Delia cast her eyes over the barges nearest her. The sun had nearly set below the tree line, which signaled that the telcast was soon to begin. The temperature had already dropped, and people were bundled up, their dinner ready, their pets safely with them. They mostly sat on their barges, eyes fastened on the lake, waiting for the Baron’s speech.

Nobody missed one of Kordas’s addresses, and not just because they needed to know what he had to say. It was that Kordas was entertaining and reassuring, too. His speeches had revealed a highly charismatic man that most of the folk responded to as the voice of a guiding commander. Delia didn’t recall him being as compelling a speaker back when they had been home, but then, she hadn’t often seen him acting in the official role of Duke. She found herself hanging on his words like everyone else was, and there was none of the restlessness and muttering she often heard when news was being spread or when some of the entertainment was going on. Even the occasional breeze with ice in its teeth didn’t dissuade people from sitting out here along the lake to listen to him.

Beltran adjusted the brass hoops and arms of the telcaster, twisting one to increase its brightness. Out on the water, visible to everyone on either side of the shoreline, the blue of the background came into existence, only a glowing blue ovoid right now. As Beltran altered the angle of several arms, the wrinkles in the backdrop were distinguishable in the lake image, and the white splotch in the lower quarter resolved into text. “Evening News,” it read, followed by “Variety Show” and “Night Music.” A few seconds’ time with a pen, and a new card replaced it, reading “SUNDOWN—BARON’S ADDRESS TO ALL—HEAR AND WITNESS.” It was a phrase born in Valdemar, in fact, known to everyone from schoolchild to elder. It was a polite way of saying, “Technically this is not mandatory, but you’d regret missing it.”

Delia watched Kordas with more attention than her work actually called for, as he took command of everyone’s attention. Whether he was telling mundane facts or describing a disaster, Kordas gave the impression that he was right there, to handle it personally. Maybe more importantly, that he was supposed to be there. People respond to confident speakers, even if their messages are bunk, she thought, and he doesn’t tolerate bunk. When the Baron of Valdemar spoke, even if the news was bad, he was someone to be counted on.

Someone might fall in love with Kordas for that alone, she thought, and smiled.

The telcaster’s arms were locked in place, and the glow in the bowl was matched by a glow from the lake. A flickering red light on the telcaster’s face gradually became a steady one. It was time.

Herald Beltran placed a last card in the cradle, which read “BARON’S INTRODUCTION,” and stepped in front of the backdrop. “Hear all, see all, Official Pronouncements of Law and Profundity will be spoken tonight. Welcome now your leader, your head of state, architect of your prosperity, Kordas, Baron of the Expedition.”

The applause that followed was riddled with hull-stamping, whistling, barking, and whoops of enthusiasm. Only the cats failed to comment.

Kordas stepped into the telcaster’s view on the shore, and on the Lake, a towering, brightly glowing version of him did the same. He wore his circlet, and nothing especially ornamental except for a triple-chained clasp for his mantle, bearing a gleaming enameled Valdemar family crest. It sent the subtle hint that this was not only an address by the Baron, it was something personal to him. He raised his hands, and spoke when the cheers had died down.

“Valdemarans. Friends. Allies, Guests, and Wards. We all understand that as we brave the challenges of this journey, anyone may become annoyed or angry to some degree, and that can be handled. Today, I judged a man called Donat Benin guilty of a serious crime. The crime today, however, was no simple venting of stress or armed conflict. It was a despicable act: a near-lethal assault by someone who, by my judgment, had studied the Dolls around him and, knowing they could think and feel, chose to engage one in violent torture past the point a human would have been murdered.”

The implication there being that if he’d do that to Dolls, he’d do it to humans too—if he hadn’t already, Delia thought. Kordas is coming out swinging. This obviously means more to him than just a speech. Beltran stood beside the telcaster’s table. His hands moved impossibly quickly, transcribing Kordas’s words onto cards, then dropping them in place on the telcaster’s bookstand-turned-card-rack before the ink was anywhere near dry. Not everyone on the expedition had perfect hearing, after all, and this way anyone could read the words below the Baron’s image.

“The criminal was seized, charged, and sentenced before there could be any more victims. I’ll repeat now what I’ve declared in the past: Dolls are to be treated as you would treat your neighbor. They are not property, servants, or slaves. They are not the same as you, but their lives are equal to yours, and of equal value. That someone in our situation would willfully cause such savage harm to a Doll is reprehensible. We should be better than that—we all should be better than that.”

Murmurs of assent, and nodding to each other, probably told Kordas what this small audience thought as he spoke, allowing him ease to work the much larger crowd facing the lake.

