A cold wind blew through the city of Talos. The chill air was moist, blowing in from the Inland Sea. It smelled of rain, snow for the high country, and the changing of the season. It blew over the warehouses, the great market, and it blew over the Imperial Palace. In the Emperor's palace they could feel autumn coming on. It meant harvest, celebration, and starting to plan for the next year.

A young woman felt that wind through her bodice. Walking along a cobbled way, the first scent of autumn greeted her nose, then was washed away again by the stronger scent of teeming humanity. They bustled about her, going about their business, making sure to give her space, keeping a clear path for her to walk.

She moved through the crowd without purpose, having a few hours to herself. She'd wanted to see the market, but stall after stall of potatoes and carrots didn't really appeal to her. The meat vendors appealed to her more, but while the smell of the charring chunk of flesh made her mouth water, it was too dry and lacked salt. She only finished half of it, and she offered the rest to her companion, Olaf.

Olaf was a tall man, from the cold northern island of Nydaer. Like most Nydaerans, he sported blond hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders and a large appetite. He had already had two portions of his own, and happily took the overcooked meat that Krystia would not eat.

The younger girl offered him a fond smile, patronizing him somewhat. "I suppose you'll have a full supper as well, tonight!"

He smiled at her. Bright blue eyes softened hard, sharp features. "Aye, and likely a little extra. These Talosians don't eat well enough."

"Well, they do have a more limited diet." She let out a quiet sigh. "I miss the orchards of home. There's nothing like going out and picking an orange off the tree. The smell of citrus when you peel it! Ah! Those were wonderful. The oranges around here are all brown. Not very good at all."

"At least you have oranges at all," he chided. "You could be stuck in Nydaer where they've never heard of such a magnificent fruit. You'd be eating radishes and turnips."

The girl wrinkled her nose. "That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all." But she thought better of saying any more on the subject. Instead, "Have you ever been to this part of the city? I don't recognize any of these buildings."

Olaf made a show of looking around him, though that was unnecessary. As a matter of course he had been watching everything around him, always on the look out. "I think we're near Tanner street. Down that way should be the temple of Qaolith and that means we're near the Red Alehouse." He grinned, perhaps unconsciously.

"You and ale. I would've thought ale would be forbidden to a member of your order."

"Hardly." he replied. "Overindulgence is what is forbidden to a member of my order."

"That's why you spend so much time there, then? Learning how not to overindulge?"

Olaf chuckled. "No, lass. It's the closest thing to my home this overcrowded city has."

Krystia shook her head. "It's not that crowded. Moke was bigger!"

"Not according to the cartographers. And Moke's gone. Best not to try and compare it. At least I can go back to Nydaer one day."

Krystia's enthusiasm started to fall. "Cruel, cruel man. Why do I let a servant speak to me so?"

He frowned and his leathery cheeks reddened. "I am not a servant, my Lady, though I am pledged to you. I am a Knight of Nydaer and a Paladin of the Order of Raverin. We are Chosen. We do not serve out of-"

Krystia interrupted him with a girlish giggle. "You're much more fun when you get righteous. I can almost see the blood coming out your ears!"

Olaf narrowed his eyes, then, with a force of will, returned to calmness. "You have no idea how dangerous it is to bait me, my Lady. I serve you out of choice."

She waved him off. "Nonsense, you like it and you know it. And you serve because Raverin wills it. Not out of choice. And Raverin knows I'm not being deliberately mean."

He smiled again. As the conversation trailed off, their meandering path led them around a corner. Olaf looked around, assessing things as usual, and somewhere in the back of his mind an alarm sounded. "My Lady, something is not right here."

Krystia looked around, surprised. "I see nothing amiss." Nevertheless, her hand went to her belt, where a thin, finely crafted blade stayed with her at all times.

Olaf loosened his sword in its scabbard. "I cannot put my finger on it, but I feel as though we are being watched." He looked around. This particular street had a number of alleyways, perfect for someone skulking about. They were difficult to see through the crowd, however. He turned his attention to the throng of people. He considered that maybe someone in the crowd was eavesdropping, and that triggered this sensation.

