IT WAS Agray autumn in Ursal that fall of God's Year 843 .The mood and the sky were one.
"You will go to see them?" Duke Kalas asked Danube one rainy afternoon. The two were walking in the garden, despite the rain and the chill wind, speaking of Constance and Danube's sons, who were now living in Yorkeytown, the largest city in Yorkey County, the rolling farmlands east of Ursal and a favored retreat for the nobles of Danube's court.
"My place is here, beside my wife," Danube replied resolutely, and he didn't miss Duke Kalas' wince.
"It is commonplace for a king and queen to winter separately," Kalas reminded.
"For a king to winter with his former lover?" Danube replied with a chuckle. "With the mother of his two children?"
"Constance would be pleased to see you," said Kalas, who had recently visited the banished noblewoman and had not been pleased by what he had seen.
"I'll hear no more of it," said Danube.
"They are your sons, heirs to the throne," said Kalas. "You have a responsibility to the future of the kingdom - a greater one, I daresay, than any duty toward your wife."
"Beware your words!"
Danube stopped as he issued the warning, turning and staring hard at Kalas, but the Duke, who had been Danube's friend since before Danube had ascended the throne as a teenager, did not back down, and matched the King stare for stare.
"You knew when you became king that there was a point where personal preference had to be ignored," Kalas reminded. "A point where the responsibilities of king and kingdom outweighed the preferences of a man, of any man. And I know the same to be true of my own position as duke of Wester-Honce. Would I have ever gone to Palmaris to serve as baron, however briefly, if I had seen any choice in the matter?"
King Danube didn't blink.
"Merwick and Torrence are in line for the crown," said Kalas. "Merwick only behind your brother, who lives in a wild land, and Torrence next behind him. It is very likely that one of them will one day be crowned king of Honce-the-Bear. Is this not true?"
Danube looked away.
"A fine king either of them will become, so removed from court and from their father," Kalas said with obvious disdain. "And what resentments might they feel to learn that their father would not even come to visit them? Perhaps you should consider your responsibility to Jilseponie in the event of your death. How will your successor, if it is not Midalis, feel toward your queen?"
Danube took a deep breath. He wanted to scold Kalas, wanted to turn and punch the man in the face for speaking so boldly. But how could he deny the truth of Kalas' words? And why, why had Constance decided to leave Ursal? How Danube's life had turned upside down since that event! For many of the court had secretly blamed Jilseponie. Danube heard their angry whispers against his wife and noted their scornful glances Jilseponie's way.
"Why did she leave?" he said aloud, speaking more to himself than to Kalas.
"Because she could not bear to watch you with Jilseponie," Kalas answered - his honest opinion, for, of course, Constance had not told anyone the truth: that she had been poisoning Jilseponie. And neither had Jilseponie spoken of the crime, to Danube or anyone else.
"She knew the truth of my heart long before Jilseponie became queen," Danube pointed out. "For years I was traveling to Palmaris to visit Jilseponie, and never did I hide my true feelings from Constance. Neither did I embrace those feelings at the expense of Constance's heart."
"Are you asking me if you did anything wrong?" Kalas bluntly asked.
Danube stared at him hard.
"You did," Kalas dared to say, and Danube winced but did not interrupt or try to stop him. "You should have taken Jilseponie as your mistress and left her in Palmaris, where she belongs, where she fits. If you were to name a queen, it should have been Constance Pemblebury. You chose to satisfy your needs above the needs of the court - "
"Damn you and your court to Bestesbulzibar's own hellfires!" Danube roared. "You dare to imply that Jilseponie does not belong in Ursal because the overperfumed ladies are angry that an outsider broke into their precious little circle and stole the throne most of them coveted? The throne, I say, and not the man who sits on the throne beside the queen. Nay, never that!"
"You doubt that Constance loves you?" Duke Kalas asked incredulously.
Danube bit back his response and simply growled in frustration. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner?"
"Am I not your friend, then?" Kalas asked simply.
"And as my friend, you should have helped me in this," Danube pointedly replied, poking a finger Kalas' way. "I notice that Duke Targon Bree Kalas has done little to help Jilseponie settle into life in Ursal. I have not heard Kalas defending his queen, defending his friend's wife, from the vicious whispers and rumors that hound her every step!"
Kalas stood very straight, he and Danube staring at each other hard for a long while, both realizing that this fight had been a long time in coming and both understanding, and regretting, that there would be no turning back from this critical point.