“What the Dolls graciously do for us now derives from my promise to free them, once we know how. Assault any Doll, and you assault a friend of mine. Remember that. One day, sooner than you might imagine, they will be gone from our lives. What they do for us now, we will entirely have to do for ourselves. In my opinion, we should all thank the Dolls, for while we rescued them, they continue to rescue us. To torture one is—unforgivable.”

Kordas let the silence go on two beats too long. It was clear that he meant the pause to be uncomfortable, for his next words were harsh and uncompromising. The muscles of his jaw tightened, and his eyes grew hard.

“To that end, the penalty for serious lawbreaking will now be exile. A fortnight of provisions, a knife, and through a Gate you go, and may any god who will still claim you have pity on you. The trip is one-way. The exit is random. If you’re lucky, you’ll arrive where you can find shelter and live as a scavenger—briefly. If you are not lucky, you’ll be conscripted into the front lines of whichever conflict you stagger in on. If you are very unlucky, your last few breaths may be in the smoldering ruins of the Capital. Further, if you are guilty of High Violation, I’ll send you through bleeding, on a raft made of scrap, without a boat or goods. Those exiled will be drugged hard, and should you wake, you won’t remember us, your crimes, or even who you are for quite some time. If ever. You will no longer be our problem.”

Even from the shore, Delia could hear intakes of breath around the flotilla. I guess that’s the sound of thousands of people suddenly evaluating themselves. And in the Empire, a noble would pretend nothing bad had happened, not make a point of it.

“I’m going to say this now, because the assault I judged today sharpened the need for it. Could any who meet us ever trust us, if they saw what Donat Benin did? No, and rightly so. This new land is only new to us. To the people already here when the first barges came through, we are likely the largest population they have ever heard of, with strange magic, fierce weapons, and incomprehensible language. We must look like an endless, invading army. We are not an army! We’re not going to conquer anything by force of arms. We will defend ourselves from raids, wildlife, and magical attacks, and we will not act like the ruined Empire would, training and traditions be damned, by clearing our path via slaughter and annexation. Friends, it is a fool’s mistake to turn away from the truth. What we do, how we actually live away from the negotiating table, is who we really are. Whatever the worst of us does, though it may be one in a thousand of us, is an undeniable part of who we are as a people. To speak of trade, peace, and discovery to the locals’ faces yet commit crimes upon our own is something we should be damned for. We can not puff up and assume that ‘if our side did it, it must be right.’

“I say that the best way to appear trustworthy, likable, and respectable is to be those things. Not a veneer glued over a cracked, crumbling foundation, but rather, all of us actually being as strong and adaptable as we could be. If one of us is cruel, hateful, or criminal, that one not only harms us directly, they harm us indirectly, because we never know who is watching us at the time. In military terms, there is great wisdom in the saying, Don’t provoke the natives. They already surround you.”

The smattering of grunts and chuckles were all, no doubt, from campaign survivors.

He paused for effect, and then held his hands palm out and upward. “My people. My brave people. Many of you are still in shock over the loss of our old homes and ways. Many are anxious about our future. I understand. We were raised on tales of great deeds, and we can exemplify what we admire in songs and stories. I say that the best heroes are those who show that what they dared can be done. They aren’t to be looked at from a distance as a novelty, they are inspirations. We can be heroes up close, in our own ways.

“I say to you, plainly, it is better to live with a measure of danger than a certainty of mediocrity. We have to be a band of brothers and sisters. This is an expedition with laws, but more than that, we must regulate our behavior in day-to-day life. From that, we build a reputation. Think on tolerance. Work out how to swap, buy, and bargain for peace. When you can tell that a fight is building, back off. Disengage. Take some time. Let someone negotiate for you, call a truce, or work on solving whatever upset you. Don’t let it fester like a boil. Lance it, and heal up.”

Delia nodded. I bet beating and sentencing Donat Benin today felt like lancing a boil.

“The malignancy of divisiveness, given the chance to creep deeper, would rot us. You need to truly consider that your neighbor’s beliefs are as valid as yours, and not disparage or impair those beliefs. Even if your beliefs dictate that you must evangelize, or fight others—not here, and not now. The expedition comes first. The whole of us comes first.

“If you find in your heart that you cannot face your gods with that compromise, we will not judge you as lesser, and we will help you pack. The return Gate to Valdemar will be opened one more time so you may be faithful to your beliefs.

“About your beliefs. If you want to make a nod to a god when it occurs to you, or wear your faith’s symbols and colors, or wear a sieve on your head and chant at a chicken if you feel like it, go ahead. Just support each other. I don’t ask you to like everyone you encounter on this journey, but I demand that you treat them with respect. Anyone who disparages you for following this rule is going to answer to me.” He made a fist with his right hand, and Delia wondered if that was the same fist that he beat the criminal with. “I hope that’s clear.”

