At the Queen_s command

"I reckon they ain't thinking it is." Woods spread his arms wide. "When the redemptioneers first came here, it was all wide open. You find a place, farm for a bit, move on when the land wore out. Then the Parliament says that no one can go beyond the mountains. That's fine, still lots of land, but then ministers and their friends bought it all up from the Crown. So you take a man who has worked hard improving the land, and he cain't afford it because some speculator who hain't never worked a day in his life is greedy."

"I would agree, Mr. Woods, that this seems hardly equitable, but theft is not the proper response."

"Ain't theft. More like taking a lend of the land." Nathaniel laughed. "Captain, you heard of the Golden Rule?"

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

"Maybe in Norisle. Round these parts, it's he who has the gold makes the rules."

A shiver ran down Owen's spine. The Royal Army allowed those with money to purchase commissions. A noble-like Lord Rivendell's son, John-with a taste for adventure and no understanding of warfare could buy his way into the command of troops. More than once, such privileged commanders had refused to obey orders issued by a superior but common officer. Often they issued their own orders in some vain attempt at winning glory. Their actions would destabilize a line, provide an opening for the enemy, and often transformed a victory into a rout. At Villerupt, had Rivendell's son actually followed orders, the Mystrian Rangers might not have suffered as severely as they did.

Woods' version of the golden rule applied in Norillian civilian life, too. A noble's misdeeds could be silenced with gold, whereas a pauper's offenses would be severely punished. Someone like Lord Rivendell, whose power and prestige legitimized his book, commonly hid moral shortcomings by virtue of charitable gifts and well-placed bribes.

"Is this why you are so hostile toward Norillians?"

Both Woods and Kamiskwa broke out laughing.

"I fail to see what you find so funny."

Woods wiped a tear from his eye. "I ain't hostile toward Norillians. Leastways not specifically. I hate all men what is out to spoil this land."

"I'm here to see to it that the Tharyngians do not spoil it."

The Mystrian arched an eyebrow. "Are you really thinking that is the truth of it, Captain?"

"I have my orders."

"You succeed, what happens then? Next year, the year after, war. Don't matter who wins. The Crown prints up more deeds and charters. More people will come to profit. Speculators get richer. Those who value freedom will keep moving west until someone stops them. Like as not that's another one of your Crown missions."

Woods spoke with passionate disgust, but Owen didn't take it personally. His was an opinion born long before he'd ever met Owen. He'd likely trotted it in front of every man he met and judged them by their reaction to it.

Owen lowered his voice. "Could be things will happen as you say, Mr. Woods. I don't know. What I do know is that I am here to do what I can to stop the Ryngians from threatening the colonies. I'm hoping it prevents war. But I have to ask you, sir, that if you hate all men equally, why have you accepted the Prince's commission to be my guide?"

Nathaniel smiled. "The Prince, he makes a try at understanding this place. Some say his methods are a little Ryngian. Could be. I cotton to the glow in his eyes when he sees something new. Iffen I works for him, not many folks will be of a mind to be bothering me. Makes my life easier."

They arrived at the Prince's estate a little before noon, making their approach along the river. They'd crossed the road Owen had ridden before in the heart of the woods. Looking back at the track, and quickly losing sight of it, reminded Owen of how very different combat would be in Mystria. Anyone who thinks it will not be will suffer.

They found the Prince at the river, stripped to the waist, washing mud off his shirt. He wore homespun trousers and a floppy-brimmed felt hat, which had a dollop of wurm-mud where another might affix a ribbon. He shook hands with Woods, and returned Owen's salute, then turned to greet Kamiskwa.

Neither man exchanged a word. They clasped their hands behind their backs and bowed toward each other. They remained bowing for a handful of heartbeats, then straightened up and smiled. Their ritual puzzled Owen for a moment, then he realized that to the Twilight People, showing an empty hand was more of a deadly threat than clutching a knife. Hiding their hands was a pledge of good behavior and a sign of friendship.

Owen shivered again. It quickly came to him how strange Norillians must have first seemed to the Twilight People. The first colonists wore odd clothes, they spoke a strange tongue. They had iron and steel and guns. They would smile as they offered you their hand. The first settlers must have seemed to be blood-mad butchers, smiling as they threatened.