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• CHAPTER FIVE •
Court

THE HERALDS BLEW THEIR TRUMPETS.

The entire court turned and bowed as the King of Roldem entered, escorting his wife to their twin thrones at the far end of the great hall of the palace.

The hall was bedecked in the royal colours, large banners of powder blue with golden trim, featuring the dolphin crest of the royal house. The King’s personal guard likewise wore tabards of the same colours, but the rest of the evening’s finery was a riot of different hues.

In years past the fashion of the court had gone through a phase Jim Dasher thought of as ‘drab’. Muted grey and black attire for the men and deep, dark colours for the women’s gowns, but this season those who decided such things had decreed that bright festive colours would be the choice. Jim felt a little odd in a brilliant green tunic and yellow leggings. He prayed that trousers would return to fashion soon; he disliked tights.

His black boots were ankle-high and the most valued item he wore; despite their fashionable appearance they were durable and versatile, just as useful for clambering over rooftops without slipping as for slogging through the sewers, since they could be cleaned with a simple wipe of a cloth.

Jim hadn’t clambered over a rooftop or slogged through a sewer for a few years, but some habits were hard to break. He glanced around the room.

Young Lord Henry stood next to Ty Hawkins, while Talwin Hawkins was in conversation with a minor Keshian noble. Jim made a note to ask Tal what the Keshian had wanted to speak of. He knew that war was almost certainly coming and he knew that every agent of Kesh in the Kingdom Sea region would be gathering every scrap of information out there, as were his own agents, some fifteen of which were currently on this island.

Jim kept his frustration buried: to the casual onlooker he would be another minor Kingdom noble come to the court of Roldem for personal or political gain, but one hardly worth more than a cursory examination despite his famous grandfather. At this point in his career, Jim knew he was known to his enemies, who were many, and appeared transparent to those who weren’t. This was as he wished it, for as long as the pretence was kept up, no harm would come to him when he appeared openly at court. It was when he vanished from sight and emerged among the shadows that murder would begin.

Jim moved among the crowd making his way slowly towards the throne. He could expect to be presented to the King in about an hour, some time just before the Champion of the Masters’ Court was presented.

He studied young Ty Hawkins, involved in an animated conversation with Henry conDoin. The King of the Isles’ distant cousin listened with a smile as his opponent of the previous day told a tale.

It was on young men such as these that the fate of the Kingdom of the Isles, and perhaps all of Triagia, would turn, Jim knew. Capable young men who were free of the corruption of politics and greed.

Ty was problematic, because his father was a Kingdom noble in name only. That fiction had been created by the Conclave to employ Tal as a weapon for the Conclave’s service, and it gave him entrance to certain venues in the Kingdom of the Isles, just as his rank as past Champion of the Masters’ Court gave it to him here in Roldem, but Talwin Hawkins was a grudging servant of the Conclave at best and no servant at all at worst. Still, keeping him at least as an ally would serve, if the son could be captured, thought Jim. And if the need arose, Jim had the power to make that false patent of nobility a real one. Not that Tal needed it, as he was becoming rich beyond the dreams of the mountain boy he had once been, but it might prove useful to turn his son into a Kingdom noble some day. In Roldem they would both have status as Champions of the Masters’ Court, but neither would achieve rank. And as Jim knew rank, as well as privilege, had its uses.

Now it was Henry’s turn to tell a tale. Jim had no doubt both stories were being inflated to bolster the young men’s standing; they stood like two young roosters with their chests puffed out, seeing who could crow loudest at daybreak. One day they’d be bitter rivals or like brothers, and only fate would determine which it would be.

Jim looked away from the throne and felt his heart sink. Making a beeline for him was the Kingdom of the Isles’ ambassador to Roldem, his excellency Lord John Ravenscar; and on his arm was none other than the Lady Franciezka Sorboz.

‘My lord,’ said the ambassador, fixing Jim with a sceptical look. ‘I was unaware you were in Roldem,’ he said. It was customary for Kingdom nobles to make themselves known to the ambassador upon arriving on the island.

‘Apologies, your excellency,’ said Jim. ‘The press of business caused me to be remiss in my duty.’

‘You know the Lady Franciezka, I believe,’ said the ambassador. The sight of the portly bureaucrat, resplendent in a maroon silk surcoat, white ruffled suit, and white leggings made Jim wish even more fervently for the return of men’s trousers to this court, for he looked like nothing more than a fat-bellied, spindly-legged turkey in those hose.

