that cage a monkbird screamed now, as if in derision at this remark. The hybrid creature's ineffectual wings made a brief iridescent blur on both sides of its thin, furred body. But its brain was too small to allow it the power of thought, and neither of the men below it paid its comment the least attention.
Except for the slave girl who had just brought wine, the two men were quite alone. They were seated in one of the smaller private chambers of the rather grim and drafty castle that was the Duke's chief residence, and would have been thought of as his family seat if any of the duchesses he had tried out so far had succeeded in giving him some immediate family. The present Duke's great-grandfather had begun the clan's climb to prominence by taking up the profession of robber baron. He had also begun the construction of this castle. Much enlarged since those days, it clung to a modest but strategically located crag overlooking the crossing of two important overland trade routes. Trade on both highways had somewhat diminished since the days of the castle's founding, but by now the family was into other games than simple robbery and the sale of insurance on life, health, and business.
Rich wall hangings, in the family colors of blue and white, rippled silkily as a gentle breeze entered the chamber through the narrow windows let into its thick stone walls. In the Duke's father's day the women of the household had begun to insist upon some degree of interior elegance, and the hangings dated from that time. And today for some reason those rippling drapes gave the Duke a momentarily acute sense of the swiftness of time's passage — all the efforts of his ancestors had enabled him to begin his own life with great advantages, but his own decades had somehow sped past him and out of reach, and today his domain was little larger or stronger than when his father had left it to him — a gift rather unwillingly bestowed. The Duke still wanted very much to be king of the whole continent someday, but it was years since he had said as much aloud to even his closest advisers. He would have expected and feared their silent ridicule, because there was so little hope. Until very recently, that is.
He made a small gesture of dismissal to the slave girl, who rose swiftly and gracefully from her knees, and departed on silent feet, her gauzy garments swirling. Yes, in the matter of women too he thought himself unlucky- time passed, wives appeared, were found for one reason or another unsatisfactory, and departed again. The duty he felt he owed himself, of providing his own heir for his own dukedom, was still not accomplished.
The Duke poured himself a small cup of the wine. 'I think,' he said to his wizard, 'that if you were to try, you might find a few more words to say to me on the subject.' As if in afterthought, he poured a second golden cup of wine, and handed it across; he nodded meanwhile, as if confirming something to himself. His Grace was on the small side, wiry and graying, with a hint of curl still in his forelock. On the subject of beards and mustaches, as on much else, he had never been able to make up his mind with any finality, and he was currently clean-shaven except for a modest set of sideburns. The ducal complexion was on the dark side, particularly around the eyes, which made the sockets look a little hollow and gave him a hungry look sometimes.
He prodded his wizard now: 'As you have described the sequence of events to me, this young boy first shot my cousin dead, then simply picked up the sword, the sword you had been sent there to get — and walked away with it. No one has seen him since, as far as we can determine. And you made no attempt to stop his departure. You say you did not notice it.'
The wizard, apparently unruffled by all this, again made his small seated bow. 'Your Grace, immediately after the fight, a crowd gathered in the street. There was much confusion. People were shouting all manner of absurd things, about cavalry, invasions — the scene was far from orderly, with people coming and going everywhere. My first concern was naturally for your cousin's life, and I did all that I could to save him. Alas, my powers proved inadequate. But in those first moments I did not even know whose arrow had struck him down. I assumed, reasonably, I think, that it had come from one of the attackers' bows.'
'And of course when the fight was over you thought no more about the sword. Even though you'd just seen what it could do.'
'Beg pardon, Your Grace, I really did not see that. When the fighting started I went to earth at once, put my head down and stayed that way. As Your Grace is very well aware, most magic works very poorly once blades are drawn and blood is shed. I was of course aware that some very potent magic was operating nearby; I know now that was I sensed was the sword. But while the fighting lasted there was nothing I could do. As soon as silence fell, I jumped up and…'
'Did what you could, yes. Which, as it turned out, wasn't very much. Well, we'll see what Sharfa has to say about these villagers of his when he gets back.'
'And have you now summoned him back, Your Grace?'
'Yes, I've sent word that he should hurry, though I hate for him to cut short his other mission… well, he must do what he thinks best when he gets my message. So must we all. Meanwhile, let's have the miller and his wife in.'
'By all means, sire. I think it a very wise decision for you to question them yourself.'
'I want you to observe.'
The wizard nodded silently. Duke Fraktin made another small motion with his hand. Though the two men were to all appearances alone, this gesture somehow sufficed to convey the Duke's will beyond the chamber walls. In the time that might have been needed for a full, slow breath, a spear-carrying guard appeared, ushering in two people in worn commoners' garb.
The man was tall and sturdy, and the Duke would have put his age at between thirty-five and forty. His fair hair hung over neatly bandaged temples. He had only one arm, now round the waist of the woman at his side. She was plump but still attractive for one of her class and age, a few years younger than her husband. The dark-haired woman was more than a little frightened at the moment, the Duke thought, though so far she was controlling it well. The man looked more dazed than frightened. It was only today, according to the medical reports, three days after his injury, that he'd regained his senses fully.
Duke Fraktin signed to the guard to withdraw, and then surprised the couple by rising from his chair and coming to greet them, which meant descending from the low dais upon which he and his wizard had been sitting — the wizard was no longer to be seen anywhere. The smiling Duke took the man briefly by the hand, as if this were some ceremony for the award of honors. Then, with a sort of remote possessiveness, he touched the bowing, flustered woman on the head. 'So, you are Jord, and you are Mala. Have you both been well treated? I mean, by my men who brought you here?'
'Very well treated, Your Honor.' The man's voice, like the expression on his face, was still a little dazed. 'I thank you for the care you've given me. The healing.'
The Duke waved gratitude away. Whenever quick medical care was needed, for someone whose life mattered, he had a priestess of Ardneh on retainer, and the priestess had reason to be prompt and attentive in responding to his calls. 'I wish we might have saved your elder son. He fell as a true hero,' the Duke said and added a delicate sigh. 'Actually it is your younger son who most concerns me today.'
The parents were alarmed at once. The man asked quickly: 'Mark's been found?' Their reactions, the Duke thought, would have been subtly different if they had known where their child was. The Duke allowed himself another sigh.
'Alas, no,' replied the Duke. 'Mark has not been found. And he seems to have taken away with him a certain very valuable object. An object in which my own interest is very strong.'
The woman was looking at the Duke with a strange expression on her face, and he wondered if she was attempting to be seductive. A number of women made that attempt with him, of course, and probably few of them had such beautiful black hair. Fewer still, of course, were thirty-year-old millwives with calloused hands. This one had a high opinion of her own attractiveness. Or else something else was on her mind…
'Isn't it possible, sir,' she asked now with timid determination, 'that someone else took the sword? One of those bandits?'
'I think not, Mala. Where was Mark when you saw him last?'
'In the street, sir. Our village street, right after the fight. My daughter and I came running out from the mill, when people told us that Kenn was fighting out there with the sword. When I got there, Mark was standing off to one side. I didn't think he was hurt, so I ran right to Kenn, and… ' She gestured toward her husband at her side. 'Then, later, when I looked around for Mark again, he wasn't there.'
The Duke nodded. The daughter had given his men a similar report; she had been allowed to remain in the village, looking after the mill. 'And when you first ran out into the street, Mala, it was Kenn who had the sword?'
'Kenn was already lying on the ground, Your Honor, sir. I don't know about the sword, I never thought about
