“There is much acreage in the Outlands for the taking,” Gaius Prospero considered slowly. “And their mines have brought us incredible wealth in these last few months. I am sorry to lose them, even temporarily.”

“And the Outlanders are strong, my lord. You can build your own private army with some by allowing them to retain their own properties within their villages. The rest of them will fill the slave markets of Hetar, making labor cheaper, and our profits greater.” Jonah chuckled. The more powerful Gaius Prospero became, the more powerful he became. The richer his master became, the richer he was. He had already purchased his own freedom from the Master of the Merchants while agreeing to remain with him. If the impossible dream could be gained, and Gaius Prospero became Hetar’s emperor, Jonah knew he could convince his master to make him his prime minister. And he would gain a lordship. He had already chosen a motto for himself: Make Haste Slowly. He forced the smile back from his lips. “What of Lara?” he asked. “Would she not make you a magnificent empress, my lord?” Jonah did not like the lady Vilia, whose eye was too sharp. The lady Vilia was far more intelligent than her husband, and could not be manipulated as could Gaius Prospero. She would have to be put aside when their plans came to fruition.

The Master of the Merchants’ eyes glowed. “You know how difficult it was for me to let her go, don’t you, Jonah? You are the only one who knows that. How very much I wanted her. I watched her in the bath through my peephole as Tania bathed her. Had her virginity combined with her beauty not made her such a valuable commodity, I should have taken her before I sold her. If her exquisite faerie beauty has not been destroyed she will make me a perfect empress when the time comes.”

“Women like that but grow better with each passing day, my lord,” Jonah soothed his master, encouraging the fantasy. But he wondered about the truth of her warrior’s skills. If it were true, would she not prove a dangerous opponent? Lara, in their brief acquaintance, had showed him an intelligence rarely found in women. If it were now combined with faerie magic, she could prove deadly. But let Gaius Prospero have his dream. There were other beautiful women with whom to tempt the Master of the Merchants when the right moment came. First things first, and the first thing was to deflect the blame for the loss of the mercenary force sent into the Outlands.

But Jonah was not quite as quick as he should have been with his scheming. Wilmot had driven his cart through the City, his companions behind him, until they had passed back through the main gates, and parked their vehicles. Wilmot jumped down from the bench on his wagon. His posterior was numb with soreness. He did not know the men who had traveled with him. They were new to the mercenaries, but he suspected if he gave an order they would obey it. They looked tired and dispirited, easily manipulated.

“Remain here,” he said. “I must go quickly to the Quarter and reassure my old mother that I am safe,” he told them. They nodded. Two of them were already falling asleep upon their wagons, their heads nodding in weariness.

Hurrying back through the main City gates Wilmot made his way to the small Council Quarter. Like all the other exclusive quarters it was gated and guarded. Wilmot sighed. He knew his appearance would count against him with the guards, but then he recognized one of the men at the entry, an elderly mercenary no longer fit for serious fighting who had managed to obtain duty as a guardsmen. Walking up to him, he greeted the old man.

“Sim! It is Wilmot. I have just returned from the Outlands.”

“I recognize you,” Sim responded, and the two men shook hands. “I heard it ended badly. Well, it would have, wouldn’t it?”

“Aye, it ended worse than badly,” Wilmot said. “Listen, I must see one of the council. A Shadow Prince, or a Coastal King. It makes no difference, but I have a message for them from the Outlands and there are some who would stop me.”

“Is this treason?” Sim said low. “I’ll have no part of treason, Wilmot.”

“It isn’t treason, I swear it!” Wilmot said. “The Shadow Princes and the Coastal Kings voted against the incursion last year. Gaius Prospero was council head then, and his vote tipped the balance that led to the troubles. Every man but the six of us saved to drive the death carts died because of the greed some of our leaders encouraged, Sim. My message comes to those who advised peace from those who would have the ancient treaties restored. If that is treason I will fall on my own sword for wanting it.”

“Prince Lothair is in right now,” Sim said softly. “His apartment is in the rear of the building on the top floor overlooking the gardens. Go!” And the old guardsman deliberately turned his head away so that he did not see Wilmot enter the residence where the council members lived.

