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that one chance he's desperate enough by now to offer us a way out. Not much of a chance, but I
have to know for certain.
Damn it all to Hel.
Yozerf mounted and reined the horse around towards the gates. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
someone dart forward. Afwyn ran to Gless's horse, holding out a green scarf that she had taken from her
own hair. She pressed it into his hand, and for a moment their eyes met, desperate and wild. Then she
turned and dashed back to the keep. Looking both pleased and frightened, Gless paused a moment to tie
the scarf around his arm, where the ends fluttered valiantly in the breeze.
The great gates swung slowly open to let them out. Keep your wits about you and your noses to the
wind, Yozerf warned as they passed under the curtain wall.
As they rode, the wind came up, unfurling the dragon banner for all to see. Knowing that he had well and
truly committed himself beyond all hope of pardon, Yozerf rode slowly towards the small party awaiting
him. Let them look. Let them see. And maybe, let them fear, if any of them have wit to know what
they are looking at.
Caden's banner flies again, humans. For the first time in three hundred years.
He reined in, within comfortable shouting distance, and the Sworn and his guards formed up behind and
beside him. The breeze brought him Lord Balton's scent: sweat mixed with the sour odor of hunger. He
had been right; the winter had not gone well for King Fellrant's troops.
"You have words for me. Speak them, Yozerf said, blunt and cold.
Balton's eyes searched the shadows of Yozerf's helm, looking for some hint. This close, it was probably
obvious, even beneath the partial concealment of the helm, that Yozerf was not human. Who are you?
Balton demanded.
All the cold hauteur that had served him as a shield and a weapon for so many years came back in a
rush, and he gave Balton a smile that had a knife's edge. The lord of this keep. Now make your
demands or leave. I don't have time to waste on you."
Balton flushed, but his eyes narrowed in anger. Very well. King Fellrant has heard of your unlawful
seizure of this keep. You will immediately turn over its control to me, as his representative. Vorslava's
grain stores were meant to feed the army of Jenel, and you will turn over any not already devoured by
this ... rabble. His lip curled in obvious distaste. You will lay down your arms and accompany me to be
judged forthwith by the King."
No way out, then. Men like Balton understood only straightforward force. Yozerf wondered if that were
part of the price Fellrant had to pay for the loyalty of such lords. Perhaps the words were not even truly
Fellrant's; it was hard to imagine that the man had lost all subtlety in the course of a year.
"Ah, yes, I rather expect that Fellrant would like to see me again, Yozerf said, cold as the winter wind.
He remembered that dark night almost a year ago, when he had stood in a warehouse with every
intention of selling his body in exchange for passage out of Segg. It had been Fellrant who had intervened
... Fellrant, with his indigo eyes and soft mouth, seeming so calm, but unable to hide the flash of lust
underneath. Yozerf could barely remember the taste of Fellrant's lips, but then, his memory of the entire
night felt unreal, like something observed, rather than lived. It was how one survived, shutting down the
mental connections and pretending that it was all happening to someone else.
With an effort, he pulled himself back to the present. Concentrate, fool. Balton's expression said he
didn't know what Yozerf meant, whether he could possibly be serious or not. Surely, he must be thinking,
this jumped-up bandit lord could not possibly know the king.
"But if Fellrant wishes to see me, he'll simply have to come here himself."
Balton frowned. What do you mean?"
"I mean that my answer is no. No, I will not lay down my arms and come with you. I will not open the
keep for you to do as you wish, and I will not give you grain so that my people can starve. Yozerf
arched a brow. Does that answer your question?"
Balton's small eyes grew hard with anger, and Yozerf had to force himself to hide a smile of pleasure.
Yes. Let your anger guide your thinking, human.
"By order of the king he began.
Yozerf cut in. Haven't you realized that I don't care what you have to say? If Fellrant wishes to parlay,
let him come here himself and leave his lapdogs at home, where they belong. Or is he too busy despoiling
the countryside to feed the likes of you? You have less right to Vorslava's granaries than the rats of the
field, for at least they are honest about their intentions!"
Balton's face turned purple, and one of his men let out a strangled cry. There came the hiss of steel being
drawn, and Yozerf felt an odd moment of relief that they were finally done with foolish words.
"Treachery! screamed Ji'seth. The battle was joined.
The clang of steel on steel dinned in Yozerf's sensitive ears, joined by the whinny of angry horses, the
shrieks of wounded men. The deadly hiss of arrows slashed the air overhead, and he prayed silently that
the archers hit the right mass of men. The rest of Balton's company was coming up, staggering beneath
the punishing hail of arrows without completely faltering. At his back, the great gates groaned, and the
pounding of hooves sounded as reserves poured out of Vorslava, evening the odds.
Yozerf rode into the middle of the mayhem, his sword running red as he slashed and stabbed. Something
bounced off his helm, setting his ears to ringing; a moment later, Ji'seth skewered his attacker. Balton's
men fought back desperately. Even though they had begun the battle in disarray, it was obvious that they
were trained soldiers who had fought together before.
"Hem them in! Yozerf shouted. Don't let them escape!"
Then, in the chaos of the battle, he caught sight of a familiar figure. For a moment, he thought that he must
be mistaken, that scent would tell a different story, if only he could get close enough to smell over the
stink of blood. But he could see too many details that fit, and he knew in his heart he was right.
"Windshade! he shouted.
The huge black warhorse swung its head around, ears pricked forward. Its rider swore, jerking hard on
the reins, and Yozerf felt a sudden, dark anger pass through him. Taking a deep breath, he invoked
shape-shifter magic, trusting the Sworn to watch his back for the few seconds of inattention it would
take.
Throw him.
The warhorse bucked violently, lunging as if it had gone mad. The hapless rider tried desperately to cling
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