Franciezka, on the other hand, looked magnificent in whatever she wore, Jim knew from experience. She also looked magnificent wearing nothing at all, which Jim also knew from experience. They had been lovers on several occasions, and she had tried to kill him twice, for purely professional reasons. She was one of the King of Roldem’s deadliest agents and ran the equivalent of Jim’s intelligence service, the Secret Police of Roldem.

She had the face of a girl ten years younger, a fact that had enabled her to disguise herself as a child when needed; she could look the part of a girl of fifteen or less or a crone of eighty years. She had a slender body bordering on the boyish, except for a round backside which Jim had always had a weakness for, but he knew her body to be as strong as a rapier’s blade, deadly despite being slight.

Pale blonde hair which was almost white in the day’s sunlight framed delicate features. Large blue eyes turned upon him as she said, ‘Why, Lord James, I’m almost as aggrieved as the ambassador at your not letting me know you were in the city.’

She wore a brilliant yellow gown with green silk trim set with pearls of white and black, and a series of gold-threaded tassels hung at the hem, sweeping the floor as she moved. Like the other ladies’ gowns this evening, her décolletage was cut low, the bodice was lifted, and the waist cinched. Jim wondered how women breathed in these outfits. The skirt flared out slightly to the sides and behind, with a daring slit up the front to knee height.

Jim felt some pleasure in noting that the colour of their clothing was complementary.

With a smile, Jim said, ‘I find that surprising, my lady. I would have assumed someone you knew might have mentioned I was in town.’

‘Oh, you underestimate how hard you can be to find, at times, my lord,’ she said, batting her long fair lashes in an almost theatrical way that seemed to captivate Lord Ravenscar and annoy Jim in equal measure.

Jim found himself wondering what Franciezka was after. She was not one given to idle banter or social small talk unless it was part of a ploy. She was an important figure at the royal court of Roldem, but few knew her real role. She was a minor lady-in-waiting to the Princess Stephané, a tutor-cum-surrogate elder sister. Certainly, Queen Gertrude couldn’t have found a better instructor to show the younger woman how to spot men of bad intent from across the room. But this was the sort of event Franciezka was usually more than content to avoid.

That gave Jim pause for a moment to glance towards the thrones. Three sons and a daughter and all ripe for state marriage. The two older princes, Constantine and Albér, were in attendance, both wearing the uniforms of the Roldem navy, Constantine an admiral and his younger brother a captain. Grandprey wore the dress uniform of an army general, and it was considered by most that he was the most able commander among the three. Some day his brother would be king and Grandy, as he was known, would be his Lord Marshall, while Albér would command the fleet as Grand Admiral.

Constantine was the prize, for his wife would some day be queen, but after him came Stephané. As the King’s youngest and only daughter, she commanded a special place in her father’s heart, and he would wed her carefully as much for her happiness as his kingdom’s security. No lesser prince of Kesh or an Eastern Kingdom minor noble would take her leagues away from her parents. She would probably end up married to a noble of Roldem, possibly a Kingdom noble, but one who would live here, close to the palace, for that was the King’s pleasure.

‘Those two boys don’t have a clue, do they?’ asked Franciezka.

‘My lady?’ asked Lord Ravenscar.

Jim smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. ‘No, but it’s their night – particularly Ty’s, though Henry having been forced to withdraw due to injury makes it his night as well. Let them dream of a beautiful princess for one night.’

And Jim was forced to admit the Princess had become a true beauty, which surprised many. Her mother had been judged a handsome woman in her youth, but never a head-turner. She had been the Grand Duchess of Maladon to the north. The Duchy of Maladon and Semrick had strong ties to the Isles, but her father had wished for strong ties to Roldem. So the marriage had been arranged. The King and Queen had come to care deeply for one another, and were temperamentally well suited as a couple.

Roldem’s position in the Sea of Kingdoms made it a unique power. Its navy wasn’t as large as Kesh’s or that of the Kingdom of the Isles, but it was the best, ship for ship. The royal court of Roldem had seen to that, employing the finest and most innovative shipwrights and ship-fitters in the world. Like the navy, the army of Roldem was a crack outfit, man for man the equal of any, though far smaller than either of its more powerful neighbours.