"I will winter in Yorkeytown," Kalas announced.
"Constance should not have gone," King Danube said evenly.
"She felt she had no choice."
"I should not have allowed it."
Duke Kalas nearly choked on that, his eyes going wide.
"I should not have allowed the children to go," Danube clarified. "Indeed, they will return to Ursal in the spring and spend every summer here; and they may return to Yorkeytown each winter to be with their mother, if they so choose, or Constance may, of course, return to Ursal. Yes, that is my decision." He looked up at Kalas and raised an eyebrow. "Comments?"
"You are the king. You can, and will, do as you see best," the Duke of Wester-Honce replied diplomatically, though a hint of sarcasm did sneak into his voice.
Kalas bowed then, rather stiffly, and turned and walked away; and Danube knew without doubt that things between them had just changed forever.
She pretended not to hear the critical whisper, whatever it might be, or the ensuing giggle, but when Kenikan the chef entered the room from the door opposite bearing a tray of treats, and the two women giggled again, all the louder, Jilseponie found them harder to ignore.
For this latest rumor, that Jilseponie and the chef had become somewhat more than friends, could not be taken lightly, the Queen knew. This was a rumor of treason, one that would harm more than her reputation, would go to Danube's heart.
Keeping her gaze forward, her expression calm, Jilseponie altered her course just a bit, so that she would pass right before the two women. "I should be careful of the gossip that leaves your foul mouths if I were you," she said. And it was the first time in months that she had bothered to confront any of the gossipers, except of course for her fight with Constance.
"Fear not the reputation of Jilseponie the Queen," she quietly continued, walking past and not looking at the pair. "Fear instead the reputation of Jilseponie, the wife of Nightbird."
She did glance once at them, to see one blanching and the other staring back at her incredulously, as if Jilseponie had somehow just elevated the tension of the confrontation beyond all bounds of reason - which had been Jilseponie's point exactly in putting her threat into physical terms. These women of the court were quite used to the battles of gossip, the constant sniping and rumormongering. But the experience of actually confronting an enemy, of doing battle face-to-face, was quite beyond them.
Jilseponie held those images of confusion and terror close to her as she made her way through the castle to the private quarters she shared with Danube.
And there she found her husband, looking miserable. She sat down opposite him, though he was looking down and not at her, and patiently waited for him to guide the conversation.
"What I would give to share a child with you," Danube finally said, not looking up.
Jilseponie started to respond but paused. Was Danube speaking about a child to better share their love, or one for other, political reasons? His tone gave her the distinct impression that it was the latter.
"Would that make things easier at court, do you believe?" Jilseponie asked.
Danube shrugged, still staring at the floor. This uncharacteristic posture told Jilseponie that something was terribly wrong, that perhaps the rumor of her and the chef had come to his ears.
"Or would it merely complicate the issues?" she asked, pressing on.
"It would make my choices now more clear," the King explained, and that unexpected answer gave Jilseponie pause. She looked at her husband curiously.
"I fear that I must bring Merwick and Torrence back to court," Danube explained, "for part of the year, at least, that they might properly learn their responsibility as my heirs."
"Of course," Jilseponie answered, purposely filling her voice with eagerness. She had never held anything against Merwick and Torrence, after all, and while she didn't know them very well and couldn't measure their fitness for the throne, she had seen nothing from either of them to discourage the notion.
Surprisingly, her enthusiastic agreement didn't seem to brighten Danube at all.
"Would it be better, do you suppose, if I name you as successor?" he asked unexpectedly. "Behind Midalis, perhaps, but ahead of Merwick and Torrence?"
Jilseponie's face screwed up and she worked hard and fast to get through the multitude of refusals that tried to rush out of her mouth. "Why would you even think such a thing?" she asked.
"You are the queen," Danube answered simply, and he finally did look up at his wife.
"No," she answered flatly. "I have no desire to be further immersed in the politics of Ursal. Nor do I desire, nor would I accept, any appointment to the line of succession. My life is complicated enough - "
"Troubled enough, you mean," Danube interjected.
Jilseponie didn't even try to disagree. "My possible ascension was never a part of our agreement, not before I came to Palmaris and not since. I see no reason to change the standing arrangement - a solemn vow that you gave to your brother and to the other nobles that goes in direct opposition to such a course. If you alter things now, if you change your mind and the formal line of succession, you will be openly betraying the trust and confidence of many of your court, including many who already consider me an enemy."