Kordas paused a moment, then resumed with a tone of annoyance, “And I don’t want to hear some pedant whine, ‘But what if they’re a cannibal? Do they get to do what they want?’ or other nonsense to complicate the matter. I don’t have time for hypothetical but whatabouts, nor do I want any of you to think this is an excuse for bad behavior. Work specifics out with your home-group, your headmen, and your adjudicators.”

He let that sink in for a moment, looking around as if he was gazing over the entire lakeside. There was little feedback from that, but Delia counted that as good. It might mean people are actually thinking about his words, rather than only listening enough to build a rebuttal. I think he’s had enough of people who’d work out three arguments against him while he was still speaking, instead of listening to what he said.

“We are not so naive as to think ‘just be nice to each other’ can solve all problems. In brutal honesty, this isn’t even about friendliness at its core, but rather, this is for our survival. Heed this message well: strife between any of us means more risk to all of us. Inflexible thinking can kill, out here. We are new here—and we are renewed here. We are the ones who must change.”

He gestured widely, toward the sun’s remaining glow, and spoke in a lower voice. “There, further than you can yet see, the land was ravaged by our ancestors in a terrible war, fought by inconceivably powerful magicians about five hundred years ago. Proximity to that area is what shields us from being found by the remains of the Empire in the east, so obviously, we will go into the west. We will take care to find a good spot, where either the locals ask us to stay, or where the land is empty of any intelligent creature that claims it.

“I put much thought into this for years, and examined whether it was truly viable as a policy. I thought through how it could be exploited or twisted, as all things can be. There is a risk to living like this, without any doubt, but looked at from every angle, I found it more than possible. It is vital. Yet it is not something that can be made into a law without compromising the nature of law itself, and your freedom to live as you will. I call upon you to heed my wish. I call you to a Path.

“A Path is a belief embraced across all religions, toward a worthy goal. Unless we embrace this essential rationality, history has shown us that any population will factionalize beyond repair—split by region, by city, by coast or inland, by religion, or by who they love, or fear, or hate. Inflexible rulership over unhappy people shatters nations. The absence of this Path caused deep and deadly flaws in the Empire, leading to, well, what happened to it. Our Path, for the future of our expedition, for the well-being of those we befriend, for the land and spirits, is this.

“There is no one, true way.”

The silence around the lake was so deep, and so profound, that all Delia could hear were the few late frogs that were still about, trying to catch the last insects before they buried themselves in the mud for the winter.

“There are many true ways. The unspoken truth of the Empire was that we all lived in terror of being discovered as innovative and exceptional, for that would be the end for us—either taken away to some secret fate in the Capitol, or charged and punished for audacity. We dreaded even making sense in the face of the bureaucracy, and feared the abuse that would come to everyone we loved from daring it. Even inventing a new tool could draw scrutiny for treason, for it showed too much power-threatening free thinking. We lost chances at a better life by the day there. We died of diseases we had cures for, because some noble blocked the cure’s production until they could squeeze power from it. We all suffered from obeying a system that would not, and eventually, could not question itself. We all became rigid, and that became a deadly belief in there being only one ‘true way’ for everything—the Empire’s way. I say to you, this is not the Empire.

“Embrace new ways of adapting to strange things. When you find yourself thinking the Imperial way, remember the Path. We are people with a purpose. Ours is not a flood of misery, fleeing all that we knew. This is an evacuation from an empire’s collapse, which will become in time a new nation, if we stay together, yet draw the lessons of the new land into us.

“We’ll make our journey, we’ll support each other, and in the end, we will grow and prosper as the Empire would never allow us to do. Kindness will bring us allies. Tolerance will keep us together and make us stronger. All of us, helping all of us. I trust you, people of the Valdemar Expedition. I believe in this Path, I believe in our future, and I believe in you.”

That closing hit home, shattering anxieties like they were cracked pottery. Thunderous applause and foot-stamping arose from all directions. He smiled, the sort of smile that could melt ice in the midst of a blizzard and make it happy that it was a liquid now. Kordas gestured and nodded his thanks to those around him, which through the telcaster looked like he was accepting approval and praise from the whole flotilla. Below him were the words, “And I believe in you.”

Delia saw Kordas’s eyes flick to Beltran, who returned a little smile, nodded once, and readied his pen. That must be the cue he’s done.

Kordas called for quiet with one more gesture, and said, “Now. The locals made it quite clear that we were welcome as guests, but you all know the saying, fish and guests stink after three days, and we’ve been here rather more than three days. It’s time to move on.” There were chuckles from his audience, no doubt due to the break in tension that the joke provided.