Roldem’s power derived from its history: it was the first of the truly great courts on the continent of Triagia, exporting a great deal of its culture to the Kingdom of the Isles and the Eastern Kingdoms. Even Great Kesh, while an older nation, didn’t reach the heights of art and science that Roldem had for years after consolidating its far-flung empire.

And Roldem’s position had been enhanced when it moved in a combined assault on the Duchy of Olasko to thwart the evil plans of the mad necromancer, Leso Varen, resulting in the overthrow of Kaspar, Duke of Olasko. The installation of Duke Varen Rodoski, a cousin of Roldem’s king, brought Olasko into Roldem as its biggest duchy. While the Kingdom of the Isles muttered about this, Jim knew it was the only outcome that could have kept peace in the region. Besides, it made Roldem a better ally for the Isles in the fight that was surely coming.

Franciezka laughed. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in dreaming, is there, my lord?’

Lord Ravenscar looked completely lost as to exactly what they were talking about. ‘I … ah, of course,’ he agreed.

‘Come, Excellency,’ said Franciezka, ‘let us have a cup of wine and you can tell me the court gossip from Rillanon.’

Obviously glad to have her to himself, Lord Ravenscar bowed slightly to Lord James, then began to lead the lovely woman away. Franciezka let a green silken handkerchief slip out of her hand. It fluttered to the ground at Jim’s feet. At a carefully-judged moment, she turned and said, ‘Oh, dear. A moment, your excellency.’ She turned back before the ambassador could see what was happening to retrieve the handkerchief which Jim had just picked up. Smiling, she said softly, ‘My townhouse. Midnight. Come alone and don’t be seen.’

Jim handed over the dropped kerchief without a word. As he watched her retreat from him, he wondered whether this would be a social or a political call. Either way, he conceded, it would prove interesting.

Jim reached the thrones just as the two combatants were bowing and backing away. He had misjudged his status and had been presented after the two finalists in the Masters’ Court, not before them, and arrived just as the herald was announcing, ‘Earl Murroy, Envoy Plenipotentiary without portfolio from His Majesty, the King of the Isles, Lord James Jamison, Baron of the Prince’s Court.’

The last title was the reason Ravenscar and others who served as resident ambassadors disliked Jim so much; he had the King’s authority – really, his grandfather, the Duke of Rillanon’s – to do pretty much as he saw fit when it came to any political situation on the Sea of Kingdoms. It tended to eclipse their sun just a bit.

Jim moved forward, bowed before the entire royal family and muttered his wishes for their good health and long life. He nodded with a smile as the King muttered something pleasant in return, then departed.

As he did so, he noticed some familiar figures also approaching: four young men, two escorting young women. The two who escorted the women were as unalike as two men could be. One was slender, with dark hair and eyes and the quick moves of an athletic fencer. The other was red-headed, broad of shoulder and looked like a brawler. He grinned widely at the sight of Jim Dasher. ‘Jim! We didn’t know you were here.’

Jim made his greetings, first to the ladies who returned his genuine smile. Of all the people in Roldem he genuinely enjoyed spending time with, he now was in the presence of the majority. ‘A moment,’ said the red-headed man. ‘Matters of court protocol.’

The herald announced, ‘Your majesties, the Earl Servan and the Countess Lauretta.’ The dark-haired man bowed. ‘Uncle, Aunt, to your good health.’

The King smiled. ‘It is good to have you in court, as always, Nephew.’

As they moved away, the herald sang out, ‘Sir Jonathan Killaroo and the Lady Adella.’ They were greeted and moved on. The two single men were introduced as ‘Sir Tad’, and ‘Sir Zane’, and after they had made their obeisances the group continued with Jim in tow to a large buffet where food was being portioned out to the guests.

Sir Jonathan spoke softly in his wife’s ear, then kissed her cheek and moved off to speak to Jim in relative privacy. ‘Any word?’ asked Jim.

‘Nothing,’ said Jommy, which was the name by which the one-time street tough from the distant continent of Novindus was known to his friends. ‘The Conclave’s agents are just as silent as your own.’

The relationship between Jim Dasher and the Conclave of Shadows had been a long but strained one, and often it was the bond of friendship these two men shared which kept it from fraying any further. The four young men had served with Jim in a struggle against a demon cult known as the Black Caps, and the shedding of blood together had left them close.

Glancing around, Jim noticed Servan’s gaze had wandered to where the two of them spoke. ‘How are you getting along with Servan these days?’