But nothing stood out to him. "Perhaps we should return to the House, my Lady. Something is not right here." Cold blue eyes perused the crowd, but the city-dwellers rarely met his eyes, pretending not to notice his gaze.

She nodded. "The ball is at dusk, in any case. Heading back would be a good idea." Her fingers moved away from the knife. "Which way do you think is best?"

Olaf motioned back the direction they had come. Krystia turned around, and the crowd opened up before her, each of the peasants going out of his or her way to make way for the noblewoman and her companion.

The already cool air chilled more as the breeze picked up. The crowd started to thin as they continued through it, as people decided that it would be a good time not to go out. The cobbles got more even, the facades on the building richer and finer as they walked toward Porevos, the area where most of the Talosian nobility resided. The six towers of the Imperial Palace looked down upon them, pennants flapping in the swift wind. Late afternoon sunlight gave the black stone a reddish hue, and Olaf thought the towers almost seemed to glow.

Perhaps it was this sight that distracted Olaf; no matter how many times he had seen those towers he had always thought them a marvel of architecture. And later he would not let that minor failure go. But while he was watching the pennants flap, imagining their sound and the smell of the sea, he felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck.

An ordinary man would have fallen over. Certainly his attacker had expected Olaf to be brought to his knees by the blow, but Olaf spun around, drawing his sword and striking out in one fluid, ballet-like motion. His attacker was so surprised he didn't even think to dodge, and Olaf's sword embedded itself neatly into the man's shoulder, cutting down toward his heart. The bone stopped the blade from reaching its actual mark, but the rest of the damage was more than enough. The attacker fell, dragging Olaf forward as it pulled his sword to the ground.

Behind him, Olaf heard Krystia screech, but the sound was quickly muffled. When he yanked his sword free and turned around, he saw that a short, ugly man had grabbed Krystia and was darting away with her, toward an alleyway. Olaf tore after them, spots of blood flying off his sword as he ran.

Despite the load of a struggling girl, the ugly man was able to remain well ahead of Olaf. He was extremely agile, dodging people with ease. At first Olaf tried to avoid the people as well, but he decided he would lose the chase if he continued that, and he was forced to plow into and through passersby as he ran. Thanks to his girth, some of them had difficulty getting up afterward.

Ahead of him the ugly man leapt over a short wall and seemed to disappear. Olaf followed and learned the reason for the disappearance was a six foot drop on the other side of the wall. He landed hard and fell forward. He ignored the pain, rolled to his feet and kept running. The ugly man was gaining on him.

Olaf let out a small prayer to Raverin. He could not let the little man escape, at any cost. He prayed for the will to endure this, and gave it his all. If he could keep up, the little man had to tire eventually, and he would catch him. That, Olaf figured, was his only prayer. If the little man could endure as well as Olaf, this was already lost.

The chase continued, threading through narrow streets as they moved more toward poorer sections of the city, in the south side. Olaf thought the little man looked a little less spry as he jumped around a pair of drunkards. But then Olaf was again surprised as the little man paused just long enough to knock a barrel into Olaf's path. The big man jumped, but didn't quite clear it. It caught his toe and dragged him down, face first, his sword flying. He felt his nose break as it hit a cobblestone, but he could not afford to let this stop him.

He rolled to his feet, unsteady from the blow, but refusing to stop. He didn't have time to find his lost sword. He plowed forward, trying to find the little man. He caught sight of a small bit of Krystia's dress moving around a corner, and he put in another burst of speed. Raverin gave him the strength he needed.

He rounded the corner and the little man was there, on his knees and resting. Joining him appeared to be a couple of thugs. They had thick beards, scars, and heavy cured leather armor. They were well prepared for this conflict. What they weren't prepared for was Olaf's ferocity. Without stopping to think, he shouldered into the first thug, who tried to defend himself with the sword but did nothing more than give Olaf a flesh wound with its edge.

Olaf ripped the sword from his grasp while the other, stunned, tried to figure out how to deal with this suddenly off-balance situation. Olaf did not wait. He struck out with his new weapon and, vastly more skilled than the thug with a blade, gutted him in a single, graceful motion.

