“Yes, my lord prince,” the servant responded.

“And bring me something to eat, and some wine. It will be a long night.”

Just before the time came for the meeting of the High Council, Eskil returned.

“Gaius Prospero does not know Wilmot is gone from his cart. He thinks the mercenary a stupid man who will blindly obey. He has spent the last hour arguing with his wife, who does not trust Jonah-knowledge we might use to our advantage,” Eskil said with a wicked smile. “The lady Vilia is a power to be reckoned with, I think.”

“I think her love for her husband could be her downfall,” Lothair noted. “One must be totally ruthless when dealing with a man like Jonah. Ah, Wilmot,” he said to the mercenary who had entered the room. “You are well fed, I hope, and your mother settled for the night?”

“Yes, my lord, thank you. I did not tell her that the council meeting was tonight, for she would fret,” Wilmot said.

“You must make a choice, and make it now,” Lothair said. “After the meeting of the High Council I will transport you both from the City. Your mother’s presence in the home of Sir John Swiftsword could endanger him and his family. I will send you to either Vartan’s hall in the Outlands, or to my palace in the Desert. You will both be completely safe in either place.”

“We will go to your palace, my lord prince. The warm dry air will be good for my mother’s old bones, and winter is setting into the Outlands now,” Wilmot responded.

Lothair nodded. “Your mother will awaken there, then, and you will go to sleep there this very night,” he promised. “It is little enough I can do to repay you for your bravery tonight. Gaius Prospero will, once he is over his shock, attack you, and the story you tell, but we will defend you, Wilmot. He is not head of the High Council right now, only the representative from the Midlands. It is our good fortune that one of the Coastal Kings now sits at the council’s head, and two of his brothers are on the council. With luck we may be able to put an end to Gaius Prospero’s ambitions, at least for the interim. Come now, we must go. Stand between my brother and me, and we will be transported.”

Wilmot put himself between Lothair and Eskil. He wasn’t as frightened now as he had been earlier. These were good men, though they might have great magic. But he closed his eyes.

“We are here,” Lothair said softly.

Wilmot opened his eyes and gazed with amazement about the council chamber. Never had he thought to see it. The room was round. There were eight carved wooden chairs with high backs set upon a marble dais encircling the room. They were arranged in twos. In the center of the chamber was a round piece of marble upon which a ninth chair had been placed. It swiveled about so that its occupant could face whoever was speaking.

“Feel free to look about you,” Lothair murmured. “You are not yet visible to the members of the council, nor will you be until it is time for you to speak. The fellow next to Gaius Prospero is Squire Dareh, the lord of the Midlands. Next to them are the two Forest Lords now serving in the council. They are Lord Albern and Lord Everard. On the other side of the Foresters are the Coastal Kings, Delphinus and Pelias. The council head is Archeron. Ah, he is here. We will begin.”

Wilmot looked down at his hands. He could see them. He pinched his arm, and jumped with the sensation. Unable to help himself, he looked directly at Gaius Prospero and made a face, but while the Master of the Merchants appeared to be looking directly at him, he gave no indication that he had seen Wilmot. He was indeed invisible!

At once Gaius Prospero was on his feet. “I beg to be recognized,” he said.

“Sit down, Gaius Prospero,” King Archeron said rising. “I have something to say before you begin what will undoubtedly be a lengthy diatribe filled with impassioned rhetoric that in the end will amount to nothing. But as your fellow council members we will be obliged to listen to you. First, however, I will speak in my capacity as current head of this council.” He stood waiting as the Master of the Merchants took his seat again. Then he began. “Almost a year ago to this very day, my lords, my fellow kings and the Shadow Princes advised you against a most dangerous course of action. At the urging of the Midlands and the Forest provinces, you chose to break the ancient treaty between Hetar and the Outlands. And you, Gaius Prospero, as then head of this high council, tipped the balance. So Hetar invaded a portion of the Outlands, murdered, raped and enslaved the people you found there. Then you stole from their mines, transporting much wealth back here to the City.

“Today we see the results of our foolishness. Seven carts containing the bodies of every mercenary we sent into the Outlands have been returned to the City. Over five hundred men whose women and children will now be driven from their homes, for the Guild of Mercenaries cares only for the families of those who give it service. What is to happen to these women and children? They must be housed and fed. It is only right as their men gave their lives for Hetar. Did you, Gaius Prospero, consider this when you sent those men into danger for the sake of profit? And where is that profit? It has not filled the public coffers, to my knowledge, or am I mistaken? We will need funds to care for the dispossessed, Gaius Prospero.”

The Master of the Merchants jumped to his feet. He was surprisingly agile for a man of his girth and years. “You cannot blame me for this tragedy, King Archeron,” he declared. “Put the blame where it belongs. With the barbarians of the Outlands! If they had not begun raiding into Hetar it would not have been necessary to annex some of their territory. Are you suggesting that we should have stood idly by while this happened?”

“The Outlanders never raided into Hetar. You fabricated that tale as an excuse to steal their riches,” King Archeron said.

“Do you call me liar then?” Gaius Prospero blustered.

“Yes.” The word hung heavy within the council chamber. “Unlike you, Gaius Prospero, who bleat and blow about a people you know not, the Coastal Kings do know the Outlanders. Our land borders that of the Felan clan. They are shepherds, Gaius Prospero, not raiders. They gladly share their beaches and water supply with us, and they trade with us. The other clans raise horses, cattle, grain, vegetables, fruit and flowers. One of the clans is made up of poets and bards. The territories you attempted to annex not so much for Hetar, but for yourself, were that of the mining clans. They took from the earth only what they needed, and they always restored the land in which they worked. You came in and scarred their land while you stole its riches. It will take the mountain clans years to repair the damage you have done.”