“Here is Herald Beltran, with today’s news and entertainment.”

Kordas stepped out of the telcaster’s focus and went to Isla’s side, joining her and the boys. Beltran, who had made himself the daily news-teller starting with reciting his own terrifying eyewitness account of the Capital falling to the angry Earth Elemental, took his place. He beamed cheerfully around as if he could see every single person around the lake. “Good evening, friends and fellows of the Valdemar Expedition and Beyond! The first news of today is that the Gate on the other side of the marshes, on the north end of the lake, is now up and tested. That means we can begin moving at any moment, so those of you who are ready to start now are asked to unmoor your barges, requisition as many tow animals as you need, and make your way to the west horn of the lake where the exit Gate is. Some of the Guard are already in place on the other side of the marshes to protect you once you come through. Barges will be leaving in strings of eight. If you have less than that number of barges yourself, please organize with someone else to add your barges to their string. . . . ”

“That went better than I expected,” Kordas said, as Jon snuggled up against his father and promptly fell asleep. “At least no one declared me a tyrant and took a shot at me. I don’t see torches, pitchforks, and a burning effigy approaching, either.”

He spoke clearly enough that Delia figured his words had not been meant for Isla’s ears alone. But she couldn’t think of a proper response, so she just laughed a little nervously. “Well, my love, they haven’t had time for it to properly sink in yet,” Isla pointed out. “In the morning . . .”

“I fully expect we’ll have some more people electing to go back,” he said into her pause. “That’s why I’m keeping the Gate at this end of the lake open a little longer. If anyone has been ignoring the danger this caravan is going into until now, I am pretty certain I made it clear. And if anyone has someone they can’t tolerate in the group that’s going, they may elect to turn back.”

“There are going to be some who will decide by morning that they don’t want to go back, but they don’t want to go on, either,” Isla said thoughtfully. “They’ll want to know why we can’t stay here, even though you explained it. But I have a suggestion.”

Kordas made a little gesture of encouragement, as Beltran talked on in the background.

Isla continued. “I’ll ride around to the headmen of the local villages, and get their agreement on how many people they are prepared to allow to make a village of their own here on the lake. When we know that, we’ll be ready with an answer if a new lot of people decide they want to stay.”

“That’s a better solution than I had, which was none, because I haven’t had time to think about it,” he sighed. “That’s why we’re good partners. Good plan, and it will be a ‘first to ask, first to allow’ basis. Once the quota is filled, they must come with us or go back.”

“Of course, whatever town or hold they build here, it may be populated by those who want to be hateful, but don’t want to go back,” Isla half-joked.

“Eternal optimist!” Kordas accused.

Beltran concluded his “town crier” function and yielded the stage to a pair with a fiddle and a gittern. They weren’t expert musicians by any means, but they knew their audience and their own abilities, and were pleasant enough to listen to. He came over to join their little group, plopping himself down on a corner of a blanket, next to Delia. “I hope I didn’t make a complete hash of that,” Kordas said, as he always did.

“You really need to stop saying that,” Delia told him. “You always do fine, and it sounds like you are fishing for compliments.” That came out a bit harsher than she had intended, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “I’ve certainly had enough practice by now that I shouldn’t be making a hash of it.”

Isla tsked. “Kordas, that was good. You hit all the right notes, and it was honest and sincere. People can tell. I don’t think there is going to be much muttering, except from the headaches you just caused by making them think so much. And you’ve set important precedents—there are fifteen-thousand-something people here who now know what the level of tolerance is going to be and what the ultimate punishment is going to be. Sending scum back to an unknown Imperial destination is better than deciding what warrants an execution.”

“I thought about that,” Kordas admitted. “And summary execution is not off the table in the case of someone caught red-handed in a murder or other High Violation. I’m not at all sure that this sort of exile is more merciful than an execution,” he added, sardonically. “But it does have just enough ‘escape’ built in that I appear merciful and keep my hands clean.”

Isla grimaced. “Well, that’s something else I can do: I can find out who were the village judges and the like, and pull them into the adjudicator ranks so that when we need them, we have them at hand to do all of the trying and judgments exactly as they did at home. We’ll allow appeal to you, but that will mean you aren’t the one handing down the verdicts. So far, thank the gods, most people have been kept too busy to get into mischief. Some of them are actually enjoying it.”

“Nothing has gotten too bad yet. We’ve had a few deaths, accidents mainly, a few dozen fistfights and thefts. Who knows how many children have been conceived in the name of emotional comfort,” Beltran put in. “That isn’t an immediate problem yet. I’ll collate the informants’ reports an extra time each day, though, just until the dust from your address settles. Better to know where trouble is coming from early.”

