“Have you had any luck finding surveyors?” Corec asked Bobo as the two of them rode along a newly formed trail between Creekbend and another village a mile north called Dobb’s Grove. The area around the two villages was where Corec had asked the farmers to settle, hopefully keeping them out of the way of danger if Larsonian forces attacked.

“I wrote to a friend in Matagor,” Bobo said. “The same one who’s helping us buy the coal stoves. Last I heard, he’s hired one surveyor so far and he’s looking for two more. I was going to write him another letter asking him to send them along as soon as they’re hired, but Leena hasn’t had time to go to Matagor in over a week, and now I don’t know when she plans to return.”

“We’ve got to stop depending on her to do everything for us,” Corec said. “Maybe you should ask your friend if he can find us a pigeon keeper. For now, I’m sure Leena will be back before a messenger could make it to Matagor, so you might as well wait for her. If she’s able to go get Carn Tammerly on time, he’ll arrive before the surveyors do, so send him out to start getting familiar with people. The first surveyor who gets here can go with him.”

“What about the other two?”

“They need to map out where we’re setting the border, and make sure everyone within it has heard the proclamation. We’ll send a couple soldiers with each of them in case some folks don’t like the news. But I’ve been thinking … can you keep handling the records here, and make sure they’re all updated properly? It’s not that I don’t trust Tammerly, but I don’t really know him yet and he’ll be out traveling a lot of the time.”

“Well, I’m doing it already, and I suppose it won’t take as much effort if he and the surveyors are the ones out doing all the hard work.” Bobo gestured to the left. “I think this is the path we want.”

They directed their horses away from the already rough trail and on to one marked only by faint indentations in the grasses, following it for a quarter of a mile until they came to a farmer plowing a field. They left their horses tied to a tree branch and walked over to join the man.

“Corec,” Bobo said, “this is Westin. He brought his family out with the … I think it was the third group to arrive.”

Corec nodded. “Mr. Westin, it’s good to meet you again. We spoke when you first came to Hilltop.”

“Yes, uhh, Lord Corec. Before you sent us out this way.”

“Oh, I’m no lord. You can just call me Corec. Or Mr. Tarwen if you prefer.”

Westin nodded.

“Now,” Corec continued, “I hear you put in a claim for five hides of land, or thereabouts.”

The farmer frowned at Bobo, who gave him a sheepish shrug.

“Your messenger came by,” Westin said. “He told me we could take what we want as long as we’re working it all by next year’s harvest.”

“Within reason, yes. If you claim a hide and a half because you’ve got a large family or because we don’t have a surveyor to measure everything out the right way, that’s fine, but five hides is too much for one family. How can you possibly work that much land?”

“I got four boys,” the man said. “They’ll all need their own places once I pass on.”

“Your oldest—he’s sixteen, right?” Corec asked. Jonson, the miller, had provided the information when they’d passed through Creekbend.

“He is.”

“That makes him old enough to put in his own claim. You can help him clear it and plant it, but you can’t go claiming his land as your own. Do you think he can handle it?”

The farmer considered that for a moment. “I reckon he can manage if he borrows my mules. Plenty of time before next spring.”

“Than whatever section of land you intended for him, let’s put it in his name. He doesn’t have to live there yet as long as he’s working it. As for the rest, do you really think you can manage three-quarters of a square mile with just your younger boys to help?”

“Your man said as long as we had it cleared and planted for next season, it was ours.”

It seemed the fellow planned to put in just enough extra effort to qualify for the claim, even if it would be too much to work the whole thing every year.

“You realize that even without your oldest son’s share, you’re looking at sixty silver in taxes?” Corec asked.

The man blinked. “Sixty? That’s every year?”

“Every year after this one. How much land were you working before you came here?”

“Hide and forty,” Westin said.

That was still impressive. Even when measured on good, flat, fertile soil, a hide came out to a hundred twenty acres, and adding forty more acres on top of that was more land than most farmers could work on their own.

“How about this?” Corec said. “Keep two hides for yourself and one for your oldest boy. If you manage to work your two, they’re yours to keep. If not, you’ll have to give some back next year. If your other sons want to farm, they can register their own claims when they turn sixteen. They likely won’t end up right here next to you, but that’s still six hides for one family. I’d say that’s a pretty good deal.”

Westin worked his jaw as he considered the offer. “But I’d have to give up two now?”

“Yes.”

“What if I send for my Pa up in Four Roads? He had his own farm before selling it. I reckon he wouldn’t mind helping out and claiming a bit of land for himself.”