Jommy laughed. ‘He’s got a good heart, and in another life we’d be brothers, but I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for marrying his sister.’

‘She seems happy enough.’

‘She should. She’s expecting our third.’

Jim clapped Jommy on the shoulder. ‘Congratulations!’

Servan heard the word and saw the two men smiling and turned away with a rueful smile of his own, shaking his head as if asking silently by what cruel fate the gods had decided his sister should fall in love with such a lout.

Jommy said, ‘We need to get those two married off.’ He indicated with a nod Tad and Zane.

‘I thought Zane … wasn’t he betrothed?’

‘Almost. But he has a wandering eye, that one.’

‘And Tad’s too mindful of his duty.’ A moment of sadness passed over his face. ‘You three are as close to family …’ He let the thought go unfinished.

Jommy’s eyes scanned the room, never for an instant forgetting they might be overheard if he wasn’t cautious. ‘I know. Have you spoken with Pug recently?’

‘Not in a while,’ Jim kept his voice down despite the chatter of voices filling the hall. ‘He’s out chasing demons and seems almost obsessed with it.’

Neither man needed to remind the other it was a demon that had killed Pug’s wife, Miranda. And it was the servant of the Demon King Dahun who had destroyed the home in which Pug’s youngest son and his wife had died.

Jim said, ‘Well, let’s turn to happier thoughts. Why don’t we conspire to meet: you, me, Tad and Zane, at the River House tomorrow? If your wife doesn’t object, just us boys?’

‘I’d like that,’ said Jommy. ‘She won’t mind. It’s why I married her: who else would put up with a fool like me?’ His face openly showed a profound gratitude for her existence. He glanced over to where she was in conversation with a knot of ladies, and as if she felt his gaze she turned and looked right at her husband. She smiled and with a slight inclination of her head asked silently how long he would be.

Jommy shook his head slightly then nodded. He turned back to Jim. ‘She’s feeling neglected.’ With a grin he added, ‘I’d best be back to her before she thinks we’re plotting over here.’

As his broad-shouldered friend walked back to his wife, Jim thought: plotting indeed.

Jim Dasher crouched atop the roof of Lady Franciezka Sorboz’s townhouse, feeling the cold ocean night air in his knees. He was definitely getting too old to be out in the field, or at least playing Jimmy the Hand meets a Nighthawk.

That story was family lore and it reminded Jim that there were certain feats attributed to his ancestor he found somehow incredible. The falling off the roof and catching himself without dislocating his shoulders while the Nighthawk overbalanced and fell to his death … Jim glanced down. Dislocated shoulders certainly, then falling all the way to the cobbles, to die in agony. Then again, when Jimmy had accomplished that legendary feat he was but a lad of thirteen or fourteen years – no one was quite sure at what age he had come to Prince Arutha’s attention – and everyone knew boys had incredible flexibility in their joints.

He would give half his fortune for the flexibility and resilience he had possessed at twenty-four years, let alone fourteen. Sitting and sliding to the eaves overhanging the balcony to Franciezka’s bedroom was far less dashing, but as no one was watching, Jim really didn’t care. He was tired and cold, his joints creaky and stiff. While he welcomed Franciezka’s company for either pleasure or business, he still thought getting to see her unobserved was perhaps more trouble than it was worth.

He lowered himself down off the eaves and dropped lightly to the balcony. As he had expected, the door inside had been left unlatched. He entered the bedroom.

Franciezka sat at a writing table, wearing a comfortable-looking lounging robe. ‘On time, as always,’ she said with a smile.

‘You’re not trying to kill me this time, then?’ He sat on the bed opposite her.

She turned and handed him a large document. ‘Not this time. For better or worse it seems we’re allies again.’

He read the two pages and then re-read them. She remained silent while he did so. When he had finished, he said, ‘Is he certain?’

‘Does he sound uncertain?’

‘No,’ said Jim. He let out a long sigh, half relief, half aggravation.

‘Are any of your agents reporting anything like that?’

‘None of my agents are reporting anything.’ All my agents south of the Girdle have gone silent.’

‘Not good,’ she said, looking distressed at the news. ‘Hallon is my only agent who’s managed to get anything out of that region.’

He tapped the document which named the author.

‘Everyone else has gone silent, too.’

‘Hazara-Khan.’