The little man, tired and surprised, ran. Olaf followed, and before he'd gained any distance, speared him through the spinal cord with the stolen blade. He turned, looking for more opponents, but there were none. All three lay dead at his feet.

Krystia shouted something, but Olaf couldn't hear it over the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears. She ran up to him and put her hands on his face and chest. They came away bloody, and for a moment he thought they'd hurt her, until he realized it was his own blood. He shook his head, slowly, guessing at what she'd said with his answer: "No, no, I'm okay. It's just my nose."

"You need to sit down!"

Olaf gave her a stern look through his blood-caked face. "No, we need to get out of here, and get you to safety. There might be more of them."

She tried to object, but Olaf picked her up, roughly, and marched with determination toward the House. She struggled for the first few steps, but she knew that nothing would change his mind about this, not in this state of mind. She would just have to deal with this issue a little later.

* * *

Olaf awoke, finding himself on his own bed: a large, feather mattress on a sturdy, wooden frame. When he sat up, his head hurt so powerfully that he felt blind, but when he stopped moving this passed. He reached a hand up and gingerly felt at his nose. It was swollen up and very, very tender. Someone must have set it.

His memories upon returning to the House were fuzzy. He remembered stomping into the House and finally feeling safe to put Krystia down, and he remembered arguing first with a House guard and then the House steward. He vaguely remembered Krystia saying soothing things, and then he felt woozy. He couldn't quite remember if he'd made it to his room under his own power. He thought that might be embarrassing.

He looked to the shuttered window. He saw a dim red light. If it were just past sunset, he hoped, he would still be able to escort Krystia at the Ball. He started to get out of bed when the door opened and a middle-aged waif stepped in, carrying a bucket of water and a couple of rags. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You're awake already, m'Lord!"

He nodded. The motion sent pain shooting behind his eyes, and he stopped. "Aye. What is the time?"

"It is half past seven of the clock and Krystia left strict word that you're not to come to the ball tonight. You took a nasty hit on the head and you need rest! A healer from the Temple will be by in the morning to look at that."

He shook his head. "I am fine. Raverin will care for me. I will go."

The woman drew herself up to her full height, which was not impressive in and of itself. But she had the carriage of a woman of authority, and the lines of a woman of wisdom. Her voice held a strength that Olaf did not expect. "You will do no such thing, Lord, not while you look like that! You are a sight!"

Olaf started to scowl at the woman, but the contortion hurt too much. He picked himself up out of the bed and moved to the small altar to Raverin he kept in his room. It was made of stone, expertly carved and kept pure white. Its image was that of a bearded old man, eyes forward. In his left arm the image held a thick book, and in his right the scepter of kings.

Olaf knelt before the altar. "My Lord Raverin, whom I serve with my heart and my sword, I beg of you this boon. I, your loyal servant, have need of remedy, that I may continue to fulfil the work you have set out for me. From my heart I speak your word, and with my arm I do your deed. This restoration I ask of you."

The poor woman had never actually seen anything of this sort before, and few really understood what it really meant to be a Knight of Raverin. She was completely and utterly shocked as she saw the purple and black slowly drain from Olaf's nose, and the swelling go down. When it was complete, there was still some puffiness, and it did look tender, but it was not the painful, debilitating wound it was before.

Olaf arose from his kneeling position, turning around slowly. His movements were still very deliberate. When he turned, he gave the woman a stern look. "As I said, I will go to the Ball. Have my clothes prepared."

The woman nodded quickly, left dumbfounded by this act. She was uncertain if she had really witnessed the work of the Gods, or something less pure. Either this was a miracle, pure and simple, or it was magic. Which is very much not a miracle, in these people's eyes. She decided she didn't want to think about it too much, and went to the wardrobe to get his outfit.

She brought him his court finery. It had been tailored for him, some of it against his better judgement, as much in the style of Talosian finery as Krystia thought he would be able to stand. The tunic was made of silk, off-white, with flowing, open sleeves and lace ruffles at the cuffs and collar. Over that he wore a soft brown doeskin doublet, with epaulets at the shoulders. The trousers were made of the same raw silk as the tunic, but dyed brown to match the doublet. Mercifully, Krystia had not made him wear hose, which was the current fashion. The boots were thick, hard leather with long, intricate laces designed to come to his knees.

