Perrund looked away, and her good hand went to touch the withered one. "Yes," she said. "I did tell your predecessor that as I had stepped in to perform his job he ought to do the decent thing and attempt to fulfil mine one day, but he just laughed."

DeWar smiled. "Commander ZeSpiole tells that story himself, still."

"Hmm. Well, perhaps as Commander of the Palace Guard, ZeSpiole does such a good job keeping would-be assassins away from the palace that none ever achieve the sort of proximity that might call for your services."

"Perhaps, but either way they will be back," DeWar said quietly. "I almost wish they had been back by now. The absence of conventional assassins makes me all the more convinced there is some very special assassin here, just waiting for the right time to strike."

Perrund looked troubled, even sad, the man thought. "But come, DeWar," she said, "is this not too gloomily contrary? Perhaps there are no attempts on the Protector's life because no one of moment any longer wishes him dead. Why assume the most depressing explanation? Can you never be, if not relaxed, then content?"

DeWar took a deep breath and then released it. He replaced the Protector piece. "These are not times when people in my profession can relax."

"They say the old days were always better. Do you think so, DeWar?"

"No, lady, I do not." He gazed into her eyes. "I think a lot of nonsense is talked about the old days."

"But, DeWar, they were days of legends, days of heroes!" Perrund said, her expression indicating she was not being entirely serious. "Everything was better, everybody says so!"

"Some of us prefer history to legends, lady," DeWar said heavily, "and sometimes everybody can be wrong."