“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.”

“You speak mumbo jumbo,” Gaius Prospero sneered. “Lara is beautiful, but not important. What do you mean to do about the Outlands? They have stained their hands with our blood. Our dead cry out for vengeance!”

“The dead cry out for peace,” Delphinus of the Coastal Kings said.

“Aye!” Eskil the Shadow Prince agreed. “If the Outlanders are willing to accept a restoration of the treaty then we are wise to accept it.”

“You men of the Desert are always eager to avoid danger,” the Forest Lord Everard scoffed.

“And you men of the Forest blow hot though you be cold,” Lothair said. “You have no secrets that can be hid from the Shadow Princes, my lord. Beware lest I reveal them to Hetar. Do you understand me, my lords Albern and Everard?”

The two Forest Lords grew pale, and were suddenly silent.

Gaius Prospero’s ears almost visibly perked. A secret? A secret of such power that it could quiet the most contentious among them? He must remember to tell Jonah. Jonah could learn what was hidden that could frighten the Foresters. Then he would have power over them.

“I think,” King Archeron said, “that we have heard all we need to hear. It is my opinion that we accept the most generous terms offered us by the Outlanders. How do each of you vote? Dareh, Squire of the Midlands?”

“Aye-and do not frown at me, Gaius Prospero. This was an ill-advised venture. We cannot afford a full-scale war, at least at this time,” the Squire said.

“Gaius Prospero?”

“Nay!” the Master of the Merchants said with ill-disguised anger.