After sending Narren off with money to find lodgings for his new retinue, Tol returned to the Inner City. He crossed the open courtyard, pausing before the Riders’ Hall. On a whim, he turned away from the hall and entered the wizards’ garden. It was growing dark among the elms and yew as he made his way to the Font of the Blue Phoenix.

She was there, curled up on the pool ledge. Tol moved silently up behind her, thinking a little scare would do Valaran good.

“Grown men shouldn’t tiptoe. You look silly,” she said, raising her head.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“No. Reading.” The light was so poor she had had her nose pressed to the parchment. “The Confessions of Milgas Kadwar. What nonsense! No one can reach Luin by ladder!” she scoffed.

He didn’t know what she was talking about, and didn’t care. He took her in his arms, lifting her bodily from the low marble wall. Valaran did not resist, nor did she return his ardor.

“You always have one thing on your mind,” she said.

“You inspire me,” he replied. He entwined his fingers in her thick brown hair and tried to kiss her, but she dodged him.

“We must be careful, Tol,” she chided, pulling back. “I’m to wed the crown prince in seven days.”

The words were cold water thrown in his face. “You don’t have to remind me!”

“You must be a man about this.” Valaran tucked her legs underneath and smoothed her robe.

He looked away at the fireflies glittering around them. “If I were a man, I wouldn’t let anyone take you away from me, not even a prince!”

“You’re a noble now, Lord Tolandruth, so start thinking like one. Poor people marry for love; nobles marry for advantage. Don’t confuse the two.”

Even as she said the harshly practical words, she laid her head on his shoulder, and his sullenness vanished. He stroked her smooth cheek.

“I will take a house in the city,” he whispered. “My men will be quartered there. Will you come and see me now and then?”

“What of your wives, the forest women?”

“You know,” he said earnestly, “they’re not really my wives. I’ve never touched them. They’re hostages to the good behavior of the Dom-shu tribe.” Realizing his words made Kiya and Miya sound unimportant, he added, “They’re like sisters to me, big, tough sisters. They take care of me in their own rough way, and they’ll take care of you, too.”

Hand in hand, they walked back toward the square, surrounded by dancing fireflies.

“Will you write a letter for me if I tell you what to say?” Tol asked.

The dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. “Dismissing a girl back home?”

He told her about his old friend Egrin, warden of Juramona. “He’ll want to know what happened here, and I don’t trust Enkian to give him the straight tale. Egrin is the man who trained me in the art of war-and how to be honorable.”

“Why not send for him?” she said. “Make him one of your retainers. Many lords with less rank than you have twenty or thirty followers. You can afford eleven.”

“He would not come. He’s loyal to his place in Juramona.”

Val sighed. “Men’s loyalties make me tired. I’ll ask Amaltar to make it an order. Will that move your warden?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, and slipped his arm around her waist. “You’d really ask the prince to assign Egrin to me?”

She stared up at him. “I’d do anything for you.”

In the deep shadow of the west wing of the palace, they kissed and reluctantly parted. Tol waited at the door of the Riders’ Hall, watching as Valaran’s slight figure was slowly engulfed by the darkness of the lane alongside the palace.

He went inside with a smile on his face. He did not notice that two floors above, an unlighted window in the Riders’ Hall silently closed.

Chapter 16

Happiness is sometimes best measured at a distance. Close up, small flaws show more clearly. The three years Tol spent in Daltigoth were like that. During this time, he knew many fears and frustrations. Only later did he realize they were some of the happiest years of his life. In one hand he held the reins of a powerful formation of seasoned fighters; in the other, the slim, warm hand of the girl he loved. The two halves of Tol’s life balanced well, helping him avoid the temptations of power, and giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he was loved-even if his lover was married.

Tol took a large house in the bustling canal district. Two stories high, built of brick and stucco around an open courtyard, it housed his retainers, Kiya and Miya, and a scruffy band of locally hired cooks, washerwomen, valets, and grooms. The highlight of life in Juramona Hall-as the inhabitants dubbed it-was when Egrin arrived to take up residence there. Summoned by Prince Amaltar’s order, Egrin reclaimed his role as Tol’s second father. Officially in charge of training new members of the Horse Guards, the former warden easily commanded the respect of the young guardsmen.

Tol had a somewhat more difficult time with the guardsmen, at least at first. His youth and widely known peasant origins were held against him by the well-born riders. They saw him as a palace favorite thrust upon them for political reasons. Nobles in the guard opposed him in every way short of open defiance. They pretended his provincial accent was unintelligible. Orders and dispositions were conveniently forgotten, drills and exercises ignored or performed in such a half-hearted manner their value was lost.

At first he was tolerant. He respected the experience of his subordinates. A warrior of Ergoth began riding a horse not long after he learned to walk. Some of the men under Tol’s command had fifteen or twenty years in the saddle, compared to his scant seven. They felt Tol had nothing to teach them. Fighting was the birthright of an Ergoth warrior, a trait born in their blood, not a trade to be learned like throwing pots, or weaving cloth.

When a few guardsmen “forgot” to stand and salute when Tol entered their hall, however, his tolerance came to an abrupt end. Fourteen of the offenders were demoted in rank and sentenced by Tol to ride around the city’s outer wall, night and day, until they dropped. Failure to obey would have meant immediate execution. A further thirty of the most recalcitrant warriors were taken to the practice field outside Daltigoth for a lesson in unity and soldierly obedience.

It was a mild autumn day, dry and clear. Tol’s ten-man retinue, drawn from the ranks of the old Juramona foot guard, marched into the open field. They carried poles the length and weight of their regulation spears but lacking lethal iron heads. Tol asked his truculent horsemen how many of them it would take to rout the foot soldiers, to break their formation. No one replied until he ordered them to do so.

“Five,” said one sullen warrior, a distant cousin of the House of Ackal.

“Then take four with you and show me.”

“Your men will be killed.”

“My men know how to defend themselves. Do your worst. I want to see if your fighting skills are equal to your arrogance.”

The imperial cousin chose four of his friends, and they galloped away to gain room to charge. At Tol’s nod, Narren marched his men across the dusty field. Yelling like fiends, the horsemen drew sabers and spurred their mounts at the foot soldiers. At twenty paces, Narren’s band of ten made a quick turn to the left and formed a circle, presenting a hedge of blunt poles to the onrushing riders.

Seeing their targets thus arrayed, the riders tried to veer off, but Narren wouldn’t let them. The footmen on the safe side of the formation swung their poles over the shoulders of their comrades, and the foot soldiers charged the horsemen! Taken aback, confused, the riders let them close, and all five were knocked from their saddles.