“Why can’t people just behave themselves?” Delia blurted. “We have enough problems without—”

But Kordas laughed sardonically. “Because people are people and there are good ones and bad ones and mostly middling ones. Grandfather and Father and I always knew there was a chance we’d get some bad apples along with the good, and we were never able to figure out a test to apply to tell which was which before they made trouble. So we’ll have to work things out as we go along, using the model of how the Duchy worked, and somehow apply it to a population that is strung out over a long distance, on the move, and probably in constant danger.”

“Well,” said a strange, female voice. “At least you’ve got a firm grasp of things. I was a little afraid that you’d be one of those well-meaning boobies who thinks everyone is good, they’re just misunderstood.”

“No one who was raised as a hostage in the Capital would ever be under that illusion,” Kordas replied, standing up to meet the person coming out of the shadows behind the stage. Two of Kordas’s guards, who had been “lounging” nearby, immediately but discreetly stood up too, and casually put their hands on their weapon hilts. But the woman stopped well out of striking distance, and bowed to the Baron. She didn’t seem to be one for curtsying, so, probably ex-military.

When she stood up again, she spread her hands wide to show she was unarmed, then clapped slowly. “That was an excellent speech. And with what I’ve learned since I got here, I think I can assume you mean every bit of it?”

Kordas eyed her. “Don’t try me,” he warned.

“I have absolutely no intention of doing so,” she replied. “Actually I was told to come talk to you in person by your Guard Captain, and once you had finished your speech, this seemed like a good, quiet time. I rather doubt you’re going to have anyone itching to speak to you about it until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Kordas got to his feet. “Let’s find a place to talk.”

Kordas left his family to listen to whatever the rest of the evening’s entertainment was going to be, and headed for the nearest common kitchen, trailed by the strange woman and flanked by his two guards, who were keeping a sharp eye on her. He noticed that Rose had also detached herself from the family group and joined them. They didn’t have too far to go. As he expected, the kitchen was “dark”: no one in it, and only the faint warmth from the banked ovens and the yeasty smell of rising bread to tell what the business of the place was in the daytime. He found an empty bucket, overturned it, and sat on it, inviting the woman to do the same, but she remained standing. The guards stood one on either side of her, in easy weapons-reach. Rose joined him. He conjured a small mage-light in his hand and sent it to hover higher than her head, glowing in the air between them, so that they could see each other.

What he saw was a tough-looking woman, a bit short of middle age, if he was any judge. Dark-haired, dark skinned, dark eyed. And . . . wearing an Imperial uniform. A very well-tailored Imperial uniform, so it wasn’t stolen, and she was clearly no stupid recruit.

“How did you manage not to get skinned by someone, wearing that?” he asked.

She laughed. “The Valdemar badge your Guard Captain kindly gave me as soon as I was vouched for by my Valdemaran cousin. A lot of us only had the clothes on our backs when we went through, so nobody’s too critical of a uniform. Story first, or what brought me to you tonight first?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and settled into his seat. “Story first. You seem like the type to make a long story as short as possible.”

“I’m from Belkenny,” she said, which he immediately recognized as a town in the Duchy of Penrake, and just across from the Valdemar border. “I have kin in Briarglen in Valdemar. Name’s Master Sergeant Fairweather. I was in the Penrake Guard, and when my two idiot cousins drank too much one night and got tricked into taking the Emperor’s penny, with the Duke’s permission I enlisted to keep an eye on them.” Her generous mouth quirked in a sardonic smile. “Between demonstrations that I know what I’m doing, and a few carefully placed bribes, I managed to become and stay their officer. As I saw it, my job wasn’t to be in the army to protect people—it was to protect people from the army. Now as to how I wrangled myself here, we were all on leave visiting my Valdemar kin when we found ourselves part of the biggest mass desertion I have ever heard tell of. Not being eager to get sent to the southern front, I was happy to help them load boats and skid out of there myself. The boys had no idea what was going on, bless their thick skulls, but since I was going, they just followed where I led. That’s how I’m here, and that’s why I’m here, and one of your Dolls has already run everything I just told you and quite a bit more through their truth-sensing, and passed me.” She rubbed the side of her nose. “Good man, your Guard Captain. Questioned me right down to the color of my smallclothes.”

He considered that a moment, as a few late-staying frogs croaked dismally that autumn was here and winter was coming. “Rose?” he said, not taking his eyes off the woman.

“Everything she has said is the truth, Baron,” Rose replied.