He dressed, with the serving woman's assistance, then strapped on his two belts. He noted with embarrassment that his scabbard was empty. He donned the black, wide-brimmed hat and the badge of the Order of Raverin, made sure everything was straight, and headed toward the door. "With luck the Ball will be over by midnight. See that the room is prepared."

She responded with only a nod, still very much in awe. She had decided that she had, in fact, witnessed the blessing of the Gods, and now he was truly a Holy man in her eyes. She closed the door behind him and set about straightening the room.

* * *

After a visit to the armory, Olaf made his way to the grand hall of the mansion. It had only begun an hour ago, and most of the invited guests had already arrived. Only the last few high-ranking nobles were not yet in attendance, all competing for the coveted position of being the last to appear within an acceptable timeframe.

Olaf was met at the door by Jefrey, the steward of the house. He was a relatively tall man, thin, grey-haired and with sharp, cold eyes. Jefrey smiled when he saw Olaf, leaning forward to give him a private greeting, and a word of relief that his wounds were not as serious as the servants had made them sound. Olaf agreed and thanked him for his concern.

The steward raised his voice, so that all in the room could hear the announcement. "Announcing Sir Olaf of Nydaer, Knight of the Order of Raverin!" More quietly, to Olaf, "The Duke is just down to the right. He would surely like to greet you."

Olaf half-bowed, politely and moved past him. He noted the eyes of the assemblage focus upon him, assess him in the same manner he would assess a potential threat, but for different purposes. Then their gaze passed from him and returned to whatever conversation they had previously been partaking in.

Several people he passed, most notably young women, almost all of marriageable age stopped to greet him as he made his way toward the Duke. With each he exchanged the polite pleasantries, remarked upon the signs of the coming winter and his hope that it be a mild one. When the demands of politeness were met, he continued on, intent upon meeting with the Duke and then finding Krystia.

Duke Hillan of House Teloran cut a striking figure. He was, as to be expected at such an occasion, dressed in exquisite finery, all green and gold. He was surrounded by a veritable retinue of Lords and Ladies, all in the hopes of getting a moment or two of his time and, more importantly, some of his grace.

The Duke motioned that way be made for Olaf, and he offered the taller, broader man a wide, fond smile. "Sir Olaf, 'tis good to see you! You almost look like a Talosian in that attire! And a very fine figure you cut!" His voice was hearty, full of respect and admiration for the younger warrior.

Olaf offered a broad smile in return. "Good Duke! You are, as ever, a master of flattery! I hope and pray that my tardiness does not offend, Sire!"

"Nay, my friend. It would be difficult for your presence to offend, tardy or otherwise! My heart lifts to see you here." Hillan laid an arm over Olaf's shoulder, casually leading him toward a somewhat more secluded location. A pair of well-dressed bodyguards read the Duke's signal and moved to ensure that no one would be within easy earshot.

"Once the ball is over, my friend, there will be a meeting to discuss the incident. I regret that it cannot be sooner, but these things cannot be interrupted. We cannot show that kind of weakness."

"Of course, Your Grace. Is there anything you believe that should be done before then? This attack felt directed, not random."

"Nothing other than to keep a close eye upon Krystia, which I know you will do anyway. I've grown quite fond of her since her arrival; I would not be happy were anything further to happen. And Krystia agreed with your sentiment on direction. I am truly glad you could make it this evening."

Olaf drew away from the Duke, favoring the elder with a respectful bow. "I will do all that is within my ability to do, my Lord, and all that is without my ability that I may manage."

"You are a shining example of the best of your Order, Sir Olaf. Go now, I believe Krystia will be overjoyed to see you."

"Thank you, Lord. Raverin's blessings go with you!"

Olaf left the Duke, who was almost immediately surrounded again. He noted how casually he handled the throng of people, how quickly he was able to organize them, making sure he had paid proper attention to each one as due their station. For a moment Olaf regretted that Nydaeran training did not stress that sort of behavior, especially for a Knight, and thus he had received little training in that capacity. Yet this regret passed quickly. Olaf knew his station in life, and his position in politics would never destined to be at the center. Comfort came in knowing he had a destiny, and a mission.

