At the Queen_s command

"All positive points, I reckon. And you think she won't take to Mystria?"

"She might eventually come to see its beauty." Owen shook his head. "But that would require her getting out into the country. That will never happen.

"Might not. But I reckon you need to ask yourself if she would ever want to see the beauty. Nothing against your wife, but iffen she can't see it, or won't see it, yours ain't a fight can be won. Most all us redemptioneers came here because we had nothing back there." Nathaniel shrugged. "Iffen her life is back there, ain't never she gonna be happy here."

Owen chuckled. "That's fairly insightful romantical advice."

"Just talking about human nature." Nathaniel pointed to the men marching in front of them. "They all went and fought Queen Margaret's war here. They figure they done earned some praise and a reward. Ain't gonna get it, on account of the Queen and men like Rivendell have their lives over there. What we see they cain't. They don't want to. You have seen, and you is going to have to decide where your life is."

The Norillian nodded. He wanted to stay, and divorce wasn't an option. At best he could send her back to Norisle and visit, but what kind of a life would that be for either of them? If he remained he would never take another wife. He would never dishonor Catherine that way.

Owen signed. "I made my commitment to Catherine before I ever came to Mystria. I shall hate leaving this beautiful country."

Nathaniel patted him on the shoulder. "Leastways your wife is nearly as pretty."

"Yes, she is." Owen sighed again. If his uncle had been telling the truth about the land grant and title, he'd opt for a place in Temperance Bay, as close to the Prince's estate as he could get. He'd keep it as a preserve and every three years or so would come for a season or two. Catherine would doubtlessly choose to remain in Norisle. But I can bring my children, and they can grow to love Mystria.

That thought brought a smile to his face. He had come to win glory, and yet in Mystria had found something else to love. The sheer physical beauty and fecundity of the land could not be matched anywhere in Norisle. The people's spirit had a positive nature. Half the troops were barefoot, wearing clothes that were worn through at knees and elbows despite multiple patchings. Their condition didn't bother these people at all. They honestly believed, one way or another, that better times and a brighter future were around the corner. They marched toward it with a child's wide-eyed curiosity and sense of wonder.

And even if he would have to absent himself from Mystria, the thought that his children, and his legacy, would be here, pleased him. The Old World, hidebound as it was, would smother him.

Owen took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air, and fought to memorize every detail, so even in his dotage, he wouldn't forget the time he truly felt free.

On the sixteenth the troops returned to the camping ground they'd occupied on that first day out. They re-created their camps and spent one last night together. On the morrow they'd march into Temperance and would never again assemble as one unit, so they sang songs and spun stories and extracted promises of correspondence and visits.

Many men wished Owen well. They assumed that on his return to Norisle he'd run for Parliament. They said he'd be their representative "…being as how you know Mystria, Captain, sir." They offered him lodging were he ever to visit, and promised to find him if they ever traveled back to the mother country.

And they said it with sincerity and a bit of deviltry.

The Prince brought Mugwump back to his wurmrest and the beast seemed content to return. Vlad then spent the evening circulating among the troops, thanking them all for their service. On the trip home, Vlad had made a couple of side-trips searching for things on Owen's list. Many men picked up on that and promised him a fine hunting expedition whenever he chose to visit them.

The next morning they marched early for Temperance. Folks from farmsteads came out to greet them. Huge smiles blossomed all around. And then, when only a half-hour outside the city, the troops gathered themselves into the same column in which they'd marched onto the battlefield. Solemn and proud, with heads high and steps in unison, they gave their people a look at the warriors who had defeated the Tharyngians at Anvil Lake.

Everyone had come out to line the parade route. The troops threaded between thick, cheering throngs. Someone had created a flag of green, with a black and red wurm claw at the heart of it. The talons pointed down, transforming it into an M for Mystria. Copies fluttered from hands and hung from windows. Owen's uncle would have seen it as a sign of incipient rebellion, and he vowed there would be no mention of it in his reports.