"Perhaps those courtiers do not deserve my trust and confidence," Danube offered.
Again, Jilseponie had to pause and fully digest the surprising words. "I'll not lie to you," she said at length. "If at our next grand celebration, a huge crack split the grand ballroom and dropped more than half of your courtiers into a bottomless pit, I would not lament their loss. But I did not come here to shake the court of Castle Ursal apart, nor do I wish to be put into such a position. Nor do I wish to be a ruling queen."
"Yet all of the former is a consequence of your simply being here at my side!" Danube yelled at her suddenly. "Split the court?" he echoed incredulously. "Have you not? Have I not by bringing you here? Where is Constance, then? And where Kalas?"
"Kalas?" Jilseponie asked, for she had not heard of the King's falling out with the Duke nor of Kalas' plan to leave Ursal. Danube seemed not to even hear her, though.
"Perhaps I erred in bringing you here, for measured against you and your ways of the northland, life at court seems pale indeed, wretched even to me, who grew up in this world," Danube rolled on. "All your ideals, your quaint notions of friendship . . . they cannot stand against the realities of this life."
"Myideals?" asked Jilseponie. "These are not shared by you? What of the times we spent together in Palmaris? What of your proposal - your choice - in marrying me? Do you believe that to be an error?"
"I did not foresee the depth - "
"Of the shallowness of your court," Jilseponie interrupted. "Quite an irony, and not one that you, or I, must assume responsibility for."
King Danube stared at her. "There is a rumor circulating that you have been taking herbs, the same ones used by the courtesans to prevent pregnancy," he said.
How Jilseponie wanted to lay it all out to him then and there, to tell Danube about Constance and her conspiracy. Perhaps she had erred in simply sending Constance away without explanation. Perhaps she should have brought it all out in the open and let an honest trial judge the woman. Perhaps she should do so now.
Jilseponie had to take a deep breath to even get through the mere thought of it, for she understood the implications of such a course: a complete destruction of the present court, and some long-festering bad feelings from very powerful landowners and noblemen that could well haunt her husband for the rest of his days.
"I am taking no such herbs," she answered honestly, phrasing her words in the present tense. "Nor have I ever knowingly consumed any substance that would prevent pregnancy - nor did I ever even hear of such things until very recently."
Danube stared at her for a long while, and she did not blink, secure in the truth of her words.
"Do you love me?" Danube asked suddenly.
"I came to Ursal, gave up all of my life before this, because I do," Jilseponie answered. "That has not changed."
Danube narrowed his eyes and stared at her even more intently. "Do you love me as you loved Elbryan?"
Jilseponie winced and shrank back, her breath coming out in one long and desperate sigh. How could he ask her such a thing? How could she compare the two when she was at such a different place in her own life. "I have never lied to you about that," she answered after a long and uncomfortable pause. "From the beginning, I explained to you the differences between - "
"Spare me," Danube begged, holding up one hand.
If he had stood and slapped her across the face, he would not have wounded Jilseponie more.
Duke Kalas wore his most threadbare outfit this evening, and had purposely neither shaved nor washed very thoroughly after an afternoon spent riding. He needed to get away, from Danube and all the trappings of court. For Kalas, that meant a journey to the slums of Ursal, to the taverns where the peasants gathered to gossip and to drink away the realities of their miserable existence. This was one of his secret pleasures, unknown to King Danube and to any of the other nobles - except for Constance, who had accompanied him on such expeditions in the past.
He entered the tavern with an air of superiority, feeling above the many peasants and yet trying to blend in with them enough so as not to arouse any suspicion that he might be connected to the ruling class. Head down, listening and not talking, he sidled up to the bar and ordered a mug of ale, then found a quiet corner and settled in to hear the latest rumors.
Predictably, they were all about Queen Jilseponie, some whispering that she was having an affair with the cook at Castle Ursal or with some other man - the name of Roger Lockless came up more than once, as well as a lewd reference to Abbot Braumin Herde of Palmaris. And it was all done, of course, with a good deal of laughter and derision.
Kalas knew where all of this had started. Constance and her many friends had begun a quiet campaign to discredit Jilseponie from the moment she had moved to Ursal, and even before, during all of those summers King Danube spent in Palmaris - an act that many of the common folk of Ursal had taken as an insult to their fair city.