He relaxed a trifle. There might still be Imperial agents among his people, but he was fairly certain Sergeant Fairweather wasn’t one of them. “All right, then. What can I do for you, Sergeant Fairweather?”

“I’d like me and the lads to be part of your scouting party,” she replied. “They’ve got their hair on fire to go be explorers, because aside from training camp, they’ve never been farther from home than Briarglen. I promised I’d ask you. What we have to offer is that we’re trained soldiers, which you haven’t got too many of. The boys are good, and I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true, and I’m better. Bow, crossbow, Spitter, Poomer, sling if we run out of every other sort of ammunition. I think we could probably chuck a spear or two at need. I’m a good swordswoman, the boys are good with axe and shield. We know how to form a pike line, though a pike line of three isn’t going to stop much.”

It was an attractive offer. The team he had planned for was to be composed of mages, a couple of his Guard, Hakkon and Jonaton (because separating them at this point was going to be impossible), Ivar and Alberdina Endicrag, and whichever of the Dolls wanted to go along, but no actual soldiers. Certainly none with experience handling Spitters and Poomers, and it would be no bad idea to send some of the Spitters and one of the Poomers and some ammunition and balls along. A Poomer firing chain is an effective way to turn fallen trees into pocket-sized chunks, so it’s practical too.

And suddenly he had an idea. “I accept,” he said. “On one condition. I’d like you to take that girl that was sitting with us along.”

She gave him an odd look. “Seems a strange choice for a scouting mission.”

“Well, she’s got that thing they call the ‘Fetching Gift.’ Seems to me that might be useful if, say, you want a grappling hook set for climbing without making throws until your arm is sore, or you want something brought down from a height or across a river. If you need something from the main flotilla, she can get it for you as long as it doesn’t weigh too much. If you need to send something physical to me, she can do that too.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You’re leaving something important out.” She held up a hand. “Just wait, let me guess. She thinks she’s in love with you and you’d really rather she got her mind on anything else but you.”

His eyes widened. “How did you—”

Fairweather laughed. “A couple of decades spent among a tribe of siblings and a horde of cousins. Plain as ink. I think it’s a good idea. You’re right, she can be very useful, probably more useful than here. She’ll toughen up and have plenty to think about that will exclude romantic dreams, and I am pretty certain you wouldn’t saddle your scouts with a spoiled brat.”

“She’s also good with horses, including the care of them,” he pointed out. “That will free up people to do things more important than feeding and watering and rubbing down.”

Fairweather snorted. “I’d expect that from your people. What is she to you?”

“My wife’s sister.” He sighed.

She chuckled. “Which makes things even more difficult, aye, I see it. Well, I don’t see any reason to tell you no . . . but does this mean you’re putting me in charge of the party?”

“You’re an officer, you have experience being in charge,” he pointed out. “You’ve been vouched for. I need someone with the patience and ability to herd cats.”

“Baron Valdemar,” she said after a moment, with a salute so barely Imperial that it would have enraged a superior officer. “You’ve got yourself a cat-herder.”

Then Rose spoke up, unexpectedly. “We know Sergeant Fairweather and her cousins quite well. They have always treated the Dolls with respect. They are more skilled than she has told you, her cousins are more intelligent than she pretends, and they have a refreshingly mordant outlook on the Empire.”

As he was listening to this astonishing pronouncement, the Master Sergeant shrugged. “I’m a realist, and a realist knows the Empire was rotten, so your best bet at survival was to keep your head down, your nose clean, and your ass out of sight of anyone that could send you on a suicide mission.”

Rose just offered an opinion. An unsolicited opinion.

But it was an opinion he was inclined to agree with. He very much liked what he had seen and heard from Sergeant Fairweather.

“Turn up here tomorrow morning right after breakfast. We’ll take the Gate with the first lot out of here to where the initial scouting party is. I’ll be bringing a couple others, and Delia to complete the group.”

She saluted: a brisk salute, not fancy, not with an air that she was mocking him either, but this time with only two fingers at her brow. “Will do, Lord Baron.” And with that, she stepped off out of the kitchen area toward the other horn of the lake. “Wait,” Kordas called, and she stepped back. “What’s with the salute?”

“I’m sure not going to give you an Imperial salute. You’re Baron Kordas.” And she left again.

That was true. By the code, it was a salute he should not ever receive, in fact. I think she just invented the new Valdemaran Salute. It’ll help to remind everyone this isn’t an Imperial show. I’ll make it official tomorrow.

He rejoined the others, only to find that Isla, the boys, and Delia had gone to their boats. Well, if the weather had been less chilly they might have stayed, but they could hear the music perfectly well from the comfort of the barges if they wanted to listen, and it wasn’t as if there was much to see. The two musicians were concentrating so hard on their playing that they appeared to gaze at their shoes the whole time.

