'To win the game, my lord. To destroy the other kingdoms and seize the board as our own.'
Nobles drew in weary breaths and exchanged glances of bored despair. Prince Ricardo sipped at his wine, paused in thought, then swiveled calculating eyes toward Svarezi.
'We are aware, Captain, of the imperatives of our game. Pray allow us to pursue our victory in the way that suits u-'
'Through accountants? Through unfought battles and untried swords? Through pretty maneuvers-like lead soldiers across a playroom floor!' Svarezi's sudden violence struck at the assembly like a storm. The man crashed a hand against his saddle as he roared his words in rage. 'We could have taken them! We could have destroyed their army if any of you had been man enough to charge!'
Young Blade Captains slapped hands to sword hilts and surged forward to defend their honor-only to be halted by an easy motion of the prince's hand. Duels resulted in deaths, and deaths resulted in the realignment of voting blocks. The prince preferred to keep the peace with deterrents made of words.
'It is a pity, Svarezi, that you fail to see the true genius of our war. A true gamesman commits to dangerous moves only when the advantage is on his side.' Ricardo, Prince-elect of Colletro, speared a piece of cheese with the point of his poniard. 'Why risk all on a single throw, when proper patience will bring us to our prize?'
Svarezi's hippogriff gave a sour, trilling call. Atop the creature's back, Svarezi quieted the beast with his riding crop.
'And what of my bride, my lord? What of my Mannicci bride?'
Courtiers stifled smiles behind gauntlets and pomanders as they thought of the dreadful Ugo Svarezi falling in love. Prince Ricardo simply ordered himself more wine. 'A marriage between your own house and the house of Mannicci is no longer at issue, Svarezi. The Sumbrians have too much confidence in their strength at arms to be bothered buying peace with a bride. Particularly to a man with such uncertain connections…'
Wrenching furiously at his reins, Svarezi sent his hippogriff clawing back to open ground. Without so much as a word, he raked spurs across the creature's hide and made the beast beat its way up into the sky. Huge black wings spread their shadow across Colletro's nobility as Svarezi soared away.
From the back ranks of the Blade Captains, a furious youth brought his brass-colored horse prancing to the fore. Blade Captain Veltro's face had flushed red with fury under his scanty beard.
'My lord prince-I beg permission to fight him! Man to man-blood and honor!' Veltro half drew his sword. 'He tasks us, my lord! He defies our honor, and he defies your name!'
Without turning to view the youthful cavalier, Prince Ricardo made a gentling motion with his hands.
'Peace. Peace. Do not let him goad you into giving him his pleasure.'
The prince rested against the pommel of his war saddle and scanned the high horizon with his eyes.
'You must understand, my boy: There are certain creatures that only grow stronger as they feed on blood. Deny them their sustenance, and they must wither slowly away. But feed them what they want…'
The prince finally fixed the young nobleman with a quiet gaze.
'Feed them what they want, and they grow strong enough to hunt for more.'
Veltro sat stiff upon his horse; beneath him, the animal tore at the rich turf with its hooves.
'And this-this animal. Will he not seek sustenance elsewhere, my liege?'
'Where?' Prince Ricardo smiled and opened out his hands to show the boy the open, empty world. 'As long as we deny him, we have clipped his claws.
'Come, let us turn our attentions to more suitable matters.'
The valley's rich, cool afternoon promised a perfect chance to course for hares with the delegates from Sumbria. Turning their mounts toward the shadows of the hills, Colletro's leaders regained their peace of mind and filed quietly away.
High above, a piercing eagle shriek echoed out across the icy peaks. A small black speck of anger faded out against the clouds, and then was gone.
4
For Princess Miliana Mannicci, gaining access to the palace library was a process involving fiendish cunning, sly patience, and infinite subtlety.
Long days of practice were bearing fruit. Thus far, the girl had mastered (well, almost mastered) four whole spells. One of these seemed to allow her to store sounds inside a box; not a very useful skill, perhaps, but Miliana refused to be discouraged. For two whole hours late at night, she sat in her room and read aloud passages from Lady Zuggi's Primer of Basic Heraldry, including appendices on Charges, Countercharges, and Trends of Modern Times; a book so dull that the moths whirring about Miliana's candle seemed willing to hurtle themselves into the flame as their only means of escape. Finally reaching appendix three- just moments before she felt she'd suffer a lingering death from terminal boredom-the girl slammed shut her enchanted box and tied it shut with string. Locked inside was a monologue more powerful than a sleep spell, the perfect weapon for the following day's campaign.
The next step required the nicest, most intricate manipulation. Miliana unpicked an old embroidery and restitched one heraldic banner in reverse-a change so subtle, so minor, and so utterly insignificant, that only a mindless pompous pedant would give the slightest care.
Miliana left the embroidery on the loom, deliberately hiding it behind a curtain. Sure enough, not half an hour later, Lady Ulia came trumpeting into the palace solarium with the force and verve of a nomad battle horde.
'Miliaaaa-naaaaaa!'
Ulia's battle cry struck home like a heavy lance. Loitering noblewomen, maids and staff instantly scattered and fled like mice. Miliana simply sat in place beneath a beam of sun and closed her eyes in joy.
Lady Ulia swept into the room like a granite juggernaut. She wore her most impressive hat-a horrid thing with not one but two tall points, which made her look like a sort of hydrocephalic water buffalo. Sumbria's greatest lady spied Miliana's hiding place and then strode forward to confront her errant stepdaughter.
'Miliana! Miliana, I am dismayed-nay, appalled! Appalled and dismayed, that is the only way to describe it.' Ulia's maid, Sophia-a scraggly little thing looking a bit like a rodent who had just been rescued from a milk jug- furiously worked a fan to sooth her mistress's brow. Ulia heaved her bosom up and down in gratitude at this simple act of kindness.
'Miliana, I have tried and tried and tried to establish you with all the skills a maiden should possess. What have you to say for yourself, my girl? What have you to say?'
Miliana polished her lenses and perched them back on her nose, nearly awestruck by her stepmother's command of theatrics. Predictably, Ulia never gave her an opportunity to speak; instead, she swept herself about Miliana in a grand circle, like a mighty war-galley sailing on parade.
'You shall have me faint clean away! You shall bury me from shocked disgrace, my girl. What have you to say-what have you to say about this-this…' Here words temporarily failed her. Lady Ulia held aloft the botched piece of needlepoint and pointed a great sausagelike finger at the reversed coat of arms.
Thick glass discs caught in window light made the most marvelous blank mask. Miliana managed to adjust her spectacles and lean toward her embroidery in beautifully feigned puzzlement.
'Oh! Is it so very important? I mean-it can't be so drastically wrong…'
Ulia flapped her lower lip like a landed fish and flung up a great wailing cry of dismay.
'Important? Sune bear me witness-Oh, alack the day!' A pause for breath strained her bodice lacing, which already groaned like naval hawser cables in a storm. 'Heraldry is the very quintessence of the social code! Heraldry is our tool for planning every feminine campaign. What if-oh, what if one were to give a favor to the wrong champion? Can one imagine, even for an instant, what damage might be done?'
Miliana wrinkled up her nose as she polished her spectacles on her gown.
'Ulia, I can't see that it matters, since they're all going to fall off their horses anyway.'
'Yes-but the wounds, girl! The wounds!' Lady Ulia clapped hands beneath her great horned headpiece in amazement. 'The whole point of a tournament is for the championed lady to rush forth and kiss her hero's wounds!'
'Goodness! Well, if they land on what I think they'll land on, I certainly won't want to kiss anything of the