‘Yes,’ she nodded at the name of the man who was almost certainly the head of the Keshian Intelligence Corps.

‘I like him a great deal, personally, but he can be a murderous bastard when he wants.’

She stretched. ‘As can we all.’

‘If he’s killing our agents, war is certain,’ said Jim, suddenly feeling older than his age.

Her sigh matched his mood and for the briefest instant he felt a slight twinge inside and shut it out as quickly as he could. It was one of the gods’ little jokes that the perfect woman in his life was the one he could never have.

His shoulders sagged as he returned the document he had just read to her. ‘Six hundred ships?’

‘That’s Hallon’s best estimate, and he’s one of my best.’ Franciezka rose, crossed to sit next to him, and put her hand over his. ‘And if what he heard at the docks was correct, three hundred of them have already left Hansulé and are sailing past the Forest of the Lost. This isn’t another minor prince of Kesh deciding to make a name for himself grabbing land in the Vale of Dreams, Jim.’

‘No,’ he said, falling back on to the bed. Staring at the canopy overhead he let out another long sigh. ‘This has all the earmarks of an invasion.’

‘But why the West?’ she asked. ‘Kesh has shown no interest in reclaiming Queg, the Free Cities, or the Far Coast since it abandoned them.’

‘I do not know,’ said Jim, looking up at her. ‘You know, you have an incredible face,’ he added, sitting up. ‘Would you consider for just a moment grabbing all the gold you’ve squirreled away over the years while I do the same, then running away with me to some tiny island miles from here where we can settle down with trusted servants and have some children?’

‘I’ve been considering it since the moment I met you, Lord James Jamison, agent of the King, Jim Dasher, thief of Krondor and leader of the Mockers. But we both know that can never happen.’ A moment of sadness passed across her face, then she brightened. ‘Besides, can you imagine what a murderous little crew our children would turn out to be?’

For a brief instant, he appeared to want to say something, then he smiled. He kissed her on the cheek and said, ‘Good night.’

She feigned a pout. ‘And I thought you were going to stay.’

‘So did I,’ he admitted with honest regret. ‘When you’re not trying to kill me, there’s no one I’d rather spend my time with.’ ‘Flatterer,’ she said, theatrically batting her lashes. ‘I’m pleased that we’re going to be on the same side when the bloodletting begins.’

‘Apparently it’s already begun. I’ll instruct key agents to ensure you get copies of all the information we get; as Hazara-Khan is shredding our networks, we need to share intelligence. You know where to send me copies of what you find.’

‘Of course I do. What are you planning?’

‘If my agents are dead, I’ve got to get down there and see for myself what is happening.’

She removed her ring and tossed it to him and he caught it in midair.

‘Look for Hallon. You’ll find him at your usual haunts, the seedier dockside taverns in Hansulé. Rough-looking fellow, dark hair, facial scars—’

‘You’ve just described half the men in that city.’

‘Tattoo of a dagger on his left forearm. He’ll recognize that signet and help if he can.’

‘Thank you, Lady Franciezka Sorboz, lady-in-waiting to the Princess, also Frankie the Razor, Madam Francis …’ He stopped naming her aliases. ‘I really do thank you, Franciezka,’ he said in earnest.

‘We’re allies now,’ she replied in a serious tone. ‘The half of the fleet that didn’t leave Hansulé is almost certainly heading this way. The combined fleets of Roldem and the Isles should be able to deal with the Keshians, but at no small cost. And if they’re also marching an army this way …’ She let the thought go unfinished.

Jim nodded. He tossed the signet into the air, then let it fall into the palm of his hand. Without another word he was out the door and over the balcony.

‘And don’t get yourself killed, Jim,’ Franciezka said after him. Lying back on the bed, she stared up at the canopy and repeated, ‘Don’t get yourself killed.’

Supper was far more pleasant than Jim had anticipated. Jommy, Tad and Zane were the closest thing to friends he had. As Jim Dasher, thief and confidence trickster from Krondor, he had served with them when they were young soldiers training under Kaspar of Olasko for special service. They were still in special services, to the Conclave of Shadows, though they all three currently enjoyed court rank in Roldem, as a result of that special service. All had gained the rank of Court Knight, and each had secured small estates in Olasko, though they all maintained apartments on Roldem Island.

