„Yeow!" a girlish voice shrieked from the rear of the house. „Daddy's here! I hear Daddy!"

He got three steps inside before a whirlwind of pigtails and flailing arms hit him. His son Gundar also ran in, but became a stately, manly twelve the moment he was on stage. „Hello, Father."

„Hello, Gundar." His daughter-in-law appeared. „Hi, Kristen. They giving you too much to handle?" Could she be just nineteen? She looked so damned old and wise.

„Father." A smile seized the girl's taut lips. Now she looked her age. „They haven't been any trouble."

„Where's my boy? Where's Bragi?"

„Into mischief, probably. Come on in. Let's get you comfortable. Find you something to eat. What have you been doing? Wallowing with the hogs? You're filthy."

„Playing Captures, huh Dad?" Gundar asked.

„I was. And we beat their pants off, five to three." He was getting high on the victory. Maybe he wasn't quite ready for the midden heap.

„The Panthers? Dad!" The boy's voice rose to a wail. „What did I do?"

„You were supposed to lose," Kristen said. „He bet against you."

„What kind of family loyalty is that?"

„But Dad... ."

„Never mind. I've been hearing it all day." In a half-serious tone, he added, „I hope Ravelin's friends don't start thinking that way. We'd be in big trouble."

„How's the baby?" Kristen asked. Her voice trembled.

Bragi rubbed his forehead, hiding a frown with his hand. Didn't take her long to get to it, he thought. „Healthy as a wolf cub. Eats and howls like one, too."

„That's good. Sometimes when there's a hard delivery. ..."

He was tempted to take Inger, Kristen, their brats, and Gundar, shake them up in a sack, then set them all down together and explain that only he had been made King. There had been nothing in the deal for his offspring. And if he had the opportunity to choose his successor, he probably would not pick someone of his own blood. He would pick someone whose skill and judgment he had seen at work, someone whose qualities he knew fit those Kavelin needed in a king.

There was a definite potential for trouble here, and someday he would have to get off his duff and straighten it out.

But there was time. Plenty of time. He had a lot of good years left, didn't he?

He realized he had fallen into a habit of vacillating, of letting things work themselves out. Was that another sign of aging? Developing a more passive, accepting nature? A greater store of patience?

Fifteen years ago he would not have waited to see what was developing. He would have jumped in, flailed around, and would have made things happen. And the results might not have been positive.

Then, too, it might be the „luck" the old man had mentioned. That knack for intuiting the right course. It might be telling him to lay back in the weeds and wait this time. There was too much potential for fireworks in the apparently unrelated elements he had identified so far.

Got to be patient, he thought. Got to let it take shape. The things I think I see might all be false clues. There might be more Habibullahs waiting in the wings.

„You're very somber tonight," Kristen said.

„Uh? Oh. It was a tough game. I ran enough for two fifteen year olds."

„If you're that tired, maybe you'd better stay here to­ night."

He scanned what he could see of the house. Kristen had made it bright and cheerful. She had remarkable taste for a Wesson soldier's daughter, he thought. Elegant, yet simple. „I couldn't. There's still too many ghosts for me."

Kristen nodded. His first wife and several of his children had been murdered here. He could not make peace with the house. He had slept there only a few times since.

„No," he said again. „I want to visit Mist tonight anyway. Maybe I'll stay there. And watch that smile, little lady. There ain't nothing between me and her, and there never will be. She's too damned spooky for me."

„I didn't really think so. If she's got a thing going, it's with Aral Dantice."

„Aral?"

„Sure. He's out here all the time whenever she's in town. Saw him this morning."

He frowned, became thoughtful.

„For heaven's sake, sit down," Kristen said. „I'll have them get something cooking. You kids better head for bed. It's past time. Tell Bragi to come say hello to his grandfa­ ther."

There were cries of protest. Ragnarson wanted to keep them there himself, but kept his mouth shut. He had abdicated his child-rearing responsibilities to Kristen. He wasn't going to tamper with her routine or discipline.

He had made that mistake only once. She had told him what she thought. She had a spirited tongue when she was right.

And, obviously, she wanted to talk without little ears being there to hear.

Curious, he reflected. I hardly ever really talk with anybody anymore. All my real friends, male friends, are dead. Or have drifted away somewhat, like Michael, so there's a chasm between us. It isn't just Inger I can't open to. It's everybody.

Not long ago, coming up Lieneke Lane, he had been wondering if what he needed was a lover. Not just some woman to tumble. One he could fall for head over idiotic heels like he had Fiana. Now he realized he wasn't just missing a lover. He lacked friends, too. To-the-death, put-up-with-anything friends like those he had brought to Kavelin for the civil war. His circle now consisted of people bound by common interest. The common interest seemed to be diverging with the decline of direct survival pressure. Tomorrow's defeat might be hiding behind yesterday's victory.

Derel Prataxis was the closest friend he had these days. And that might be only because he was Derel's abiding interest. The Daimiellian scholar was writing the definitive modern history of Kavelin, from the inside.

Bragi wondered if he could manufacture a crisis to force a closing of ranks... .

Michael. Was that his angle? Had he seen the conse­ quences of a too secure peace? Was he stirring the pot in response? What had he said about a problem in the making?

Sounded like a good possibility. It reflected Michael's kind of thinking.

„Has something happened?" Kristen asked. „You're not just tired."

„It's not anything I can put a name on. Just a feeling that something is wrong. A resonance. People I've been talking to, they feel it too. It feeds on itself." He glanced around. The children had made their retreat. Little Bragi apparently wasn't interested in his grandfather tonight. Nor was Ragnarson's youngest boy, Ainjar, interested in his father. He had not made an appearance either. „Forget it. Let's talk about what's bothering you."

She took him from the blind side. He was mustering the troops for a squabble about the succession, and she said, „I'm not getting any younger. I don't want to spend the rest of my life being Ragnar's widow."

His first reaction was a startled „Hunh?" He stared. The muscles in her neck were taut. Tension stiffened her body. She was pale. She was milking the fingers of her left hand with her right.

„I'm nineteen years old."

„Over the hill for sure."

„Come on. I'm serious."

„I know. I'm sorry. You have a different perspective on nineteen when you're my age. Go on."

„I'm nineteen. Ragnar has been gone a long time. I don't want to spend my whole life being his memorial."

„I see." This was a problem he had not foreseen. Differ­ ent backgrounds, he supposed. Kaveliners had customs he would never understand. „Why are you telling me? It's your life. Go ahead and live it."

She relaxed a little. „I thought you would. ... I thought you might. .. ."

„You found somebody you're interested in?"

„No. Not that. I wouldn't do that. It's just. ... I feel locked up. I don't mind keeping this place, and taking care of the kids—in fact, I love it—but that isn't all there is, is there? All of my friends are... ."