Still, for all of the seeding done in the past and all the current damning rumors filtering down to this crowd from Constance's cronies, all of whom were not pleased that Constance had apparently been "chased" out of the castle and Ursal by the "queen witch" Jilseponie, Kalas could hardly believe the relish the common folk took in fostering and elaborating upon those rumors.
They positively reveled in it, expressing their outrage and their derision with open glee, mocking and mimicking Jilseponie viciously.
Kalas could not deny his mixed feelings at hearing their talk. On the one hand, he hated their fickleness - had this woman not been their revered and cherished hero, not once, but twice? Had she not won a glorious victory, at great personal cost, against the corrupt Father Abbot Markwart? And even more important, had Jilseponie not shown the world the way to salvation during the horrible years of the rosy plague? Or at least, was that not what the peasants had wholeheartedly believed? Yet here they were, their love affair with Jilseponie Wyndon Ursal obviously ended and, Kalas had to admit silently, through no fault of Jilseponie's. Or perhaps there was fault to be leveled at her: the fault of hubris, of unwarranted pride. The errant belief that she could somehow rise above her lowly station to mingle with those born of greatness. Jilseponie was not noble born, and she knew it; so why, then, had she agreed to come to Danube's court as queen? How dare she pretend to be something that she obviously was not?
Duke Kalas took a deep pull of his ale, then slid the glass across the table to a barmaid, bidding her to get him another. As he had mixed feelings about the source of the peasants' banter, so he had mixed feelings about its possible result. As a nobleman of Danube's court, he wanted to draw his sword and cut down any peasant insolent enough to speak ill of any nobleman or noblewoman, and indeed, he could not separate their chides from insults aimed at King Danube.
And yet, Duke Kalas wasn't sorry to see Jilseponie being made the butt of their jokes, to see them embracing every nugget of every rumor, though there might be no evidence at all. Let this woman, who had so wounded his dear friend Constance, be dragged through the mud of peasant gossip; let them pay her back for all the pain she had brought to Danube's courtiers by her mere presence! And as for Danube's failing image, had he not brought it upon himself by ignoring the advice of Kalas and many others and marrying a peasant?
His second ale arrived, and he downed it in one gulp, then took a third from the barmaid's tray as she started away and swallowed that, motioning for her to go and fetch another.
He needed the drink. For there was one other thing behind all the justifications Kalas might make, though the Duke would never admit it to himself or to anyone else: Jilseponie had refused his advances years ago in Palmaris, before she had begun her love affair with King Danube.
Danube had chosen wrongly, and so had Jilseponie, and all the court was in tumult because of it. "Swill to satisfy the lowly tastes of peasants," the Duke muttered under his breath, his voice full of sarcasm and anger. "How fitting for a Queen."
She sat in a curtained room staring at the opaque veil that blocked her view of the outside world. Earlier, she had heard Torrence and Merwick out there, sparring and arguing, but they were long gone now, no doubt off to find some of the new friends they had made since moving to Yorkeytown.
Constance had made no new friends; and, in truth, the mere thought of it sent shivers along her spine. She looked horrible and she knew it - how, then, could she go out among the social elite of Yorkeytown?
It was midday out beyond that window. Yet Constance was still wearing her simple nightdress; and while it was not obviously dirty, she had not changed out of it for three days. How had she sunk so low, so fast? She had aspired to be queen of Honce-the-Bear, and then had attained a position that would likely place her as queen mother. And yet here she was, banished from Ursal by her hated rival, Jilseponie holding the proof of her crime over her head like the demon of death's own scythe!
"She has conspired against me," Constance muttered, "from the beginning. She has watched my every move and baited me, waiting, waiting, waiting. Ah, yes, the witch! Waiting, waiting, waiting for poor Constance to give in to her endless taunts and try to defend herself. And when I did - yes, when Constance tried to defend her position, to protect her children! -there you were, cursed witch, ready to go sobbing to your husband, the King. Oh, but aren't you the pretty one and the clever one, Queen Jilseponie?"
She wept then, dropping her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking. She believed that she could actually feel the bags under her eyes, so bedraggled was she, for she had not slept for any stretch of time since she had come to Yorkeytown, since Jilseponie had chased her away from Ursal and away from Danube. Constance needed sleep, and she knew it; but she could not, did not, dare. For they found her in her dreams, Danube and Jilseponie, entwined as lovers.
She lifted her head and stared again at the curtain. She could hardly remember the days before the great changes in Ursal, before Jilseponie had come. The days when she rode out beside Danube and Kalas, when she often found Danube's bedroom door open for her.