Jommy was married to the King’s niece, which gave him an additional entrée to the court. His brother-in-law, Servan, was Franciezka’s most important agent at court, though almost no one knew this; indeed, Jim had only chanced upon that information by dint of luck and being very good at his job. Jim wondered absently if Jommy had any idea who his brother-in-law really was, and if he might benefit from Jim telling him.

Tad and Zane had been rough-and-tumble village boys who had been raised by Pug’s youngest son, Caleb. As such they stood in a unique position, for they were his foster-grandchildren. Jommy was in a fashion as well, though there were no ties of birth or marriage.

Both were still unwed, but for entirely different reasons. Tad fell in love with every woman of quality he met, to the detriment of his winning a heart. He was too easy. Zane on the other hand was a womanizer with a bad reputation in most social circles; this had the double effect of keeping serious women away while making him even more attractive to young women who seemed not to know better. Not a handsome pair, Tad was showing early grey, as sandy-haired people often do and Zane had an intense darkness about him with a merry glint in his eyes. While not particularly striking, he had learned how to talk women into all manner of things against their own personal best interest.

Talwin Hawkins was another matter. He was an occasional ally of the Conclave, and a former servant, but by dint of his earlier service he had been cast free of any obligation to the Conclave by Pug. Jim had occasionally wondered how wise that had been, but reminded himself that as much as he would have loved to have had the River House restaurants in both Roldem and Olasko as listening posts for intelligence, willing servants were far more reliable than those pressed to duty. And in a crisis, he believed he could count on Tal to stand alongside the Conclave. It was not in his nature to stand aside or serve evil.

That left the boys: Ty knew a little of his father’s role in destroying those who had nearly obliterated his people, the Orosini of the Mountains, a tribal people who were slowly reclaiming their heritage. Many like Tal and his wife, Teal, had spent too many years in cities, years which had blunted their interest and ability to live the old life. It was a life of which Ty knew nothing.

Jim turned to see Henry smiling at a joke Tad had made and thought: there’s a prince without a principality. He had grown up with conDoin kings, as had every other citizen of the Kingdom of the Isles. They were the founding dynasty; they had united the tribes on the Island of Rillanon and spread their banner to the mainland, eventually conquering enough territory to create a nation to rival Great Kesh on this continent.

But it was a dynasty at its end, Jim feared. The vigour was gone, the energy and drive that had given the line a rebirth after the short unhappy reign of Rodric IV. His successor, Henry’s great-great-uncle, Lyam I, had been a great king, a charismatic leader who had inspired love and loyalty in his people after twelve brutal years of war with the invading Tsurani.

Tragedy had kept Lyam from having a son, so the crown went to Borric II, his nephew, who proved as apt and able a ruler as his uncle. Borric’s twin brother, Prince Erland, had been as able in his role as his brother and between the two of them the Kingdom of the Isles had been well served.

But Borric’s son Patrick had been the last of the able rulers and Patrick’s son Gregory had no heir, For the third time since the conDoins took the crown of the Isles, there had been a chance for multiple claimants to the throne. The last time civil war had been stemmed by Henry’s ancestor Martin renouncing the crown for himself and his heirs. But the time before that a great deal of blood had been shed before Borric I took the head of Jon the Pretender.

And the last thing Jim wished to contemplate was a kingdom divided on the eve of what he was certain was going to be a major war with Great Kesh.

‘Lost in thought?’ asked Tal.

Jim smiled. ‘Yes.’ He glanced around the table then said, ‘Tal, could we have the room?’

Tal nodded. The other dinner guests had left an hour before and with a quick word to the serving staff, who hurried to the kitchen, the room was empty save for Jim and his guests.

‘Not to belabour the point, but I’m certain war is coming,’ said Jim. He held up his hand before questions could be asked. ‘I will sum up. There are factions within the Imperial Keshian Army, specifically within the Inner Legion, who are calling for expansion.’

Tad interrupted. ‘The Vale of Dreams?’

‘Traditionally that’s always been their first target. The Vale is the lushest farmland on Triagia and because of the constant warfare, sparsely populated. A colony of Keshian or Kingdom farmers there could double the region’s output of farm goods within two years, tenfold in five.’

Henry was silent, but he knew he had suddenly been propelled into something far more important than a pleasant social evening.

‘But this is something massive. On a far greater scale, perhaps, than we’ve ever seen. A fleet of perhaps as many as three hundred ships departed Hansulé recently, sailing south.’