"What Their Majesties will have me do, of course," Geoffrey said, "but if they wish it, I shall send a few peasants to join the crowd and bring word of what the marchers do, and of who leads them."

"I was thinking of Toby's Royal Witchforce," Magnus said. "Perhaps with their mind-reading, it would not be necessary to send spies into danger."

"A good thought, but there are many things the eye can see that the mind may not think important enough to notice," Geoffrey said. "Still, why not have the best of both? I shall recruit my spies from Toby's telepaths. They may observe on the spot and send thoughts back to Runnymede, not words alone."

Magnus nodded with slow approval. "A shrewd choice."

"And exactly as you yourself would have done?" Geoffrey gave him a brittle smile. "Why do I feel I have been maneuvered into this?"

"Because you are used to maneuvering." Magnus gestured at the troops below. "You excel at teaching those maneuvers to others, too. I, though, am a loner, brother—and one who is tiring of being a communication channel."

"You were never that." Geoffrey looked up with concern. " 'Tis true we rarely saw other children as we grew, brother, but we learned social skills quickly enough when the time came—even Gregory, when he had to. How is it you have not?"

"Oh, I can deal with people when the opportunity presents itself," Magnus said, "and would prefer to have others around when I can—but I chose the role of the lone rebel when I found I could not accept the means SCENT used to gain its ends." He shrugged. "What other course was there man to seek to do what I thought right, by myself?"

"You could have come home," Geoffrey said softly.

"Come home?" Magnus smiled without mirth. "You know I could not. Dad is a SCENT agent; if I could not endorse their policies, I could not accept his."

"But that is not the deepest reason, is it?" Geoffrey gave his brother a glance so probing that it left Magnus shaken. "Do not fear—I shall not pry—not that it would do me much good to try, so well are you shielded."

"Dad's SCENT policies are reason enough," Magnus maintained.

"They would be if he sought to impose democracy on a people for whom it was not right," Geoffrey said, "but they were on the road to constitutional monarchy before he came; he has only set them more firmly on that course by warding off SPITE and VETO, who sought to subvert."

"There is some truth to that," Magnus agreed, "and that is all I have promised to do—to prevent conquest, to protect the people from those who seek to imprison them in a government not of their own choosing."

"As Papa does."

"Yes, but that is more a matter of convenience than of choice." Magnus straightened and looked up at the dawn sky. "If they had not already set themselves on the road to democracy, he would have sought to subvert them into it."

"He would not have succeeded," Geoffrey said. "But they were already on that road. He was the right person in the right place at the right time, brother." His gaze was penetrating and unwavering.

"As you think I am?" Magnus asked with a sardonic smile. "I hope you are right, brother. One thing is certain— I cannot merely wave my magic wand, overthrow a tyranny, and go my merry way this time. For once, I must live with the consequences."

"They could be worse," Geoffrey said softly—perhaps too softly for Magnus to hear. His gaze was distant, focused over the battlements to the land rolling away beneath the castle hill, as were his thoughts.

ROD SLEPT UNTIL he woke, found the sun high in the sky but nonetheless took his time over breakfast, then finally mounted up and rode through the woods, waiting for an elf to bring him a report of any action Magnus had taken to sidetrack the building peasant insurrection. "Maybe I should have taken word to Magnus myself."

"You could simply contact him by telepathy, Rod."

"I could, but his brothers and sister would overhear, and it should be up to Magnus to tell them," Rod said. "Besides, I don't want them to think I'm favoring him. There's too much of that already, what with my asking him to guard Gramarye."

"Understandably. He leaves you for ten years, and when he comes back, you appoint him leader for all intents and purposes—and for no apparent reason."

"Oh, there's reason enough," Rod said. "Who would know best how to guard against subversion than someone who's been building revolutions for ten years? Besides, it was the only way to keep him from running off again."

"Are you sure that is a desirable goal, Rod?"

"Very sure. This is his homeland. It's the only place he'll ever really feel he belongs."

"Has this nothing to do with your desire to keep him near you, Rod?"

"Me?" Rod shrugged. "I don't matter. Once I find Tir Nan Og, I'm gone."

"That is not a healthy attitude, Rod."

"No, but it's very natural. I know I'm in denial, Fess. It's a good illusion to get me through the worst of the grieving process."

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Then Fess said, "You say that too easily, Rod, as though you do not entirely believe it."

MAGNUS AND ALEA had brought two chairs and a small table up to the battlements to watch the sun rise. The sentries eyed them covertly, unsure what to make of such unorthodox behavior. Battlements were for fighting, not pleasure.

Magnus was listening, nodding thoughtfully, as Alea told him of her conversations with the peasant folk near the castle. She was speaking of the need to interest them in eating more fruit, when a young man in royal livery came up the inner stair. Magnus saw him and touched her hand; she turned to look.

The herald came up to their table and bowed. "Sir Magnus, Their Majesties send their compliments and ask that you attend them in Runnymede."

Alea frowned, wondering at the formality, but Magnus only nodded. "Thank you, courier." He turned to one of the sentries. "Conduct this young man to the kitchen and see that he is fed and rested before he begins his return."

"Yes, Sir Magnus." The sentry turned to the young man and jerked his head toward the stair; they went away.

"You've known them all your life," Alea said. "They're your sister's parents-in-law. Why the formality?"

"They have to send word somehow," Magnus explained. They can't call me by satellite phone—but more to the point, I think they wish to make me understand that this will be official business. Do you fancy a morning's ride?"

"What, and waste the best part of the day?" Besides, something inside Alea quailed at the thought of meeting a king and queen face-to-face—and as though they were only the next-door neighbors. "You go. I need some time to myself anyway."

"NOT BELIEVE I'M in denial?" Rod smiled. "You're saying I'm denying denial?"

"I would not have put it that way, Rod, but I suppose there is some validity to the phrasing. Is it accurate?"

Rod shrugged. "I've always operated on two levels, you know that—the part that's very involved in the world around me, planning what to do and getting excited about whatever situation I'm in, and an aloof part of me that sits back and watches and tells me what a fool I'm being."

"Perhaps advisedly."

"Yeah, but sometimes it's too critical."

"At other times, though, it is right."

"Yeah. See that branch up ahead? Right now, my brazen side is telling me I should just push it out of the way, while my monitor-mind is telling me not to be a fool and duck." He leaned forward against Fess's neck, and the branch passed overhead. "Sometimes I listen to it."

Something whirred where his head had been. Rod stayed down but looked up quickly enough to see a tiny spearpoint arcing down to bury itself in the forest mold. "An elf-shot!" Rod threw himself off the horse and charged back ten feet. Something hurtled out of the roadside brush toward the woods, something small and fast— but not fast enough. Rod lunged and caught a diminutive collar. He yanked its owner high, amazed at his weight; he was very heavy for someone so small. He held the chubby elf even with his face and demanded, "What are you shooting at me for?"