He stepped onto his barge and ducked his head to pass through the door.

It had been divided up into rooms in a row, and one side had windows cut into the side, with sliding glass panes and storm shutters fitted into the windows. Mage-lights hung from the ceiling of each room. Ordinary folk with no magic in them had to make do with oil lamps, or lightstones they’d brought along. The first room was all storage: a wardrobe with doors that latched shut, and cabinets, also with doors that latched shut, plus a very small table built into the deck, and a bit of seating with it, built into the bulkhead in a corner under the window, with shelves and hanging hooks above the window and the seating. Isla was positively draconian about keeping everything stored away when it was not actually in use; there was not a sign of the clutter that a person would expect of a place where three small boys were living.

The inside had been painted white, with wooden decking as the floor. There was more storage under the decking, and hatches at intervals to get into the storage.

The second room held a big bed up against the unwindowed wall, with storage under and over it in the form of cabinets and shelves. There were even hooks hanging from the ceiling to make use of every finger-length of space. Isla was waiting for him there. Past that room, he knew, was one with a stove for heat that doubled as a place to cook small things and heat water, a tiny hip-bath that currently held wood for the stove, a drain-sink barely big enough to wash your hands in, more storage, and a closet with a close-stool in it.

And past that was the boys’ room, more storage and two beds. The two youngest shared one; they were small enough to fit in it feet-to-feet. Restil got the other to himself, though it was significantly narrower than the other. There was an actual sliding wooden door between that room and the rest of the barge, which was not quite thick enough to prevent him from hearing murmurs and giggles.

He had learned early not to fling himself on the bed as was his habit; any sudden movement rocked the barge, and since the barges were all jammed up against one another, had the potential to make it knock into the neighbors. So he slid down onto it instead.

It might have seemed more logical to put the “master’s” bedroom at the rear of the barge rather than the front, because this certainly did limit privacy, but he was glad the builders had not. He knew what he had been like at the boys’ age, sneaking out in the middle of the night to have adventures . . . but he had mage-locked the sliding glass in place in their room, and to get out, they’d have to get past him and Isla.

“What are they doing back there?” he asked her, a little awkwardly. This was literally the first time since the boys were born that he and Isla had actually lived with them. In order to safeguard them, they’d been passed off as Hakkon’s bastards and had been living under the auspices of a nurse and tutor with the other youngsters of the manor; otherwise the Emperor would have demanded their presence at the Capital as hostages, as he had been. The children that the Emperor demanded weren’t openly called hostages, of course, but that was what they were.

Special students.

He had been one. It had been bad then, and he had gotten the feeling conditions had only gotten worse since he’d been allowed to go home at the death of his father.

“Playing three-man marbles with that set that uses pegs in a tray, that Petrof whittled for them,” she said. “I thought it would be a disaster with Jon always losing and crying, but he beats his brothers almost as often as they beat him.”

Petrof was the oldest man in his Guard, and by rights he should have been enjoying his old age in a snug little cottage, perhaps with an equally snug little widow to marry and keep his bed warm.

But at least he could put Petrof on the light duty of keeping an eye on the boys and supervising their chores—everyone had chores—and letting him bed down in the second of the baronial barges with some of the other servants.

Still . . .“I hope he doesn’t mind what I’ve assigned him to do, because I never asked him, I just ordered him,” Kordas sighed.

Isla laughed. “He loves it. He’s teaching them archery already, and getting them to do their letters by reading to him.” He piled pillows against the wall and reclined against them. She snugged in next to him. It occurred to him that if only they could stay here, this was probably the happiest he had been in his entire life. Even with having to fight with his temper. All his life the Plan had been hanging over him, like a wave that never fell, or a black storm that moved in but never opened up with a deluge. And so had the Emperor and the Empire loomed, a maze of knives he danced through. Now both of those were gone. He’d done it. He’d saved his people, and foiled the Empire. He was under no illusion that the Empire was no longer a threat, it was just no longer an immediate threat.

“Do you think the Empire will forget about us?” she asked, as if she was following his thoughts.

“Well, I’d like them to—but the Emperor was just the most rotten of the barrel of bad apples,” he replied frankly. “And we would be stupid to assume that once all the infighting sorts out, and a survey of all of the territories is made, whoever is in charge is going to overlook that the population of Valdemar is something significantly less than half what it should be.”

“But—” she frowned. “Aren’t the top men literally going to go to war over who sits on the throne?”