He turned now to address the rest of the council. “Do you know what was done to the clan families in the Purple Mountains? Their elderly were all slain because it was decided they were not useful, and could not be fed. The men and boys were all put to work in the mines, and those who could not or would not work were slain as well. The women and girls were used and abused by the invaders. This kind of behavior is not our way, my lords. Hetar has always been proud of its civility. Now history will remember this time as a time of dishonor, and all because of one man’s greed!”

“My lord king.” Prince Lothair had stood up that he might be granted the right to address the high council.

“Speak, Prince,” King Archeron said.

“It is no secret that my brothers and I opposed the invasion of the Outlands. Today there came to me one of the survivors among the mercenaries to tell me his story, and bring me a message from the lords of the Outlands. May he speak?”

“A liar! A coward!” Gaius Prospero cried. “Why else would he have survived the dreadful massacre that took our brave citizens from us! Do not listen to his words, my lords! They are false, and filled with guile.”

“Thus spoke the snake,” Lothair murmured.

“I would hear what this man has to say,” King Archeron said, and the other council members nodded although some less vigorously than others.

“Step forward, Wilmot,” the prince invited, and the mercenary was suddenly visible to them all.

“What magic is this?” demanded Squire Dareh of the Midlands.

“The kind, sir, that has kept Wilmot safe from murder,” the prince answered.

“You may speak to us, Wilmot,” King Archeron said in a quiet voice.

“My lords,” Wilmot began, “I thank you for hearing me. The reason my few comrades and I survived was that we fought to the end. We were then chosen to be spared in order to drive these carts to the City. I bring you a message from the lords of the Outlands. They did not begin this war, but it is their hope that it is now ended. That the ancient treaty between Hetar and the Outlands can be restored.”

“And what of reparations?” Gaius Prospero said angrily.

“They are willing to accept the lives of those they slew as recompense,” Wilmot replied. He struggled to maintain a passive face, for he knew that was not at all what the Master of the Merchants had meant by his question.

Gaius Prospero grew purple in the face. He sputtered, but no words came out.

“This is most generous of the Outlanders in light of the damage done to them,” King Archeron said, his blue eyes twinkling. Then he grew serious. “Tell me of the occupation that we understand better, Wilmot.”

“It was hard. All you have spoken is true, my lord. Some of the people went mad with the slaughter of their elders, and so they also were slain. The loveliest of the young girls were imprisoned in the largest house in each village. There our captains lived, and these girls were made their Pleasure Women. Many were virgins. Others, young wives. The ordinary men were billeted in the village houses. They used the wives and daughters for their pleasure.”

“Did you?” King Archeron asked.

Wilmot shook his head. “I could not, my lord. What pleasure is there to be gained from a woman who is not willing? I am too old a soldier to change my ways though I be mocked for it. From the moment we invaded these villages I was wary, my lords. The people are not savages, but people of dignity. They live simply but well. They are governed by a clan chieftain, and each village has a headman or headwoman. It is not Hetar, but neither is it uncivilized.”

“How is it,” King Archeron asked “that you were chosen to be saved?”

“I fought a warrior who spared me, my lord,” Wilmot said.

“A woman! He was beaten by a woman!” Gaius Prospero shrieked.

“A woman?” The Coastal King was intrigued.

“Yes, my lord. Lara, daughter of Sir John Swiftsword, has become a great warrior,” Wilmot answered.

“She is a slave, my lord,” Albern, the Forest Lord said. “She belonged to Enda, our Head Forester. She murdered his brother, and escaped.”

“That is not so,” Lothair said. “You have been misinformed. Lara did indeed escape the Forest Lords, and lived among the Shadow Princes for over a year. It was then that Enda and his brother, Durga, came with a false document to attempt to reclaim her in clear violation of Hetarian law. We exposed their deception, and when they attempted to force her to come with them Lara defended herself, resulting in Durga’s death. Although we did not have to do so, we repaid Enda the monies he had used to purchase Lara, and we paid a bounty for Durga’s death. The Forest Lords have no claim on her.”

“This warrior woman spared you, Wilmot. Why?” Archeron asked.

“Her father was once a mercenary. His hovel was next to that of my mother and me. I knew her all her life until she was sold into slavery so that her father might have his chance at becoming a Crusader Knight. Her sacrifice was not in vain. She spared me for the kindnesses my mother had done her.”

Archeron nodded with his understanding. “And she has become a person of importance among the Outlanders?” he asked.

“She is the wife of their most important clan chieftain, my lord. He is Vartan of the Fiacre. Lara is half faerie, my lords, and she has, it appeared to me, gained faerie magic in her time away from Hetar.”

“Lothair, what do you know of this?” King Archeron asked.

“She is the daughter of Ilona, queen of the Forest Faeries, and John Swiftsword. She never knew her mother until she was with us. We reunited them, and Ilona has indeed taught her child of magic. It is as much a part of her heritage as her humanity.”

“Who taught her to fight?” Archeron probed further.

“I did,” Lothair answered him proudly. “I had a sword forged for her and imbued with my own magic. Her mother gave her a staff that possesses a soul. Kaliq, the prince with whom she stayed, gave her a fine horse trained for battle, and a serving girl with a horse. Her destiny and that of Hetar’s is entwined, my lords.”