The mercenary was very nervous, more so even than prior to battle. He had never seen a Shadow Prince before, let alone met one. He climbed the stairs to the top of the building, and knocked upon the door. It opened immediately, and he was ushered into Prince Lothair’s presence by a rather ordinary-looking manservant. Wilmot bowed most politely to the prince, who was garbed in shimmering dark silk robes.

“What message does Lara send me?” he asked Wilmot.

The mercenary’s mouth fell open with his surprise, but then he closed it. These men from the Desert were magic. Everyone knew that. “My lord, you know that Hetar entered the Outlands late last year. Our mercenary forces were told to put the native population beneath their heel for they had raided Hetar beyond their borders, killing, looting and raping. We were to make all able-bodied males toil in the mines for us. The ores and the gems were to be sent back to the City. The elderly among the barbarians were to be slain. The woman and children, ours to do with as we chose. Those who sent us lied, my lord prince.”

“Yes, I know,” Lothair said quietly.

“When the other lords of the Outlands learned of this incursion into their lands they came, and they slew all but six of us. We were sent back to the City driving carts filled with our dead. We were to take them to Gaius Prospero, and we did. He ordered us back outside the gates while a council is called to decide what to do.

“My life was spared by Lara, daughter of Sir John Swiftsword and now wife to Vartan, lord of the Fiacre,” Wilmot continued. “I knew her as a child, and she spared me, she said, for the sake of my elderly mother. The lords in the Outlands send this message to the High Council. Restore the ancient treaty between our two lands and there will be peace between us as there was before this incursion. They have repaid in kind the suffering that the Piaras and Tormod clan families endured during this illegal and unjust occupation. You and your allies on the High Council are warned to beware Gaius Prospero, and his ambitions.” Wilmot bowed again. “That is all, my lord prince.” He started to back out of the room, but Lothair raised a hand.

“Nay, remain, Wilmot. You must come with me to the High Council, and repeat to my fellow councilors what you have told me,” the Shadow Prince said.

“Gaius Prospero will have me slain for it, my lord,” Wilmot said. “I will be called traitor, and my mother will be sent from our hovel to wander homeless and helpless.”

“Did not Lara offer your mother sanctuary, Wilmot?”

“How…how did you know that, my lord prince?” The mercenary was astounded.

Lothair smiled, but did not answer. “I can see your mother is taken to safety, Wilmot. Today. Within the hour. Then you will be free to speak the truth before the council. Will you trust me?”

“How do you know Lara?” Wilmot asked.

“I am he who taught her to fight,” Lothair said with a small smile.

“I trust you then, my lord prince,” the mercenary replied. “She fought with skill, and with great honor.” He shook his head wonderingly. “I would never have thought a girl so fair would become so fierce. Yet she is more beautiful than when I last saw her before she left the City over two years ago.”

“Ferocity is a quality that can apply to both pleasure and battle,” Prince Lothair replied. “Now sit down, and I will bring your mother to you.” He waved his hand while murmuring several unintelligible words, and there was a flash of light. When it had faded Mistress Mildred stood in the center of the room looking quite confused.

“Mother!” Wilmot was on his feet to reassure her. Then he quickly explained the situation that had saved his life and returned him to the City. “You must go to the Outlands, to Lara, Mother, for your life, both of our lives, will be in danger when I have spoken the truth before the High Council. The Guild of Mercenaries was lied to, not that that would have disturbed our captains, some of whom may have known. We invaded and abused a peaceful people, and we have paid for it with our lives. I must speak the truth, but I cannot until I know you are safe.”

“Will they kill you?” Mistress Mildred wanted to know.

“Perhaps,” Wilmot said. “Their sole rationale has become profit as the merchants themselves. I know for a fact that a portion of the ores and gems mined in the Outlands was given to our guild in exchange for our service. Once each month we were permitted to take a single small gem for our pay, but the captains took more. They will be loath to have their greed and corruption uncovered, and may well try to have me killed.”

“Then I would just as soon die, too, my son. You are all I have,” the old lady said. “I do not know these Outlands which are said to be barbaric. Why would Lara welcome me? If she is all you have said, then she is a great lady now. She does not want to be bothered with a homeless old woman, my son. No. I will remain here.”