How far she had fallen! And all of it, Constance knew in her heart, was because of one reason alone, because of one woman alone.
More than a thousand miles to the east, the eighteen-year-old Aydrian stood at the prow of Rontlemore's Dream, one of the largest sailing ships in all the world, a huge three master. Back in Honce-the-Bear, the people were preparing the celebration for the turn of God's Year 844, or just battening down their houses to survive another winter.
But out here on the bright waves of the Southern Mirianic, there seemed no seasons, no sense of time at all. Just a sense of timelessness, of eternity, the endless rise and fall of the perpetual swells, the continuing cycle of life played out below the azure surface. Aydrian, so attuned to nature from his time with the Touel'alfar, could not deny the sense of peace and serenity; this was perhaps the first time in his life he had ever truly existed in the present, not considering the past or the future, or the implications of any action. Not taking any action at all. Simply being. He felt as if he was one big receptacle, allowing the spray and the sun and the smells to permeate his body and soul.
And it was strangely pleasant, though he understood better than to pause and consider the feeling, for that alone would dispel the moment.
Twenty feet back from him, near the center of the deck, Marcalo De'Unnero and Sadye were reacting to the voyage in a very different manner.
"The war in Behren will be to our benefit, if we handle it correctly," De'Unnero reasoned, for Olin had told him and his companions of the tumult in the southern kingdom, a revolt in the western province of To- gai that had spread into general revolution against the Chezru chieftain and his strict yatol order. Aydrian had received the news with a smirk, guessing at the source.
"Olin fears that we invite the same revolt as the yatols," Sadye reminded. "And his depictions of the action of common folk revolting against a Church did not fill me with warmth."
"Olin views the situation from the wrong perspective," De'Unnero assured her. "We will incite a secular revolt within Honce-the-Bear, using Aydrian - the rightful heir by Danube's own words! - as our figurehead, and then we will use that circumstance to bring about the needed change within the Church."
"Danube will not accept him," said Sadye.
"You assume that Danube will ever learn of him," De'Unnero replied slyly.
"Then Danube's followers will accept him even less!" Sadye insisted, the same old arguments and doubts rearing up again.
De'Unnero tolerated her nervousness. They had gone through this discussion many times over the months, and almost daily since they had met with Abbot Olin and had actually started to act on their grand plans.
"Abbot Olin was quite clear that he believed Aydrian could not take the throne without war," Sadye finished.
The remark did not bother Marcalo De'Unnero at all. "Hence our present journey," he replied. "You do not understand the power of wealth. For too many years, you traveled the fringes of society and civilization, where people were too concerned with their daily needs to think in grander terms."
"How much of a treasury will we need to build this army you envision?" asked Sadye. "The Kingsmen are loyal to Danube, as are the Coastpoint Guards and the Allheart Brigade," she said, naming the three branches of Honce-the-Bear's formidable military. "His army numbers in the tens of thousands. Where are we to find that many bodies, even with all the wealth in the world?"
De'Unnero winked at her and looked over at the rest of his unlikely flotilla, a hodgepodge of two dozen ships ranging in size and design from the heavy Rontlemore's Dream and other conventional Honce-the-Bear designs, to the pirate catamarans and swift sloops. Olin had put the flotilla together in short order, through a simple promise of riches. What more might Olin and De'Unnero accomplish when those riches were in hand?
Sadye's concerns were not without merit, he knew, but he wasn't too worried about them. A bag of gemstones, magical or not, could turn a man's heart and loyalties; and De'Unnero and Olin would soon possess enough gems to test the loyalty of every man in Honce-the-Bear.
He glanced around at the flotilla again, his gaze settling on the catamaran of one particularly disagreeable pirate. How would he react once his hold was full of gemstones? De'Unnero wondered. Would he turn and run? Marcalo De'Unnero almost hoped that he would, for then he, with his powerful feline form, and Aydrian, with the magical gems, would lay waste to the pirate and crew.
It might be fun.
Up at the prow, Aydrian continued to bask in the present, his mind unworried, his body and soul at peace with his surroundings.
It was but a brief respite, he knew, though he did not remind himself. All the world was about to explode, and he would be holding the gemstones that set off the blast.
The name of Aydrian, of Nighthawk, would survive the passage of millennia.