The crowd parted before him as he approached Krystia, giving him a glimpse of her for the first time this evening. Her light brown hair had been braided and wound up over her head, held in place by a silver pin. This left the light, olive complexion of her neck and shoulders visible for her suitors to admire. She wore green silk with ruffled sleeves and collar under a matching bodice that did a fabulous job of enhancing her décolletage. The ruffles of her skirt were also green, just slightly shorter than the white under-skirt that covered her ankles.

Olaf paused briefly, stunned into silence by the combination of this image and his head still spinning somewhat from the blow to the head. Rather than stammer, he simply bowed deeply before her.

Krystia stepped around two suitors toward Olaf, smiling brightly at him. "Sir Olaf, I was under the impression you would be unable to attend this evening! I am terribly glad that circumstances seem to have changed for you!"

Olaf rose, recovering his composure. "Lady Krystia, I must say, you look absolutely radiant this evening. Words are unable to express my sentiment fully."

Krystia blushed. "Oh, Sir Knight, you flatter me overmuch! And you will frighten away my suitors!"

Olaf laughed heartily. "That, I believe, is my job." He offered her a wink, then moved forward to give her a hug. Upon stepping back from this, "Speaking of your suitors, I must now be an hour behind. You must introduce me!"

Immediately the men around her leapt into action, all realizing that they must make a good impression upon Olaf if they wanted to continue as suitors.

The first to speak was clearly the most confident of the lot. He was also the youngest of them; barely old enough to be called a man. He had typical Talosian features, dark brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin and a large nose. "Sir Olaf, I believe we have not yet met. I am Rhaiss of House Cerril. I am very pleased to make the acquaintance of an honored Knight of Raverin!"

Olaf offered the man a short bow, sizing him up. Rhaiss held himself as one trained at swordplay, but early in his training. His muscles were lean, he kept active, but he did not appear to possess the awareness of a warrior yet. Of course, thought Olaf, this young man has plenty of time to learn those skills. "I am pleased to meet you, Lord. What is your relation to Baron Vaine?"

Rhaiss' smile widened. "I am his third son, and though I should not say so, I think I am his favorite."

Olaf chuckled. "Every son is a good father's favorite, Rhaiss. And your father is a good man."

Rhaiss, pleased by this high praise, offered a bow. The other young men standing around Krystia stepped back. All of them had previously met Olaf, and none of them could remember receiving such a compliment upon the first meeting. They looked at each other nervously, fearful of new competition.

Olaf looked at each of them. The first one he came across, Tiermos, he did not like at all. Fourth son to a Count, he had very little prospects for coming into wealth of his own. His military career had been a failure. Olaf felt that it took effort to for the nobility in Talos to fail in the military, where officer titles are given away and easy to keep. Tiermos was lazy, mean-tempered and not the sort that Olaf felt Krystia could marry and get any benefit. Olaf gave him a scowl and passed on, without a word. Tiermos stepped back and tried to become invisible.

The second boy, Riedan, was a step up. He had similar features to Rhaiss: dark brown hair and eyes, large hawkish nose. But he was built larger, broad at the shoulders as well as tall. He didn't have the carriage of someone well trained, though, and Olaf disapproved of that. Either his family did not put forth the effort, or Riedan did not. And Riedan was built like a man who could excel with a sword, and possibly go far in the military here. Or perhaps his family had other plans. Still, Olaf thought this one might possibly be redeemable, and he offered the boy a smile and a wink.

"Riedan, of House Rothsere, Sir. I believe we met a few weeks ago, at my father's hunting estate."

Olaf extended his right arm and Riedan clasped his forearm. "Aye, and as I recall your aim is still in need of a little work." Olaf smiled as the boy became embarrassed, because it was not often that he felt comfortable in a political maneuver. "Perhaps there is some opportunity there." He winked and released Riedan's hand, watching the boy's mental wheels churn as he tried to figure out Olaf's intent.