Westin had to be pushing fifty. How old was his father, if he’d already retired and moved into town? Surely too old to take up farming again, especially if it was just a ruse for his son to sneak more land out of the arrangement.

“Is your Pa the one who taught you how to work a hide and forty on your own?”

“Yessir.”

“How do you think he’d feel about managing some farmland for me instead? He’d get his own claim as part of the pay, but he wouldn’t have to be out plowing the fields himself.”

Westin cocked his head to the side. “What’s this, now?”

Corec explained what he needed, and Westin agreed to send a message to his father.

With a possible lead on someone to manage the estates Branth had suggested, Corec and Bobo returned to their horses.

“Is there anything else we need to take care of today?” Corec asked, climbing into the saddle.

“Nothing so egregious,” Bobo said. “And after word gets out that you’re paying attention, I imagine things will take care of themselves.”

“You were the one paying attention, but once Carn Tammerly arrives, he should be able to take care of this sort of thing. Just make sure he knows what’s going on.”

“Sure,” Bobo said, then was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “You’ve got to stop doing that, you know—telling them not to call you a lord. They need to call you something.”

“I’ve got a name, and I’m not a lord.”

“Are you sure about that? You’re the one in charge. You’ve got soldiers and servants. Seems like a lord to me.”

“You can’t be a lord without a king,” Corec said. “We’re working together as a group. Me being in charge is just something we tell people to make it easier for them to understand what’s going on. It’s not actually true.”

Bobo snorted. “You know very well that it is. You just like to pretend otherwise. Everything we’re trying to do here would fall apart if you were gone. Think about it—Ellerie and Boktar can’t be in charge here, and none of the rest of us would be taken seriously.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not working together.”

“I didn’t say we weren’t, but there’s a reason why everyone’s been calling you a lord.”

“That’s just because of my father.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Corec sighed. It was getting awkward dealing with the settlers, most of whom were too timid to call him by his name but didn’t know how to address him otherwise.

“Warden,” he said. “If I need a title, I’ll use Warden.”

“Really?” Bobo asked.

“Why not? It’s the one title I can actually claim, and I’m not giving away Hildra’s or Yelena’s secrets. Most people won’t even know what it means, much less who the others are.”

And if Rusol somehow still hadn’t learned of Corec’s location, it would be impossible for him to ignore the newest clue.

“Hmm,” Bobo said. “Warden’s Keep. I like it.”

#

To the Honorable Mayor Alain of South Corner,

I write to you on behalf of Corec Tarwen. He received your letter with great interest and agrees with your suggestion of a meeting to discuss the changes we anticipate for the lands formerly claimed by the dragon.

Corec will be happy to receive you and your delegation at Warden’s Keep in Hilltop Village at your earliest convenience. There, we will describe our plans for the region and consider ways in which we can work together for the benefit of all.

You may also wish to know that we have completed repairs on the bridge, offering an easier route to the north if you would like to continue your travels to visit your neighbors in Four Roads.

We hope to see you soon,

Sister Treya of the Three Orders, for Warden Corec Tarwen

Treya frowned at her words. If she was supposed to be speaking with Corec’s voice, it was a skill she hadn’t yet mastered. He never sounded so stodgy. The formal tone was better for written communication, though—it helped to prevent misunderstandings.

And in any case, the real work would happen when Alain and the other southern mayors arrived. Corec’s ability to befriend people would overcome any deficiencies in Treya’s letter-writing ability.

Corec had suggested he could simply go to South Corner himself, but Leena hadn’t returned yet and Ellerie had convinced everyone it was better for Alain to see the work being done in and around the keep for himself. The people of South Corner didn’t know Corec the way the people of Four Roads did, and Hilltop’s tiny size might help to allay any fears they had about the vastness of the region the group had claimed.

Treya hated to admit it, but sending the letter under her own name and title did lend it an extra air of legitimacy. Mayor Alain’s concubine handled most of his correspondence, and she would be careful to smooth away any rough edges, both on the letters she was sending as well as those she received. With the shared connection to the Three Orders, Alain and the other well-to-do men in South Corner would be more likely to consider Corec one of their own rather than an outsider.

Treya had just set the letter aside to dry when someone knocked on the door to her suite. She opened it to find one of the chambermaids on the other side.

“Miss, there’s someone here asking for you,” the woman told her. “She says her name is Shana.”

“Oh, thank you,” Treya said. “She’ll need a place to stay for the night. Could you prepare the extra room?” There were no accommodations left in the village, and the more recent arrivals were camping out or sharing with friends while they built new homes or searched the nearby farms and villages for structures that were still standing.

“Yes, Miss.”

