with your cronies from the Captures team. The Baroness Kartye wants to see me. I'll be back."
„You didn't change her mind," Prataxis said.
„I know. We open the Thing tomorrow. Anything you want to tell them?"
„The discussions were fruitful. The legion in the Gap will allow passage of traders beginning two weeks from tomor row. Transport and sale of weapons won't be permitted. Caravaneers will be allowed customary defensive arms. Western caravans won't be allowed east of Throyes. Deal ings with Argon, Necremnos, and their tributaries have to be handled through Throyen intermediaries. And we're advised that trade with Matayanga is contingent on the daily military situation."
„Don't sound all that unreasonable to me."
„There'll be squawkers. It's weighted toward the Throyens."
„In this country somebody is always crying about some thing. Their caravans will be in the race to get through the Gap anyway."
„Anyone who can afford to assemble a caravan has one put together already. They'll trample each other when I say the magic words."
„Then I wasted a lot of people's time, having them hang around to talk to you."
„There are thoughts to be aired. Viewpoints to share."
„They weren't sharing anything with anybody last week."
„Let me make them mad. They'll say what they're think ing."
„I don't... ."
Women screamed near Abaca's Marena Dimura group. Men shouted angrily. Ragnarson heard steel meet steel.
He flung himself off his throne. „Get the hell out of my way!" he roared as he pushed through the crowd. Taller than most of his guests, he saw the surge as the Guards moved in. Good. They had been on their toes. He had not expected to get through the evening without at least one fracas. „Will you get the hell out of my road?" he snarled at a heavy old matron. She promptly threatened a faint.
The Guards had the men separated when he got there. One was Credence Abaca. The other was a young gentleman of the Estates, the son of a baron in town for the Thingmeet. The Baron himself was shoving through the crowd.
Abaca and the youth both shouted accusations. „Shut up!" Ragnarson snapped. „You first." He indicated the younger man.
„He made improper advances to my sister." The young noble was sullen and defensive. It was an attitude increas ingly common to his class.
„Credence?"
„I asked her to dance, sir." Abaca had regained his aplomb. Perhaps he had not lost it. He was a tactician in more than the military sense. He was a master manipulator and could be as heartless as a spider. There was no apology in his manner.
„That's all?"
„On my honor, Sire."
„You have no honor, you. ..."
„Shut your mouth, boy," Ragnarson snapped. „You're in up to your ears now." He looked for the woman in question. Her father had driven her away from the confrontation. The man wore a thin smile of anticipation. Ragnarson wondered if it hadn't been Abaca who had been maneuvered this time. The Estates remained mortally offended because a Marena Dimura had been appointed second in command of the army. Only the most trustworthy Nordmen were permitted to participate professionally.
Ragnarson turned to the youth. „You dared draw a blade in the Palace? Against one of my officers?"
The Nordmen would not keep his mouth shut. „Some body has to teach these... these... animals their place. I challenge!"
„You don't have a right to challenge," Ragnarson told him.
„I'll accept anyway," Abaca said. He was a small, lean, olive man. He had big black mustachios and deep lines in his face. His dark little pupils were flakes of obsidian.
„Credence!" Bragi said. „That's enough." Abaca stepped back, relaxed. He had superb self-control. „Good." Bragi faced the youth. „Son, you committed a felony. The Estates are allowed their weapons in the Palace, but you don't have a right to use them." He indicated the Marena Dimura group. Only Abaca was armed. „That's an honor, not a right. You abused it. You
„You didn't change her mind," Prataxis said.
„I know. We open the Thing tomorrow. Anything you want to tell them?"
„The discussions were fruitful. The legion in the Gap will allow passage of traders beginning two weeks from tomor row. Transport and sale of weapons won't be permitted. Caravaneers will be allowed customary defensive arms. Western caravans won't be allowed east of Throyes. Deal ings with Argon, Necremnos, and their tributaries have to be handled through Throyen intermediaries. And we're advised that trade with Matayanga is contingent on the daily military situation."
„Don't sound all that unreasonable to me."
„There'll be squawkers. It's weighted toward the Throyens."
„In this country somebody is always crying about some thing. Their caravans will be in the race to get through the Gap anyway."
„Anyone who can afford to assemble a caravan has one put together already. They'll trample each other when I say the magic words."
„Then I wasted a lot of people's time, having them hang around to talk to you."
„There are thoughts to be aired. Viewpoints to share."
„They weren't sharing anything with anybody last week."
„Let me make them mad. They'll say what they're think ing."
„I don't... ."
Women screamed near Abaca's Marena Dimura group. Men shouted angrily. Ragnarson heard steel meet steel.
He flung himself off his throne. „Get the hell out of my way!" he roared as he pushed through the crowd. Taller than most of his guests, he saw the surge as the Guards moved in. Good. They had been on their toes. He had not expected to get through the evening without at least one fracas. „Will you get the hell out of my road?" he snarled at a heavy old matron. She promptly threatened a faint.
The Guards had the men separated when he got there. One was Credence Abaca. The other was a young gentleman of the Estates, the son of a baron in town for the Thingmeet. The Baron himself was shoving through the crowd.
Abaca and the youth both shouted accusations. „Shut up!" Ragnarson snapped. „You first." He indicated the younger man.
„He made improper advances to my sister." The young noble was sullen and defensive. It was an attitude increas ingly common to his class.
„Credence?"
„I asked her to dance, sir." Abaca had regained his aplomb. Perhaps he had not lost it. He was a tactician in more than the military sense. He was a master manipulator and could be as heartless as a spider. There was no apology in his manner.
„That's all?"
„On my honor, Sire."
„You have no honor, you. ..."
„Shut your mouth, boy," Ragnarson snapped. „You're in up to your ears now." He looked for the woman in question. Her father had driven her away from the confrontation. The man wore a thin smile of anticipation. Ragnarson wondered if it hadn't been Abaca who had been maneuvered this time. The Estates remained mortally offended because a Marena Dimura had been appointed second in command of the army. Only the most trustworthy Nordmen were permitted to participate professionally.
Ragnarson turned to the youth. „You dared draw a blade in the Palace? Against one of my officers?"
The Nordmen would not keep his mouth shut. „Some body has to teach these... these... animals their place. I challenge!"
„You don't have a right to challenge," Ragnarson told him.
„I'll accept anyway," Abaca said. He was a small, lean, olive man. He had big black mustachios and deep lines in his face. His dark little pupils were flakes of obsidian.
„Credence!" Bragi said. „That's enough." Abaca stepped back, relaxed. He had superb self-control. „Good." Bragi faced the youth. „Son, you committed a felony. The Estates are allowed their weapons in the Palace, but you don't have a right to use them." He indicated the Marena Dimura group. Only Abaca was armed. „That's an honor, not a right. You abused it. You
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