Olaf turned to the third boy. Tall and skinny, with very light hair, this boy was Nydaeran through his mother, and that naturally gave him an advantage in Olaf's eyes. Dusivo was his name. His family owned a mill outside of Talos, and not much else, and they didn't even have a title. But there was ambition there. Dusivo's father was a very crafty fellow, and had worked out a series of contracts that were bringing in far more money than most of Talos' nobility suspected. Yes, Olaf thought there was some potential here, but he feared there was not enough for one of Krystia's standing.

"Dusivo, my friend. How has your mother been?"

Dusivo frowned, a pained look settling in on his face. "I'm afraid she is ill, my Lord, and the priests fear there is little they can do for her. She asked me to tell you. She would like to see you again, before the…" Dusivo looked down, embarrassed that he had lost control of his words. He finished, lamely, "before the end."

Olaf nodded. "I will come see her as soon as is possible, then. You have my sympathies, Dusivo. She will be much missed."

Dusivo's announcement put a damper on the mood of the people around him. Krystia moved toward him to give him a hug as Olaf and Riedan watched. Rhaiss, however, glared a little. His thunder had been stolen from him by unfortunate circumstances.

Dusivo forced a smile and returned Krystia's hug. "Please, Lady, there is no need. I should not have spoken so boldly, and destroyed the mood. This is your event, not mine! Let's speak of happier things!"

Rhaiss stepped forward. "I believe the musicians are about to start up again. Krystia, would you do me the honor of a dance?"

Krystia giggled. "Please, Rhaiss. I think poor Dusivo here gets the first dance."

"Poor Dusivo! Please, please Lady, do not coddle me!"

Krystia grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the dance floor. "I don't wish to coddle you, Dusivo! I wish to dance with you!"

Dusivo gave Olaf a helpless look, who only grinned back. Rhaiss went back to glaring. Olaf leaned toward him and offered to Rhaiss, in low tones, "You would be wise to be more gracious. Women rarely approve of poor manners." He started to scowl, then realized his error. "I beg pardon, my Lord, for you are right. My manners are ill, tonight. I can only offer that I have had little experience as a suitor and pray that this experience helps me to improve."

Olaf grinned broadly. "Oh, my pardon is easy enough to gain." He pointed at Krystia, who had begun a waltz with Dusivo. "Hers is the one you should be concerned with. But I think she'll overlook it, this once."

Riedan interrupted, before that conversation could go any further. "Sir, forgive me for intruding, but I must ask. What happened to your nose?"

Olaf laughed loudly, rather too deliberately. "This? Oh, I had a bit of an altercation with a couple of street swine. One of them got in a lucky blow."

Rhaiss interjected, "Is that-." Then he thought better of it and closed his mouth.

"Yes, Rhaiss. That is why I was delayed. The injury appeared, at first, much worse than it truly was. There are a lot of blood vessels in the nose, and even a small injury can look very bad."

Rhaiss considered Olaf. "Of course." He turned away, but Riedan's interest was piqued. "Tell me about it? What's it like to get into a common brawl?"

Olaf laughed. He considered Riedan for a moment, and then launched into a completely fictional story about a street fight outside the tavern, while the three of them-four if you count Tiermos who was standing slightly apart from them, almost hiding-watched Krystia dance.

* * *

After the ball, the entire family gathered in the Duke's council chamber for a meeting. Olaf stood with Krystia at the foot of the table, while Duke Hillan stood with his wife Zirebeth at the head of the table. Around the table were members of the Teloran household: his eldest son Ethan, his younger son Bauldor, his youngest son Velian, his brothers Shane and Cinhil, their sons, and his cousins Tullen and Sevay. Jefrey was also there, along with a few other members of the House staff, who mostly remained unnoticed by the family.

Duke Hillan bade everyone to be seated. "My apologies to all for the delay in this meeting, but it was unavoidable. Krystia, will you tell everyone what happened?"

Krystia stood and explained the events around her kidnapping, praising Olaf for his ability to run down the kidnappers and rescue her. Olaf remained silent and expressionless during the explanation.