Treya made her way down to the first floor to greet her old teacher. Shana was barefoot, like Treya, and wearing a similar loose gray tunic and pants.

The older woman saw her coming and smiled. “You’re looking well. Nice little place you’ve got here. I take it you’ve had enough journeying?”

Treya shrugged uncomfortably. She’d once intended to model her life after Shana’s, traveling between the chapter houses and taking care of any problems she found along the way, but circumstances had changed her plans.

“For now,” she said. “I’ll show you around.”

They spoke while they walked.

“I heard you were going to Highfell to see if you could find out anything about King Rusol,” Treya said. “I hope it wasn’t too far out of your way.”

“No,” Shana said. “I was headed west already. Mother Elana in Abildgard asked me to speak to the concubine schools in Matagor about joining with the Three Orders, but I don’t expect anything to come of it. They’re just too different from us. They’re not orphanages, for one. Instead, the girls join as if it’s a trade school—like your friend Renny did.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Treya asked. “It would be better if girls became concubines because they wanted to, and not because they’re orphans who feel pressured into it. We place too much emphasis on the concubines and not enough on the other orders.”

“It’s not so different than any other girl being pressured to find a good husband,” Shana said. “How would you go about it?”

“I think we should add a fourth order. We already have herbalists and midwives and craftswomen who don’t join any of the orders, or they join the scholars even though they don’t quite fit. We should expand that group and give them their own order. Teach all the orphan girls a craft of their own so they can support themselves, and if they still choose to join the concubines, at least they’ll have something else to fall back on. If that means we don’t train up enough concubines, then allow more outsiders to join, like Renny or what you found in Matagor.”

“The Four Orders? That would be a big change. What does Mother Ola think?”

“I just came up with it,” Treya said. “I haven’t even mentioned it to Mother Yewen yet.”

“I don’t imagine they’d be opposed to an Order of Craftswomen, but the more traditional Sisters won’t be happy about making the Order of Concubines less important. And I don’t like the idea of accepting more outsiders. The orphanages are what make us a Sisterhood. The schools in Matagor just aren’t the same.”

“There has to be a way to make it work. Maybe they have to live with us, like Renny did, and spend at least four years in training. We’ve got orphanage girls who spent less time with us than Renny, and they’re still real Sisters.”

“Maybe,” Shana said with a shrug. “But it’ll be fun to listen to the screams when you propose it. Anyway, after Matagor, I had some things to take care of in Larso. I stopped at Telfort along the way. You know that Sharra is dead, right?”

Treya sighed. “We heard about it just a few days ago,” she said. Whatever she thought of the woman’s son, it always hurt to lose a Sister too young.

“From a lightning storm, it seems,” Shana said. “As for the king, people wish Marten was still alive, or they wish Prince Rikard had inherited the title, but nobody could point to anything bad Rusol has done. It seems like he’s just continuing his father’s policies. By the time I was done there and made it to Highfell, the dragon had started to threaten the road to the east, so I just stayed where I was.”

A lightning storm could have been magic, or it could simply have been weather. There was no way to find out now, and from what Corec had heard in Larso, no one had been suspicious of it at the time.

“Did you learn anything interesting in Highfell?” Treya asked. “I didn’t mean for you to go to all that trouble, but by the time I found out you were heading that way, it was too late to get a message to you.”

“It wasn’t a problem. I like to visit all the chapter houses when I can. But no, nobody there has ever met the king, and only a few had met Sharra. There was one tale that’s been passed down, though.”

“Oh?”

“Marten was supposed to choose a girl named Moira, but something happened—nobody remembers what—and he ended up picking Sharra instead. The rumors are that he chose her for her looks rather than her personality, but those are just stories the girls have told each other over the years. There’s no one left there from back then. And that other girl, Moira? She went on to become—”

“Corec’s mother,” Treya said.

Shana nodded. “Yes. I don’t know if it means anything.”

“That’s got to be just a coincidence. I don’t see why that would make him want to kill Corec, if he even knows about it.” Sisters talked freely amongst themselves, but there were some topics they would never discuss with an outsider. A patron choosing the wrong concubine was one of those.

“It does seem unlikely, but it was the only connection I found.”

“Thank you for checking,” Treya said. “I didn’t realize you were going to come to the keep. I was planning to meet you in Four Roads if you stayed long enough, but I didn’t know you’d arrived.”

“It wasn’t a long trip—just two days. I wanted to see the route anyway. It should save me some time in the future when I’m heading south.”

“Two days? Four Roads is two hundred fifty miles away!”

“You’ve seen me run before.”

