THEGAN TURNED TO look down at the map spread out over a side table. It showed the Domains in detail, and an outline of other lands as well. It was the largest map Leof knew. He had seen it before, many times, and every time there was more information marked on it — more details about the Wind Cities, about the Ice King’s land, about the Wild Shore on the other side of the Eastern Sea, and the Long Coast beyond the Wind Cities. He saw now that the area above Foreverfroze had been filled in — although there was not much to mark in the freezing lands. Leof wondered which of Thegan’s agents had ventured so far north.
“We could make this a great country, Leof,” Thegan said somberly. “We talk about the Wind Cities with awe because they are so rich, yet the Domains are ten times their size and more fertile. But when they trade, they speak with one voice. They play us off against each other and we let them. We must speak with one voice.”
“And that voice will be yours,” Leof said. The words came out without thought, and he tensed against Thegan’s reaction. But Thegan took it as a compliment, or maybe a vote of confidence, because he laid his hand on Leof’s shoulder and shook it gently.
“One day. Soon, perhaps.” Then a sudden gaiety overtook him, as it did sometimes when they talked about the future. “We’re going to need a new name,” he declared, smiling. “A fitting name for our united country. What about Actonsland?”
“What about Thegansland?” Leof countered, smiling back.
Thegan laughed, but shook his head. “No, we need something to unite us, not set us quarreling. ‘Thegansland’ would be seen as a boast, a spit in the face.”
“Sornsland, then,” Leof said, only half-joking. “She will be a most beloved Overlady, and they would see it as a romantic gesture. Particularly since she will be bearing your heirs.”
Thegan had laughed at the idea of Sornsland, but at the last sentence his brows came together and his mouth hardened. Part of Leof watched him with satisfaction. Yes, there was some problem there that bothered him. But Thegan recovered himself quickly.
“Still too divisive, lad,” he said. “Actonsland will bring us all together.”
“Except the Travelers,” Leof said.
Thegan shrugged. “They ceased to matter a thousand years ago. They’re nothing.”
“Except this raiser of the dead. He’s likely Traveler blood,” Leof reminded him.
Thegan looked at him with puzzlement. “You’ve changed. You’re more serious than you were. Older.”
Flushing, Leof looked away. “You shouldn’t have put me in charge,” he tried to joke. “That’s enough to give gray hairs to anyone.”
Thegan smiled and nodded. “But is anything better than being in command?” he asked, not needing an answer, and dismissed Leof to his meal with a gesture as he sat at his desk and began reading Leof’s report.
Leof left the office with the last comment echoing in his head. It was true for Thegan — to be in command, to be in charge, was the best thing possible. Power — Leof couldn’t quite understand it. Of course, it was a good feeling when your men obeyed you, trusted you to give them the right orders, followed you into battle and committed themselves, body and soul, to supporting you. There was nothing like that wave of loyalty and trust, buoying you up so that you were greater than you could ever be on your own. But after battle? Command was the boring part of being an officer, Leof had always thought. Making inspections, reading and writing reports, having to take responsibility… Well, his mother had always said he was irresponsible, except with his men. She claimed that he would have been married long since and given her grandchildren if he’d had any sense of family responsibility. Perhaps she was right. He’d worked hard as Thegan’s officer, but he’d played hard, too. He smiled at the memory of the chases, the girls, the hunting. Just as well I’m not ambitious, he thought wryly. The last thing Thegan wants is an officer who really yearns to command.