It would long be told by the people in Khel Marjon and those merchants who witnessed the strange events from afar that those mighty and malevolent forces Kuinkazner once held in the palm of his hand had, on account of some unknown offense, turned against him one night and whisked him away in the very tower he hoped would save him. However, to the Sablers encamped at Anzioch, who woke up the next day to the strange sight of a stone tower hovering silently over a vacant plain east of their position, it was yet another success, another impressive victory wrought by the House of Yale.

Extricating Kuinkazner from the tower and surrendering him to the Sablers, Jocasta abandoned the tower along with the sighthounds. Once they were safely distant, Tistanué released the building, which crashed into a heap of stones, splintered furniture, petrified corpses, and buckled wooden decks.

Above, the Pier of Ventures contracted to its regular shape and descended, revealing Tristanué, her squire Surandot, Mr. Midnight, and Nonchalor. At Tristanué’s command, the Pier of Ventures drifted silently towards Anzioch and landed in the lot designated for it within the main yard. There the Sablers received Tristanué and Surandot (and Jocasta when she rode in later, the sighthounds accompanying) with tremendous and lengthy applause. Following protocol, Tristanué, clad once more in her drapes, went to General Duralamayre, who received her as he often had, with no small measure of satisfaction, as she summarized the capture of the Sixth Kuinkazner. Wishing to hear more about it but recognizing the capture was hard-fought, the general recommended they reconvene after she had taken a long hot bath. Agreeing, they found themselves revisiting the matter two hours after hot waters, scented oils, and bubbles had worked their magic on the young girl. In place of her armor, she wore a low-cut cream sleeveless dress, the décolletage of which would have subdued a weaker man than the seasoned commander before her. Like his own assets, hers were as effective in peace as war. After questions and compliments, as the meal ended and the promise of a long restoring sleep slowed her blinks, he said, “The news of your success will travel quickly. Soon, the last of this man will hear of this.”

She nodded. “Six down. One to go.”

The general knew stopping one man, even a Kuinkazner, was one thing, but a two-hundred-thousand-man army was another. “May I call on you again, Lady Yale?”

“Yes, Lord Duralamayre, you may,” she said. Taking one last drink, she laid down her napkin and stood. “If I may?”

The general stood less because she was an ambassadress or a beautiful young woman but because a lady was leaving the table. “Of course, Lady Yale. Thank you for your company.”

As she made it to his door, a junior officer opened it for her. “Oh, there was some spoil from this night which I confess I am unable to accept. I wonder, might I now prevail upon you?”

“Of course, my lady,” he said formally, still standing.

At that moment, the six sighthounds that formerly belonged to Kuinkazner ran into the room and up to the general who, she had learned some time back, loved dogs. Deep-chested, long-legged, and swift, the dogs were white gazelle hounds from the north. Beautiful and sleek, she could tell the General was impressed with them at first sight.

An unfeigned smile was the proof of it.

And though Tristanué was not sure, it seemed more the smile of a young boy than an old man.

“Thank you, Lady Yale,” he said most sincerely.

Tristanué put her palm on her chest and replied with a heartfelt smile and a nod. Unwilling to interfere in so pure a moment, she left the general to his new companions.

Back in the main yard, Baloroy and Hax walked out of the mess hall, enjoying the last of their meal, when they both stopped. There, not seventy feet from them, right where it should be, was the Pier of Ventures. Baloroy chuckled, pulled a new cigar from his vest, smelled it, and put it in his mouth. Without looking, he handed one back to his quiet friend, who took it. Noting the excitement in the camp, Baloroy leaned into a cresset and lit his cigar on the coals. “Something tells me all the pretty people are back.”

No sooner had he said that than he heard Surandot’s pleasant young voice. “Good morning,” she said, passing between him and Hax, her gear slung over her shoulder.

“Surandot,” Baloroy answered with a respectful nod. “We’re back on our feet, old boy. Yes, sir!” He took a long drag on his cigar and exhaled felicitously. “Back on our feet!”

So it was that all the schemes of this Kuinkazner, one-seventh of his original cold soul, were overthrown in a single night by three remarkable women. All won for a man, in rank a general, who valued every man under his command so much that he allowed a young princess from Royos and her friends to fight for them too.

As for the princess, she returned to her spacious bedroom in Ashen Garde, slipped into bed wearing nothing but her success, and fell fast asleep.

There, in the land of dreams, she beheld a great city.