At the Queen_s command

He smiled at her kindness and admired the doll before handing it back to her. And she smiled, as if all was well with the world, and for once, Owen thought, just for a little bit, such a judgment might have been right.

That evening passed uneventfully. The presentation of the wurmscales to Msitazi pleased the Altashee elder. He ran his hands over them, studying the underside with its mother-of-pearl sheen. He then placed him on his shoulders like epaulets, and Owen suspected he might see them affixed there in the future.

After a dinner of venison and vegetable in a stew, Owen spent time cleaning and oiling his musket and pistol, quietly observing everything going on around him. Life seemed anything but hurried among the Twilight People. For the most part they seemed happy, smiling and humming as they worked. On the rare occasion a child cried out, the closest adult came to his rescue, and peace was restored.

He didn't see much of Kamiskwa, but Nathaniel Woods had three children following him wherever he went. The two boys looked enough alike to be brothers and neither had reached his teens. The third, a little girl, appeared only a couple years older than the lass who had attached herself to Owen. The three of them got along well enough, with the two boys being solicitous of the young girl's needs.

Nathaniel played with the children a little, laughing and joking with them, admiring things they showed him. He let the girl sit in his lap and tousled the boys' hair. Though Owen couldn't understand a word they said, hand-gestures, pantomime, and growls led him to believe Nathaniel was relating some story about hunting a jeopard. Others stopped to listen, and broad smiles suggested the story was a well-known favorite.

Owen also noticed his spending a certain amount of time, both separately and together, with two of the Altashee women. Given the beadwork and motifs on their clothes, they'd made Nathaniel's clothing, the rifle-sheath, and bags. Owen also guessed that they were related to Kamiskwa, being the right age to be his sisters, largely because their clothes had bear paw prints beaded onto them.

And, because the children appeared to be a bit lighter in color than others in the camp, Owen came to the conclusion that they might well be Nathaniel's offspring. Their previous conversation about Altashee marriage and mating customs held Owen back from assuming that Nathaniel was a flagrant womanizer. Tenderness characterized the way he interacted with the women and Owen saw none of the predatory aggressiveness so common with lechers.

As they sat together rolling cartridges, Owen turned to Woods. "The children are yours, by those women."

"The boys is by Naskwatis and the girl by Gwitak. Ten, eight, and five." Nathaniel shook his head. "And we ain't married. Iffen you're of a mind to tell me I'm going to Hell, save your breath, save your teeth."

Owen measured out some brimstone. "Do you love them?"

"The kids, yes. Their mothers, sure, but not in Norillian thinking. Love is fine for fancy stories and songs. Ain't much of a place for it in the world." Nathaniel looked around the village. "You know the Altashee word for romantic love is the same word they use for madness."

"I thought that was their word for greed."

"The same. Romantic love is emotional greed. Lust the Altashee understand. Love between parent and child, that they understand. Being devoted to one person only, that they reckon is insane."

"But they allow people to marry."

"Guarantees children strong in magick."

Owen glanced at the mothers of Woods' children. "And they wanted your magick?"

Nathaniel nodded.

"This has something to do with why they call you 'Magehawk'?"

The other man twisted the ends of the cartridge paper, and tucked it away in his pouch. "Don't be setting much store in stories you hear in Temperance Bay."

"Didn't hear the term until Saint Luke."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Bethany Frost didn't fill your ear?"

Owen smiled in spite of himself. "I gathered she found you odious, but she did not speak ill of you. She just cautioned me against you. Were you a bad influence on her fiance?"

"Ira, no. He was a good man. Didn't know him well. Seventh son of a seventh son. Strong in magick. Only ever met one man stronger. Always liked Ira. Sorry to hear he died."

Owen nodded, then glanced at Nathaniel. "Why do they call you 'Magehawk'?"

The Mystrian patted him on the shoulder. "You been in a fight or three? Heard men spin grand war stories?"

"I have."

"Grand's just another word for lie."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Some men, they needed themselves some killing. I obliged 'em. Folks what wasn't there made something big out of it."

A little shiver ran down Owen's spine. "But that incident created this interest in your magick?"

Nathaniel slowly nodded. "The Twilight People understand the truth of things. Ain't nothing like a woman doing for you to get a man back on his feet. Kids'll do that, too. You got any?"

"No."

"Strong buck like you?"