“Not if they’re smart, they won’t,” he replied, creasing his brows as a headache started between his eyebrows. “So, they’ve probably begun it, right? No, the likeliest things to happen are an end to the southern war, followed by the generals down there deciding amongst themselves who to make their leader. The Princes and Grand Dukes are going to start making alliances, but the Emperor kept them short of weapons and soldiers. So what’s most likely to happen, at least according to all the strategic things I learned, is that there will be one man from the blooded royals, and one general, and if they are smart, they will work out some way to share power between them. Then they’ll go consolidate and survey everything else. That’s what they’ve most likely been doing since we got here. Merrin Sends me regular reports, and he hasn’t got much to tell me, since his information agents either died in the Capital or have been back at the Duchy with him. All he knows for sure is that things are very quiet. Quiet is not good for us. Actual fighting among the factions would be good for us.”

“Actual fighting among the factions would be disaster for the people caught in the middle,” she said after a while. “No one suffers in war like the common folk do.”

He took her hand in both of his and kissed the back of it.

“So the sands are trickling through the hourglass,” he continued. “Now, what I hope is, because the alliances are all so fragile, and because they are all involved in an incestuous dance of power, they’ll put off looking at the borderlands like Valdemar long enough that by the time they go pay a visit to Merrin and find out that things are not what they are supposed to be, the Gates here will be long gone, and all the people who remain here at the lake will be able to pass themselves off as natives. I won’t leave any Golds with them, just a couple of heavy horses, enough to start their own breeding herd, enough to put enough land under a plow that the whole village can stay fed. So there won’t be anything overt to identify anyone here as Valdemaran.”

“Can the mages trace us here?” she asked.

“What I said about the Mage War territories was true—we found Crescent Lake by luck. If we’d actively looked for it, the territories would have confused targeting. So that helps us. We left more than enough things behind that they could come after us using those objects as links to locate us,” he reminded her. “Now . . . do they still have mages good enough to construct an entirely new Gate to here? I don’t know. But I’m not willing to tell anyone that they can’t. There were still plenty of competent people in the Empire, even with the Capital destroyed. If anything, the most competent ones stayed out of the Capital.” He made a motion as if he was tipping an hourglass. “Time is not on our side.” He thought a moment longer. “But Merrin will warn us if he learns anything.”

“That’s a comfort. I take back every evil thing I ever said about that man.” She kissed his hand.

He laughed. “Oh, he’s ambitious, and he’s tickled to be a Duke after all, and we didn’t exactly strip the countryside bare when we left. He’s got the barge-makers, who all stayed. That’s a reliable source of income. There were still crops in the fields, and plenty of herds that stayed there—he’s in a very good position to make some shrewd alliances himself. Fundamentally he seems to be a good man, and the Dolls agree with me on this. Hellfires, for all I know, he has some plan to throw anyone who figures out we deserted off of our track. He gulled me for years, so I expect he can pull the wool over other eyes than mine.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said slyly. “I’ve always found it quite easy to gull you.”

“Wench.” He took a moment to cast his ear in the direction of the end of the barge—and sadly, could still hear talking and giggles. Alas. He settled for kissing the top of her head, a private signal that said I would really like to have some fun with you, but three large-eared imps would be certain to break out of their room wanting a snack or a drink.

She sighed. And as if on cue, the door to the last room slid open. “Mama!” called Restil as he tumbled out, followed by the other two. “Can we have some clover tea?”

“You can have some water,” she countered. “Remember what I keep telling you. We need to be careful about the things we use. Wood, food, everything. You won’t want to be shivering in the cold later because we burned wood to heat the water for tea now.”

“Yes, Mama,” Restil said with resignation, and although Kordas could not see them from where he was lying, he could certainly hear the boys when they went to get their water. And they were surprisingly mannerly. Restil remained firmly in charge of the water jug, and insisted they use only one cup, each in turn, to keep from dirtying more that would have to be washed later.

“Who kidnapped our children and left changelings?” he asked her, although he could practically feel his heart swelling with pride and joy. The boys had accepted the information that he and Isla were their real parents, and not Hakkon, with a matter-of-fact attitude that made him think the two oldest at least had figured it out on their own and had realized that the deception was keeping them safe. And they had flung themselves into being a family with all the enthusiasm he could ever have dreamed of.

“It’s exhaustion. They spent the entire day gathering deadfall with Petrof, and every day they have to go farther to find any. Just like everyone else.” She patted his cheek. “But at least that leaves all the children run off their feet by the end of the day.”

They didn’t say anything else as the children put everything away, went back to their room, and slid the door shut. And when the murmurs grew sleepy, and then grew silent, with a single thought he extinguished the rest of the mage-lights and turned his attention to much more pleasurable things than worries about the Empire.

Quietly.