“I didn’t know you could run all day long!” Treya could sprint faster than she’d ever seen anyone else move, even Shana, but she’d never attempted long distances. Traveling with her friends, she’d spent most of her time in the saddle.

Shana grinned. “Now you know my secret. I’m just usually not in that much of a hurry. But you’re strong enough—you should have some idea of what you’re capable of by now. I take it you haven’t been practicing? Again?”

Treya sighed. “It’s hard to find the time. I spar a bit with the others, but they get nervous since I don’t wear any armor.”

“Well, I’m not in a rush. I’ll stick around for a while and help you work on it.”

#

Rusol flipped through the stack of papers trying to make sense of what he was reading. The seaborn ambassador had proposed building an enclave for his people in Larso similar to the one in Terevas, offering their deeper-hulled vessels a new location to dock. The Duke of Westport was adamantly opposed, insisting it was just a way for the seaborn to avoid his own city. Rusol suspected Westport was right, but the proposal offered to pay the same taxes and fees in the enclave as they would have elsewhere, and claimed the existing coastal ports couldn’t handle the seaborn’s largest cargo ships.

Rusol didn’t know enough about the issues to make a decision, and wasn’t sure whose advice to take. He needed someone familiar with the matter who didn’t have a financial stake in the outcome. Perhaps he should write a letter to the admiral of Larso’s tiny fleet of warships?

He was happy to set the whole mess aside when Field Marshal Tregood and Knight Commander Sir Noris arrived.

“Your Majesty,” Noris said, the old man speaking in his hoarse, wavering voice, “We received a messenger from Priest Tibon at Fort Hightower. He writes with an update on the situation to the south.”

“Yes?” Rusol asked. Noris could take a while to come to the point if he was allowed to ramble.

Thankfully, Tregood took up the story. “Now that the dragon is gone, Baron Hightower has taken steps to expel the hillfolk refugees from his domain. He no longer requires the additional soldiers we sent, so I’ve drawn up orders to return them to their previous postings.”

Rusol nodded. “And the extra knights?”

“If you do not object, I will order their return to Telfort,” Noris said.

“Maybe that’ll quiet the complainers,” Tregood added. Rusol controlled Sir Noris as well as all the high-ranking priests in the city, but some among the lower ranks had grumbled about a quarter of the city’s knights being away—even though Telfort itself wasn’t in any danger.

“You may issue the orders,” Rusol said to Noris. “Is that everything?” It hardly seemed important enough for the two of them to have sought him out in person.

“No, Sire,” Tregood said. “Tibon also says the mercenaries from Four Roads have laid claim to an old keep where the dragon had been lairing. They intend to clear the roads in the region and make them passable again. Perhaps our wayward squad of knights did some good after all.”

Noris harrumphed. “Wayward? They never should have been there in the first place. The renegade commander has been expelled from the Order.”

Rusol said, “If his knights were able to defeat a dragon with the loss of only one man, it seems the commander made the right decision.”

“He disobeyed orders, resulting in the death of one of his own men. He could never be trusted within the Order again. And that doesn’t even touch on allying himself with those mages.” Noris, under compulsion from the hunter bond, knew Rusol was a mage, but he never seemed to connect that fact to his own ingrained dislike of magic.

Rusol just nodded, conceding the point, then turned to study an old map hanging on the wall behind him. Tregood had once argued for leaving the dragon alone so it would distract their neighbors, but now that it was dead, it seemed the man had changed his mind. Was he just making the best of a bad situation, or was there some actual advantage to the creature being gone?

Rusol wasn’t familiar with the area—the dragon had come to the free lands a quarter of a century before he was born—but the roads in question were still inked in on the map. He couldn’t see much benefit to Larso in having them open again. They looked to provide a faster route from southern Larso to Tyrsall, but that would help Matagor more than anyone else. Larso’s own cross-continental trade went through the northern route, as did the bulk of the seaborn trade in northern Aravor. Seaborn trading vessels were faster than most ships, but it wasn’t worth their time to circle around the entire continent to reach Tyrsall.

Then, with a frown, he took a closer look. Cargo from Matagor wouldn’t have to pass through Larso at all. There were at least two routes around it, one of which promised a much faster trip along an almost straight line to Tyrsall.

Was that why Rusol’s father had left the dragon alone? The knights could have hunted it down at any time in the past fifty years, but they’d never made any move to do so. Had it really just been because the free lands weren’t worth bothering with, or was it because the creature’s presence had forced more trade to go through Telfort?

Rusol turned to Tregood. “Why didn’t you warn me that killing the dragon would open a direct road between Matagor and Tyrsall?” he said, his voice cold.

