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King Lagan ac Burinholt was sitting at the head of the table in the White Stone Council Chamber
when his son clattered into the room. And he was not alone. Ramil saw at once that most of his
ministers and three foreigners were with him. King Lagan frowned when he noticed the state of
his offspring, covered in mud and distinctly windblown, wearing clothes that little distinguished
him from the stable boys. A well-built man with brown hair silvering at the temples, Lagan
always appeared in simple but impressive robes when meeting foreign dignitaries. He did not
want them to forget that Gerfal, with its riches of mines and forests, was amongst the most
prosperous of the known nations. Today's robes of green velvet were edged with gold.
Underneath he wore a loose fitting black tunic and completed the ensemble with a circlet of
gold in the shape of intertwining branches.
Ramil did not need to be told that the servant had been overly eager to hurry him into the royal
presence. A stop at the palace baths would have been advisable. But, a prince to the core, he
decided it was best to pretend nothing was the matter.
"Father, I came as soon as your message reached me," he said, going down onto one knee on
the white paved floor.
"So we can see," the King said dryly. "Ambassadors, may I present His Royal Highness, Ramil ac Burinholt." Ramil bowed to the three ladies at his father's right hand, all from the Blue Crescent Islands from the look of their elaborate embroidered robes, veils and
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white-painted faces. They stood in unison and folded in the low bow due to royalty, even mud-
stained young princes.
"Ambassadors, your presence does our court great honor," Ramil acknowledged them,
wondering secretly what on earth had brought these envoys from the other end of the known
world. The Islands lay far to the west, a long sea voyage around the lands of the Spearthrower's
empire. A dangerous journey not to be undertaken lightly, thanks to the depredations of the
warlord's imperial Pirate Fleet.
The King rose, giving the signal for all to do likewise.
"Ladies, now you have seen my son, let us reconvene this time tomorrow, giving you a chance to
recover from your arduous voyage."
The ambassadors bowed again, this time a shade lower as fitting for a monarch.
"Ramil, come with me." Lagan beckoned his son to follow him into the retiring room behind the king's dais.
Perplexed, Ramil trailed after his father. Lagan dismissed the servants, threw a log on the fire,
and sat down in an armchair with a grunt of contentment. Compared to the White Stone
Chamber, it was a comfortable room, much like an old slipper after the pinch of formal
footwear. Ramil felt more at ease in his muddy clothes and slumped in his favorite chair.
"Wine? Kava?" Lagan offered his son a drink from a tray set ready on a low table. Ramil accepted a cup of the dark, bitter kava that had been his mother's preference.
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"Sorry about that," Ramil said awkwardly, gesturing to himself and then into the hall. "The messenger made it sound as if I had to come at once."
"A wise king never hurries without knowing to what he goes," said Lagan, quoting from the Book of Monarchs, one of Ramil's least favorite texts from his days in the schoolroom.
"Yes, but the wise son jumps when his father whistles," Ramil countered.
Lagan laughed. "How true. Never mind all that now: I have something very serious to discuss
with you."
"Would it have to do with the ambassadors, by any chance?"
Lagan nodded and sipped his wine. "You won't have failed to notice that Holt has been regarding
us with less than friendly eyes of late."
Ramil nodded. The coast had been raided by so-called pirates--really privateers working for the
warlord of Holt, Fergox Spearthrower. There had been several skirmishes along the border
between Gerfalian troops and men from Holt's latest conquest, Brigard. War had not yet been
declared but it was already being fought.
"The Blue Crescent Islands have also had their fair share of attention from the warlord. In our
different ways, we represent the next logical conquests for Holt."
"But that'll never happen," Ramil objected. "Gerfalians will never let Spearthrower invade. We'll fight his armies street by street, field by field--"
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Lagan held up his hand. "I know, Ram, I know. But I also know that the Brigardians had a brave
army, as
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well equipped and trained as ours. They did not give in easily, but yet they fell."
"They were starved into submission. Fergox cut them off by sea--that's what broke them."
Lagan sipped his wine. "I'm glad to see you've been paying attention at council. I will never again say that your glazed look is because you are daydreaming. But you are right. Fergox exerts his
power by both land and sea. We might be able to match him with our armies, but we will never
be the equal of the Pirate Fleet. That's why we need an alliance with the Blue Crescent."
Ramil nodded. It made perfect sense. The Crescent navy was famed
throughout the known world for its strength as a fighting force. Used mainly to defend the
waters of the Sapphire Ocean, the four Crown Princesses could call on at least a thousand ships
with highly skilled crews who also trained as land-based fighters. These marines were a
remarkably versatile force, even more surprising in Ramil's view because half of them were
female. Women did not train for combat in Gerfal. But the Islands were a long way away and
though Gerfal and the Blue Crescent were not enemies, neither were they exactly friends. Their
cultures were worlds apart.
"So how are we going to make this alliance? I can see we will benefit from their navy. What do
they get from us?"
"Initially, raw materials and promise of military support in the event they are attacked. We do
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not know
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which country Fergox is going to strike first, but we both have an interest in seeing the other
survive. And there's something else too."
"Oh?" Ramil was feeling tired after his long morning of riding. He yawned.
For all the threats to Gerfal, his father appeared to be on top of everything.
He had little to do but approve the sound preparations for their defense.
"What else?"
"A royal alliance."
"What?"
"In short, you."
All tiredness vanished. "No! I'm not marrying one of their matriarchs. I don't want a white-
painted she-witch as a wife."
Lagan frowned. He had expected his son to react like this, which was why he was holding this
meeting in private. Prejudice against the strange people of the Blue Crescent ran deep in
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Gerfal--indeed the King was not too keen on them himself.
"Not a matriarch. The match is to be with one of the Crown Princesses."
"But that's no better," thundered Ramil. "She could be anyone--the most recent one was
dragged from the gutter if the stories are to be believed."
Lagan sucked his teeth, waiting for his son to finish his outburst.
"There's no royal bloodline--just a series of nobodies dressed up in stupid costumes! Heaven's
sake, Father, they prize poetry and paper-folding over swordsmanship. I doubt a native of the