a friend.'

A smile crept onto Mihn's usually expressionless face. 'I am glad to have purpose in my life again,' he said. For a moment he hesitated, off-balance himself. 'I- when I was young and still with my people, weaponsmasters from the furthest clans came to watch me in a practice duel. I am- I was the best with the blades they'd ever seen. One said he thought he was watching the King of Dancers.'

'The what?'

'A myth among the Harlequin, that one day we would have a king of our own, one who will end our years of service to the Seven Tribes of Man. It isn't a prophecy – even among the Harlequins we do not know its origin – but it is told to every child, down through the gen¬erations, because it is the only tale we have of our own. None of the history we relate involves the people of the clans. After that day I was treated differently, as though my destiny was assured and I carried their hopes with me.