"Surely it would give him an excuse to delve into some other old books!"

"Perhaps," Cordelia said, "but the verdict seems clear enough, and I doubt that any moldy old volumes will show him any excuse to pardon the young man. He was caught poaching, after all—more than one of the royal deer—and Diarmid is not looking forward to carrying out the sentence. Still, he knows that, as duke, he must witness the hanging."

"The poor fellow!"

"Which," Cordelia asked, "Diarmid or the felon?"

"Both. I trust Diarmid can postpone the matter for some months."

"Alas, he cannot," Cordelia said. "The young man must hang in four days." She shuddered and looked away, then brightened. "Look, the jugglers are about to begin! Let us watch and think of happier events!"

Magnus went with her, thinking furiously how he could manage to travel to Loguire to plead the young poacher's case while he was trying to find a way to forestall a peasant rebellion.

THE CLEARING WAS wide enough for Rod to see a few stars between the tree-tops. He had pitched his tent in the center, the better to see anyone—or anything—approaching. So far, though, the night had been quiet, only the chirring of insects around him and, in the woods, the odd howl or shriek of the night-hunters or their quarry.

Rod plucked his harp, gazing into the campfire and letting his thoughts wander as he tried to pin down the cause of his vague unease. It could just be a quirk in his brain chemistry, of course, but he doubted that. Better to rale out events in the kingdom—but he couldn't think what they would be. He reviewed recent happenings, then let them sort themselves at the back of his mind while he tried an old folk song; maybe the odd correlation would make itself if he didn't try to work it out by logic.

"As I was a-walking one morning in May, To hear the birds whistle, see …"

He broke off, alerted by some change in the night's sounds. Whoever was coming was very good—Rod couldn't hear his steps at all, only track him by insects falling silent around him, then starting their concert again when he was past. Rod opened his mind to scan and was doubly alerted by emptiness, the lack of mental activity of a shielded mind.

Strumming, he turned to his left just a little and made out the silhouette blocking the stars, a silhouette in the shape of a head. Whoever it was, he or she was very tall. He smiled, letting the strings fall silent. Sure enough, the voice came out of the darkness: "A new song, Dad."

"New to you, yes, son. I don't suppose I've played it since you were a toddler."

Gwen sitting on a blanket spread over meadow grass with a picnic basket beside her, arms outstretched to the tow-headed toddler who was having great fun being obstinate about coming to her…

Rod winced at the pain of the memory of happiness and put it aside, sure he could recall it when he wanted. He concentrated on the living son who was here, allaying the ache of longing for the wife who wasn't. "Your stalking has improved; you're excellent now."

"I can't be, if you knew I was there." Magnus stepped into the firelight.

"Ah, well, you forget that I'm an excellent sentry." Rod moved over on the log. "Sit down and have a bite." He nodded toward the kettle of stew that hung near the fire.

"Thank you." Magnus took a bowl from Rod's pack and ladled it full, then brought it back to sit beside his father, toying with the spoon, then sampling the food and nodding approval.

Rod smiled, amused; he knew his own culinary limitations. "Someone taught you good manners."

Gwen, thirty-two and smiling as she showed her little boy how to hold his spoon, while his baby sister napped in her cradle ...

The deep voice of the grown Magnus pulled him from the memory. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood."

Rod gazed at the huge dark man who had somehow grown out of that blond two-foot toddler and blinked his eyes clear. "Yes, I understand you have friends living down this way."

"Kin, actually." Magnus turned his gaze to the fire, frowning. "I suppose they are, now that Cordelia's married."

"Kin?" Rod frowned, then remembered Alain's uncle and smiled. "Well, the king may be your sister's father-in-law, but I'm not sure that makes his brother Anselm your uncle-in-law."

"A relative of an old family friend, then?"

"Yes, but I'm sure his feelings toward me aren't friendly."

"Because you were the key to defeating his rebellion? Or because you counselled mercy for him?"

"Both." Rod looked more closely at his son. "Not that you were coming to visit him—or is there trouble in the south?"

"There's trouble in all quarters of the land, Dad," Magnus sighed, "but only vague mutters of discontent—nothing I can really pin down."

So he needed to talk about threats to the Crown. Rod felt oddly flattered, even though it was a little disappointing that his son hadn't sought him out simply for company.

On the other hand, it was nice to know Magnus hadn't come to check up on his delusional parent.

Had he?

"Nothing specific, then. Has Alea heard any gossip you haven't?"

"No." Magnus turned to him with a frown. "Why should she?"

"Men aren't always privy to women's conversations— or interested enough to pay attention." Rod took a stick and reached out to stir the coals; flame licked up. "Then too, being new to Gramarye, she might notice some things that you and I would look right past."

"So used to them that we dismiss them." Magnus nodded thoughtfully, his gaze following Rod's stick back to the flames. "We talk constantly, and I'm sure she would have mentioned anything that seemed odd."

"She must be mentioning oddities every night."

"Well, yes." Magnus smiled, amused. "She's not used to elves, or to so many people with psionic talents. I do have to reassure her as to what's considered commonplace here."

"She certainly isn't."

"What? You mean being so tall that she seems a freak?" Magnus turned to him with a frown; it was a topic with which he was all too familiar.

"No, her perceptiveness and sensitivity." Rod put down the stick and looked up at his boy. "A very intelligent woman, son."

"Yes. She is that." Magnus allowed himself a small smile.

"Just a stray who followed you home?"

Magnus laughed.

Rod blinked in surprise at the rare sound, then smiled, thinking that Alea might be better for Magnus than he knew.

"A stray, perhaps," Magnus acknowledged. "Certainly a fugitive—but she scarcely followed me. In fact, she took quite a bit of reassuring and coaxing."

"Oh?" It was a side of Alea Rod hadn't seen. "What had made her skittish?"

"Her parents died," Magnus said, "and the neighbors she had thought were her friends turned away from her. On her home world of Midgard, the 'normal' people were reacting to the abnormalities of inbreeding by enslaving those they could and fighting those they couldn't—and she was too tall to count as normal."

"So they enslaved her?"

Magnus nodded. "Her parents' lands were given to their worst enemies, who proceeded to beat her or whip her for the slightest disobedience."

'Trying to break her spirit. They didn't succeed."

"No, but they might have, if she had stayed. The first night, though, the son made advances—if you can call assault an advance …"

"So she didn't stay around for a second night."

"She felt that a quick death was better than a lifetime of abuse," Magnus said, "so she took the chance to run and hoped she could escape the slave-catchers. She took her risks with the wild dog packs and the giants."

Rod shuddered. "Harrowing enough."

"Yes, but there's something more." Magnus frowned. "She has never spoken of it, but I'm sure there was a heartbreak there—and whoever broke her heart did it in the cruelest way possible."