The Field Marshal blinked in confusion. “Your Majesty? Why would that matter? We’re not at war with either kingdom.”

“Nine-tenths of Matagoran and Terevassian trade with Tyrsall passes through Larso, you idiot! How did you think we were paying for the mercenaries?”

“Do you mean taxes?”

Rusol’s vision went red, and he had to stop himself from reaching for the elder magic. “Yes, taxes! If we had killed the dragon, then we would control the roads, but instead you gave it away to the freelanders!”

Of course, taxes and trade weren’t the Field Marshal’s concern. Those were matters for the Chancellor, but it had never occurred to Rusol to seek his counsel. In fact, he’d hardly put any thought at all into the ramifications. He’d just taken Tregood’s advice, assuming the man knew what he was talking about.

The Field Marshal spoke in a placating tone. “I apologize, Your Majesty, but I believe we still hold some influence in the region. The mercenary who took over the keep is from Larso, and I’m sure he’ll be amenable to an arrangement. He was a knight once, and he’s the son of one of the Black Crow barons.”

Sir Noris scowled. “He was never a knight,” he said. “He was a trainee, and was expelled for being a wizard.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Tregood said. “If he wants to play a fake lord in the free lands, we can negotiate with him. He won’t want to anger his homeland—he’ll agree to anything we ask. Perhaps we could even claim the region as our own by offering him a baronetcy.”

“Absolutely not,” Noris said. “Corec Tarwen violated our laws. He’s a mage and a traitor. He can’t be trusted.”

Everything seemed to slow to a halt.

“What was that name?” Rusol asked.

“Corec Tarwen,” Tregood said. “One of Lord Ansel’s younger sons. From his concubine, I believe.”

“Corec,” Rusol said, his insides going cold. Tarwen had never mentioned having a son in exile for using magic, but everything else fit. The Larsonian name, the timing of Corec’s return to Aravor, the fact that Yassi had seen him in a war camp, the demonborn assassin he’d sent. And when the assassin had failed, he’d come to the region himself.

The other two men exchanged glances.

“Your Majesty?” Tregood said. “Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” Rusol snapped. “Is there a problem? You told me not to send the knights after the dragon, and now there’s a warden on our border!”

Tregood furrowed his brow. “A warden, Sire?”

“He’s taunting me! He sent her to make sure I knew he was coming!” No, that was wrong. Corec had sent the assassin to kill, not to warn. Rusol tried to force the rage down—he was starting to sound like a madman, even to his own ears.

“Who?”

He ignored the question. “Don’t bring the extra knights back to Telfort. Leave them at Hightower. And …” He stopped to think. The knights crossed the border regularly, but any large movement of soldiers would be a problem. He’d taken control of the army’s leadership, but that didn’t mean he could start a war without the lords’ backing. “Tell Captain Benis to recall the mercenary army from the northern border. Send them to Hightower as well. All of them.”

The mercenary army reported directly to Rusol, and he could re-deploy them without raising fears amongst the populace.

“Sire, Blue Vale is still building their strength. I don’t advise removing the mercenaries from their positions.”

“Blue Vale doesn’t matter anymore!” Rusol said. “We have to stop the warden before he invades!”

“Do you mean Corec Tarwen, Your Majesty?” Tregood asked. “He’s hardly a threat—he’s only got a few dozen men.”

“Men and mages,” Rusol reminded him. “Enough to face a dragon.”

Why had his father allowed these two to remain in their positions? Tregood had demonstrated his incompetence and Sir Noris was too old for the job, yet Marten had never asked them to step down.

With a sinking feeling, Rusol realized the answer. Marten had tolerated them because they were bureaucrats who could keep things running smoothly. In the event of a war, Marten himself would have made all the important decisions. He’d sent Rikard to the knights and then continued his older son’s education himself, but Rusol hadn’t received the same training. He’d already been led astray by Tregood once.

If he was going to launch an attack against Corec, he’d have to be cautious. He’d caught Leonis unprepared, but that wouldn’t be the case this time. How did two wardens do battle? Sending their bondmates to kill each other was too much of a risk, particularly considering how little information Yassi had been able to provide. No. The answer was in Tregood’s words—Corec only had a few soldiers. Rusol could overwhelm him with numbers.

The mercenaries and the Hightower knights were a start, but he needed troops he could trust completely. A hundred of his compelled knights from Fort Northtower would do the job. Without Yassi, he couldn’t track their movements, but the modified version of the hunter compulsion allowed them to retain their own minds. As long as he issued the right orders, they’d be able to adapt to new situations on their own.

And that gave him another idea.