When she was done, she returned to her chair. The Duke looked around at the family. "This is a very serious matter to us. From the description, it sounds as though Krystia was intentionally targeted and had been followed, possibly for quite some time. Do any of you have any ideas on why someone might have done this?"

Ethan raised a hand. Ethan, the Duke's eldest son, was in his early twenties. His entire life had been spent in training on how to first serve the Duke, and then eventually to succeed the Duke when the inevitable happened. Ethan had always been carefully watched for too much ambition, and he very admirably kept any ambition he might have to remove the Duke and take his place squelched.

"Sire, my first guess would be that whoever planned this must know about Krystia's inheritance. Perhaps someone hoped to get his hands on that, for it is a sizable sum."

Hillan nodded, and several people murmured agreement. "I fear this theory. Her inheritance has been a secret as well kept as her lineage. If that is true, then either someone in the House has been talking, or someone in the House is behind this." He looked around at everyone, carefully gauging people's reactions. "If it turns out to be one of you, you can count on my reaction being very, very harsh."

Olaf scanned the faces. Tullen and Sevay both wore scowls. Neither of them particularly liked Krystia and both of them were quite far from having much say in the house. Their own children were having to find other means of support; the House could only keep so many, and the general rule was that second cousins had to go elsewhere, most often into the military in the hope of a grant.

Ethan frowned. "I don't see how any of us could have been behind this, Father! Isn't it a little early to throw around accusations as though we were a family of criminals?"

Hillan shook his head. "I offer no accusations, my son, but merely an opinion. I am open to further ideas."

Ethan looked at Krystia. "The man who grabbed you. Was he human? From your description he sounded as though he might be goblin. Or half goblin."

Krystia contemplated this while Hillan's concern seemed to grow. She said, "He might have been, I suppose. But not more than part goblin. He definitely didn't have goblin skin-tones. He smelled foul, though."

Bauldor spoke up. Bauldor was the smallest of the Duke's three sons. He was wiry and agile, but he did not inherit the physical strength that his brothers did. He was always very good at escaping, but not so good at attacking. This childhood attitude carried through into his demeanor and he always seemed conciliatory, rarely willing to stand up for himself.

"Perhaps he was disguising his nature? Goblins are well-known for hiding."

Krystia shook her head. "I don't…I don't believe so. Though I suppose it would be hard for me to tell, but I think he was most likely a half-breed."

Hillan nodded. "A half-breed then, most likely. Or a full-blooded goblin. Either way, that makes it even more certain they were hired. Jefrey, were our people able to recover the bodies?"

Jefrey, standing somewhat away from the table, shook his head. "Nay, Sire. There was blood at the site, but the bodies had been removed. Naturally nobody in the vicinity saw or heard anything."

Hillan shook his head. "No, of course not." To Olaf, "What do you think, Sir Knight?"

"They were thugs, Your Grace. They knew how to use a weapon but were not highly skilled in the art. That suggests they were expecting to get Krystia outside of my presence, or that they had simply underestimated my ability. Whoever hired them very likely overestimated their ability. And, obviously, there were more than just the ones we saw, to have efficiently removed the bodies. So they were organized. They may well be connected to the Guild. That will make them very difficult to trace."

Ethan scowled. "The Guild would never try to kidnap nobility. They know better than to anger one of us. The only reason they still exist is that they've never angered the Council enough to make a concerted effort to remove them."

Hillan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ethan, but that view is decidedly naïve. As long as they're useful to the other Dukes, they'll exist. Still, you are right in that they would not anger a Great House without good reason." He looked at Krystia. "Leading us back to our original problem. Someone took a great risk today. They will likely take more such risks."

Krystia nodded. To Hillan's surprise, her expression did not show fear, but it seemed instead she was plotting, thinking about the possibilities. Eliminating suspects from her view of the room. "I will take more precautions. I don't think I can cancel much of my social schedule without causing some alarm with the other Houses, though."

Hillan nodded. "No, we can't do that yet. Olaf, you may choose four of my men to help guard her for the moment. You can tell people that you're giving them some additional training. They might even believe that."

Olaf nodded. "Thank you, Your Grace. That will be very helpful."