PART FOUR
TWILIGHT IN CASTLE URSAL
Their efficiency is simply amazing - at least as spectacular as the holds full of gemstones we brought back from that distant, lifeless island. Abbot Olin has a hundred merchants selling them, from Behren to the Gulf of Corona; and, similarly, he and De'Unnero have a hundred agents hard at work, hiring mercenaries and, even more impressive, infiltrating the King's forces at every level. The plans grow more firm each day; and the destination - the crown of Ursal and the leadership, of the Abellican Church - seems closer than ever.
They think they are using me, my heritage, to gain their foothold. They see me as a commodity like their own gemstones; and they - Olin and De'Unnero at least - underestimate me because of my age.
But I am not the same boy that found Marcalo De'Unnero in Wester-Honce. This summer will mark my nineteenth birthday, and between my years with the demanding Touel'alfar and all that I have learned from De'Unnero and Sadye and all that I have seen on my travels across the wide world, my understanding and comprehension of this society and these people exceeds that of anyone else my age.
And so, they do not use me, as they believe. Rather, I use them, to find my way to the destiny that is mine. De'Unnero and Olin are tools for Aydrian; they will reach for their goals within the Church, and I will back them all the way. Ultimately, though, the King rules, and Aydrian, not De'Unnero, not Olin, was born to be the king. I will allow them their pretense of using me until I have taken the throne, and then . . .
Then I will tolerate them as long as their actions remain in line with my own goals.
I find it amusing that both De'Unnero and Olin seek, in essence, the same personal goals. Both envision themselves as father abbot of the reorganized Church.
De'Unnero keeps insisting that he views Olin in line for that position, explaining that he will train for the position and then succeed the man upon Olin's death, which both expect will happen soon enough.
I do not believe him for a moment.
Marcalo De'Unnero has been preaching patience to me since we first met, has been assuring me that the walk toward our goal will be long but will be definite and with every step measured properly. I know, however, that he is not a patient man - no more than am I! He understood the proper course to take to this point, and will measure each step carefully from here. But once the goal is in sight, once the position he covets is within his grasp, his patience will not hold and Abbot Olin will be thrown to the wayside, if he is lucky, or will simply be murdered. For there is no way that Marcalo De'Unnero would so readily share the treasures that we plundered from Pimaninicuit - bags and bags of gemstones! - to raise an army to elevate Olin! To elevate me? Yes, for De'Unnero sees my ascension to the throne as a first, necessary step to his own goals. Because of my heritage and the King's foolish decree, he sees my ascension as an easier task than the takeover of the Church, which is even more steeped in tradition and democracy than the kingdom. More than once, he has said to me, "Make a man a king, and the people will, the people must, accept him as such. Taking the throne will be far more difficult than holding it."
I have come to learn much of this society, of my people, and most of all I have come to understand why Lady Dasslerond and the Touel'alfar hate the humans - or at least do not respect them. The chaos, the hidden agendas that permeate every heart, the murderous treachery!
And, yet, it is far easier for the elves to feel as they do and to act in accordance with their supposedly higher principles, for they will live on through the centuries - or they expect to, at least. Time alone allows them the patience; if they did not accomplish a certain goal this century, then surely they will find the time and the opportunity for it in the next. The Touel'alfar do not understand the devastating human truth that life is too short for dreams to be realized. Nor do they understand that chancing everything, even life itself could be worth any gain, for such a risk might cost an elf six hundred years of existence. What might such a dire risk cost a human, even a young one, such as myself? A few decades? And likely only a couple of decades of good health and vitality.
There is another basic difference between the races. The elves remember their dead heroes, as do the humans, but the elves remember their living heroes as well - and in the same favorable light afforded by the passing of centuries. Humans can find no such luxury; many of the enemies I will make when I take the throne will outlive me and will, during my lifetime, cast a pall over King Aydrian with words of venom, if not treacherous actions.
And so, in the human existence, it is the legacy that is most important. The name of King Aydrian will shine all the brighter in a hundred years, when the friends of the current regime are all dead and the lands I conquer are fully assimilated into Honce-the-B ear. And my name will shine all the brighter still in two hundred years.
And in a thousand years the legend will far outweigh the reality, for all that will remain will be monuments of my reign - the castles and palaces, the redrawn border, and the great city of Aydrian, once called Ursal. In a thousand years, I will be thought of as a god, as larger than any man could be in life.
Sadye's songs convince me of this; the histories speak of it over and over again.
I see the means solidifying around me.
Patience, patience.
